Every year since I started this blog I've written a Shitlist of all the cunts who drive me to near homicidal ideation. And every year since I started this blog I've countered that poison pen cocktail with a more altruistic list to bring in the new year, a list of people that miraculously don't suck (I know, right?). It's often a hard list to write because so few people deserve to be on it. I often have to struggle not to put the same damn people on it every year. This year I've decided to leave out my holy trinity of repeat offenders, the patron saint of the Fifth Estate, Julian Assange, and my online mentors, Angela Keaton and Thomas Knapp (consider this sentence an honorable mention), and try to put nothing but first timers on this list. I came up with twelve, and like my shitlist, not everybody is going to agree with my choices. But with me, someone is always going to have to go fuck themselves. Like it or loath it, these are the holy handful of dearest motherfuckers who have kept the proverbial pistol out of my mouth in 2018, and I feel duty bound to salute them.
Ahed Tamini- In a time when things have never looked bleaker for Palestine, it took the fury of a child scorned to reignite a movement. At the tender age of 17, Ahed Tamini has seen everything taken from her little West Bank village of Nabi Salih, their land, their water, their dignity, and all to often their lives. She has seen her brothers arrested, beaten, and tortured. She has seen her uncle murdered in cold blood. And she has seen her families tiny property routinely violated by unwelcome intruders. But Tamini never learned how to lie down. She made a name for herself in her tight-knit community for violently confronting the heavily armed Israeli gestapo who police her young existence culminating with the bitch slap heard around the world when the then 16 year old Ahed physically assaulted a pair of cackling IDF storm troopers loitering on her families property after their comrades had put her cousin in a coma with a rubber bullet to the head. The fiery young red head earned the ire of the increasingly despotic Zionist regime when footage of the beat down went viral. But she also earned a heroes welcome at her village once she was released from the klink. Her act of righteous heroism gave her besieged village their pride back. Ahed stared down the barrel of her oppressors gun and she didn't flinch. And at 17, this Palestinian firecracker is just getting started.
Peter Van Buren- Perhaps the first innocent victim of Twitter's third red scare, Peter, a Bush-era whistleblower with a gift for bitching out hypocrites, was banned permanently from the platform after crashing the latest pity party thrown by the press over our dick president's latest accurate description of their general grossness. Peter inconveniently brought up the wars these poseurs lied us into along with a few salty barbs about hypothetical MAGA zombies eating their face. The liberalazzi dimed him out to big brother and Peter's entire body of work on the site was erased in a techno-Stalinist purge. Seven long years of weapons grade snark down the drain with the click of a mouse for the unspeakable crime of "dehumanizing" gutless scum with politically incorrect humor. But somebody had to be the canary in the tweet-mine and Peter's sacrifice to the gods of free speech will not be forgotten. Like Lenny Bruce and Robert Mapplethorpe before him, history will absolve him and we here shall salute him. Great job taking the trash out, Peter. We'll drag the cans down to the curb for you.
Janna Jihad- Peter isn't the only undersung social media warrior on this list and Ahed Tamini isn't the only girl crusader for Palestinian peace. Her cousin and bestie Janna is the worlds youngest journalist at 12 years old with over 270,000 followers on Facebook. The pint size muckraker began covering the Israeli conquest of her and Ahed's West Bank village with her mother's iPhone at 7 and in less than five years she's achieved more than grizzled gonzos like me have in thirty. The fucking whipper-snapper, she deserves it. America's blubbering journalists could learn something from this kid if they ever stop bitching about the scourge of free speech, oops! I mean 'Fake News'. Janna is a bad-ass riot grrrl with a camera and, along with her cousin, proof positive that the next generation of Palestinian women are gonna give Leila Khaled a run for her money. Buckle up, Bibi, the next intifada is coming.
Caitlin Johnstone- To call Caitlin a kindred spirit is probably an understatement. She's more like a Siamese twin separated by generations and continents at birth. Do you know any other foul mouthed Yippie bitches willing to break bread with the radical right? Didn't think so. Lately Caitlin has become a sort of online Courtney Love, a loud mouth punching bag who gets degraded largely for being the smartest thing with a vagina in the room. Caitlin may be too classy to play that card but her tranny sister is shameless. Justin Raimondo and Joshua Frank are scared little boys afraid of the big bad bitch stepping on their fragile little pricks. A pox on both your houses! Caitlin is a legit underground journalist. Fuckers like you use to know what those words meant. We don't play by your stupid fucking rules. Solidarity!
Joe Pera- To call Joe an acquired taste is also probably an understatement. Truth be told, no comedian since Andy Kaufman has managed to harness the surreal soft power of subtle awkwardness quite like Mr. Pera. The result is something so 'normal' it's downright unnerving. For those of you who aren't familiar with this endangered species of performance artist, he's kind of like an odd hybrid of Chance from Being There and Mr. Rogers on mescaline. And his late night Adult Swim series, Joe Pera Talks With You, might be the strangest and most wonderful new thing on TV in 2018. Playing a semi-fictional version of himself against the backdrop of a small town on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan that has clearly grown bored with his supine antics, middle school quire teacher Joe Pera hosts a series of public access style introductions to such esoteric topics as Nineteenth Century Canadian pest control, the proper way to dispose of a jack-o-lantern, and becoming the last white man alive to discover the Who's Baba O'riley. Somewhere along the way the show morphs into a strange love story between the painfully single Pera and a closet survivalist band teacher. The result is the perfect anecdote to the often stagnant existence of small town life in a dying empire. It's sort of like a good Ambien trip. Once you get past the initial wave of unnatural calmness, the normal becomes strangely beautiful and the beautiful becomes downright ridiculous in the best kind of way.
Father John Misty- Every generation requires at least one great bard of blunt sarcasm. A smirking cynic with a guitar who wraps his barbs in such fluffy layers of melodic pop that their audience doesn't even realize they're bleeding internally until it's too late. In the past we've had Dylan, Lennon, Waits, and Oberst, to name a few. Today we have Mister Father John Misty, who's smoochy soft rock ballads thinly veil some of the sharpest critiques of western society in years. The title of his latest masterpiece, God's Favorite Customer, says it all; 'I'm a rock star, look at me, who fucking cares.' Something tells me both Sartre and Kurt Cobain would approve. The only thing more refreshingly bitter than the good Father's lyrics are his hilariously flippant interviews with the press where he dismisses their tired pretensions like a drunken whore turning down the advances of a penniless john. There is no point denying that Mr. Misty is a fucking dick, but god do we need him, now more than ever.
Muqtada Al-Sadr- Don't call it a comeback, Muqtada has been here for years... You remember, the dude who looks like a jihad garden gnome and kicked America's monkey ass up and down post-Saddam Iraq with his crafty Shia Mahdi Army. I'm pretty sure he's responsible for at least half of Dick Cheney's sixteen heart attacks. Muqtada pulled a JD Salinger after the (partial) American withdrawal but he came back with a vengeance in 2018, reinventing himself as a kind of Islamic Ralph Nader. He took on all the major parties and the corruption of foreign influence from both the US and Iran in this years parliamentary elections and against all the odds he won, proving once again that the bullet and the ballot box is still a viable option for revolutionary change. I don't know Sadr's take on queer folks but this is one tranny who fucking loves him. Solidarity!
Mitski- The only exception to my no repeats rule. I had to put Miss Mitski Miyawaki on this list again because, with Be the Cowboy, she once again recorded the best album of the year. Mitski has transcended from indie darling to a full blown phenomenon. With her songs about cultural isolation and sexual frustration, she has become a welcome voice for a whole generation of lost children who have awoken to a crippled adulthood in a hemorrhaging civilization where the American Dream has become a dystopian nightmare. We're broken hearted and we're all pretty fucking pissed too. Mitski continues to create the perfect soundtrack to this Faustian existence and I'm not the only one grateful for the sacrifice. I am part of a growing fan base of women, Asians, and Queers who find solace in her music. Together, we are not alone. Mitski is our champion.
Keith Preston- When I first discovered that one of my posts had been published on a place called Attack the System, I asked a friend of mine who the hell Keith Preston is. His response; "He's the left-libertarian that left-libertarians love to hate." My response; "Sounds like my flavor of motherfucker." It was the perfect beginning to what has become a strange and wonderful friendship. I've never considered myself to be a national anarchist and I still don't. I mean, shit, I've been called a social justice warrior more times than I can count and I rarely deny the charge. But the core of my philosophy has always been a kind of 'come as you are' open mindedness that I've found strangely unwelcome on many leftist sites. But that really is what best sums up the philosophy of AtS as well. In spite of all the cat calls from the increasingly shrill antifa-left, Attack the System is the most open minded place in the radical blogosphere and that seems to be the main problem the supposed open minds on the left seem to have with it. Keith takes intersectionality to its natural conclusion. If we're all getting fucked by the same system then why are we wasting our time attacking each other? Freaks of the world unite and take over. I can't thank Keith enough for creating such a place or letting me be a part of it. In hindsight, I'm surprised it took me this long to get there.
Clare, Lily, & Chantal- You don't know these girls but trust me when I tell you, you wish that you did. I came into this past year reeling from a nasty run-in with a quack shrink who tried to convince me that my gender is a perverted mental illness, something the Catholic Church had already burned into my frontal lobe in grade school. Once I decided that cunt wasn't worth the price of the hollow-points I would need to convert her face into a toilet bowl full of blood, I sought out help from my tiny Appalachian hamlet's single queer therapy group and I met the three sisters that god had denied me by blood. These girls, my girls, aren't just my friends, they're my family and they, more than anyone else, have taught me the importance of belonging to something bigger than yourself. Before them, I was half a girl without a tribe. Less than a year later, I'm a veritable force to be reckoned with. These connections are why I remain so committed to the struggle for liberty and voluntary collectivism. They're also the number one reason I get out of bed in the morning.
You see, dearest motherfuckers, at the end of the year, it doesn't matter how many cars run you over or how many tumors you find on your tits. It doesn't matter how many people the empire kills or how many ice caps they melt doing it. As long as we have each other to fight for, it's all worth it, it's worth every drop of blood. These are the people I bleed for and the people who bleed for us all. And they've collectively made one of the most fucked up years of my life one of the best. Stay tuned and keep the faith, dearest motherfuckers, we're just getting started.
Peace, Love, & Empathy- CH
Soundtracks; theme songs for people who don't suck
* Ahed Tamini- Cherry Bomb by the Runaways
* Peter Van Buren- I Fought the Law by the Clash
* Janna Jihad- Modern Girl by Sleater-Kinney
* Caitlin Johnstone- Awful by Hole
* Joe Pera- Baba O'riley by the Who
* Father John Misty- Bored in the USA by Father John Misty
* Muqtada Al-Sadr- Mama Said Knock You Out by LL Cool J
* Mitski- Your Best American Girl by Mitski
* Keith Preston- Come As You Are by Nirvana
* Clare, Lily, & Chantal- My Girls by Panda Bear
Monday, December 31, 2018
Monday, December 17, 2018
Anarchism and the Mentally Ill
Like many of my posts, I'm writing this piece from the clerical unit of my local psych rehab. There are all kinds of people here around me; black, white, old, young. But the one thing we all have in common, the one thing that brings us all together here, is that, for lack of a better word, we're all fucking nuts. Schizophrenia, bipolar, a vast rainbow across the autism spectrum, I personally enjoy a zesty melange of depression, social anxiety, gender dysphoria, and agoraphobia that have plagued me for most of my life and my family for generations. We come here for a lot of reasons, for work, for recovery, but mostly we come here to belong. Because it's the one place where we can be who we are without fear of being censured by a society that has deemed us defective.
I am mentally ill, dearest motherfuckers. But what does that really mean in this day and age. In the modern world, a mentally ill person is essentially someone who is pathologically ill equipped to take part in society. But considering the state of society, is that really a disability? We live in a country that prizes mindless obedience to authority and no holds barred consumption to the point of ecological genocide. If you ask me, the people who aren't freaked out are the fucking sickos.
I can't hold down a steady job because I can't cope with having my life micromanaged by some pubescent grill Nazi or some role-crazy box-store despot. But I've come to the realization that not only can I not hack it in the straight world, I don't want to. Even if I could stand behind a counter at Best Buy for six hours straight without literally murdering somebody with a goddamn Xbox, I can't stand the thought of living my life that way. I devote my time instead to writing, therapy, and volunteering for causes that I actually give a fuck about. I'm not nuts about using peoples state-pilfered tax dollars to pay for my meds but I do get a sick kick out of the fact that the feds are quite literally paying me to advocate for their destruction.
You see, along with being certifiable, I'm also an outspoken anarchist. Many people consider these things to be synonymous and I happen to agree with them. Medicaid aside, the state has always been a consistent enemy to the mentally unruly. They beat us, drug us, lock us up, and drug us some more. Individuals who live outside the class system on the streets are routinely murdered and their killers are rarely held accountable. People deemed mentally ill also often have the foresight to see the system for the ridiculous sham that it is, which is what makes us pathological anarchists and natural born enemies of the state. This is where the stigma kicks in. The world doesn't have to heed the warnings of Ted Kaczynski because Ted Kaczynski is crazy. It took a dozen bombs for the sane world to even listen and even then his manifesto fell on deaf ears until his crazy predictions about automation and technological slavery became a reality. Mental illness didn't push Ted to terrorism, society did. Attacking civilians is never excusable but when the world treats you like a fucking dog on a chain, some people decide to bite to get heard.
Well, I choose to bite back too. This blog is my bomb. These words are my fangs. I embrace the individuality of my mental illness. If sanity means embracing conformity, wage slavery, and a total indifference to the suffering of the world then count my crazy tranny ass out. If wearing a gendered uniform from nine to five makes me dysphoric then I will embrace my discomfort. If the herd makes me nervous then I will embrace my anxiety. If the carnage of the war machine breaks my heart then I will embrace my depression. I will not allow mainstream society to make me ashamed of recognizing the human costs of its rational nihilism. I will not use pills and therapy to normalize my mind for enslavement, I will use them to develop the skills I need to organize my fellow freaks to fuck the system that's fucked us. The only fair stereotype about the mentally ill is that we are dangerous. You're goddamn right we are. We think free, we feel deep, we fight back, and we will not be bowed by your false gods. So fear me, society. This nut-job is gonna bring you down.
Peace, Love, & Empathy- CH
Soundtrack; songs to lose your shit to
* Bad Days by the Flaming Lips
* Something For Your M.I.N.D. by Superorganism
* Holes by Mercury Rev
* Whatever (I Had a Dream) by Butthole Surfers
* My War by Black Flag
* More Human than Human by White Zombie
* Planet of Sound by the Pixies
* Be My Head by the Flaming Lips
* Pretend We're Dead by L7
* Two Step by Throwing Muses
I am mentally ill, dearest motherfuckers. But what does that really mean in this day and age. In the modern world, a mentally ill person is essentially someone who is pathologically ill equipped to take part in society. But considering the state of society, is that really a disability? We live in a country that prizes mindless obedience to authority and no holds barred consumption to the point of ecological genocide. If you ask me, the people who aren't freaked out are the fucking sickos.
I can't hold down a steady job because I can't cope with having my life micromanaged by some pubescent grill Nazi or some role-crazy box-store despot. But I've come to the realization that not only can I not hack it in the straight world, I don't want to. Even if I could stand behind a counter at Best Buy for six hours straight without literally murdering somebody with a goddamn Xbox, I can't stand the thought of living my life that way. I devote my time instead to writing, therapy, and volunteering for causes that I actually give a fuck about. I'm not nuts about using peoples state-pilfered tax dollars to pay for my meds but I do get a sick kick out of the fact that the feds are quite literally paying me to advocate for their destruction.
You see, along with being certifiable, I'm also an outspoken anarchist. Many people consider these things to be synonymous and I happen to agree with them. Medicaid aside, the state has always been a consistent enemy to the mentally unruly. They beat us, drug us, lock us up, and drug us some more. Individuals who live outside the class system on the streets are routinely murdered and their killers are rarely held accountable. People deemed mentally ill also often have the foresight to see the system for the ridiculous sham that it is, which is what makes us pathological anarchists and natural born enemies of the state. This is where the stigma kicks in. The world doesn't have to heed the warnings of Ted Kaczynski because Ted Kaczynski is crazy. It took a dozen bombs for the sane world to even listen and even then his manifesto fell on deaf ears until his crazy predictions about automation and technological slavery became a reality. Mental illness didn't push Ted to terrorism, society did. Attacking civilians is never excusable but when the world treats you like a fucking dog on a chain, some people decide to bite to get heard.
Well, I choose to bite back too. This blog is my bomb. These words are my fangs. I embrace the individuality of my mental illness. If sanity means embracing conformity, wage slavery, and a total indifference to the suffering of the world then count my crazy tranny ass out. If wearing a gendered uniform from nine to five makes me dysphoric then I will embrace my discomfort. If the herd makes me nervous then I will embrace my anxiety. If the carnage of the war machine breaks my heart then I will embrace my depression. I will not allow mainstream society to make me ashamed of recognizing the human costs of its rational nihilism. I will not use pills and therapy to normalize my mind for enslavement, I will use them to develop the skills I need to organize my fellow freaks to fuck the system that's fucked us. The only fair stereotype about the mentally ill is that we are dangerous. You're goddamn right we are. We think free, we feel deep, we fight back, and we will not be bowed by your false gods. So fear me, society. This nut-job is gonna bring you down.
Peace, Love, & Empathy- CH
Soundtrack; songs to lose your shit to
* Bad Days by the Flaming Lips
* Something For Your M.I.N.D. by Superorganism
* Holes by Mercury Rev
* Whatever (I Had a Dream) by Butthole Surfers
* My War by Black Flag
* More Human than Human by White Zombie
* Planet of Sound by the Pixies
* Be My Head by the Flaming Lips
* Pretend We're Dead by L7
* Two Step by Throwing Muses
Saturday, December 15, 2018
Godspeed William Blum
William Blum, a role model, a hero, and the author of my favorite book, Killing Hope, died this past week at 85 in Arlington, VA, from complications related to kidney failure. Blum pulled zero punches when it came to his acidic criticism of America's imperialist foreign policy or its shameless defenders in the mainstream media, like the loathsome New York Times, those fine folks who brought you the Iraq War, who penned a pissy little obituary about a real journalist titled, "William Blum, US Policy Critic Cited by Bin Laden, Dies at 85". I sincerely hope that I'm not alone when I wish those creeps blackouts, toothaches. and indigestion for Christmas. Morons like Mr. Sam Roberts aren't fit to dig Blum's grave, much less piss on it.
Yes, in a career spanning half a century, Blum was probably best known for the praise he received from one Osama Bin Laden for his antiwar cult classic deep state rip-and-run, Rogue State. He became downright infamous for refusing to denounce the bastard's good taste in agit-prop. Instead, while denouncing the attacks on September 11, he stood by his work and supported its use by anyone as a tool for historical illumination. As a raving queer leftist who has been published by everyone from libertarian capitalist pigs to right-wing tribalists, I can relate. William not only had the courage to stand up to his own countries foul foreign policy but he never bowed to the Mandarins of the Fourth Estate who scoffed at his brilliant prose.
Blum had an uncanny start for an anti-imperialist crusader. He was in his youth a devout anti-communist cold warrior who secured a job at the State Department with ambitions of becoming a globe-trotting defender of the "free world". This dream came crashing down when he witnessed the unspeakable carnage of the Vietnam War. He quit his promising career with the deep state and instead devoted his life to combating the tyranny he discovered that it truly represented. He helped found the Washington Free Press, which quickly became a cornerstone of the antiwar movement and the burgeoning Fifth Estate which sought to restore the soiled good name of American muckrakery. He stepped in the footsteps of America's finest bards of outrage; Thoreau, Twain, Mencken.
Blum reveled in his new-found calling as an anti-establishment provocateur. He worked closely with burn-listed rogue spooks like former CIA case officer Phillip Agee. He once faked a flat tire outside the gates of Langley in order to record the licence plates of CIA agents coming and going so he could later publish their names and addresses. Blum was the proto-Assange but it was his role as an underground historian that earned him infamy. In his raison d'etre, Killing Hope, Blum gave a carefully detailed, excruciatingly well sourced account of America's toxic history of endless conquest, in blow-by-blow chronological order, from our covert excursions into Maoist China at the end of the Second World War to the imperial train-wreck of the second invasion of Iraq. The work earned Blum resounding praise from academics, intelligence officers, Pulitzer Prize winners, and even a former New York Times bureau chief. But the lion share of the legacy media was beside themselves with vitriol over Blum's exposure of the war crimes of sacred cows like JFK and Bill Clinton, not to mention the long history of collusion between the self-proclaimed free press and the American intelligence community which included fomenting coups and perverting popular elections, almost always in favor of despotic military regimes.
It's little surprise that these corporate sock puppets would throw one last hissy-fit at the gravestone of a literary novice who so rudely showed them what a real journalist looks like, but the virtual radio silence from the alternative left media (with a few shinning acceptions) that William Blum helped create is what I find truly revolting. It took me almost a week to even learn that a man I loved had passed. The rapidly shrinking Russopobes at CounterPunch, a once fine organ that Blum helped put on the map, waited five days to give the self-proclaimed democratic socialist a lukewarm send-off, buried 29 stories down on their weekend edition. Blum was a devoted leftist but he was an anti-imperialist first and foremost and he didn't shy away from calling a spade a spade, even when it was politically incorrect to do so. He rightly spoke out against America's covert regime change operations in Ukraine and our nation's increasingly unhinged position towards Putin's Russia. In the end he got written off by many of the same fellow leftists who once sung his praises for the same reason he got written off by high-brow war-porn operations like the Times, he spoke the truth and the truth was inconvenient.
William Blum was a devoted antiwarrior to the very end. He was also one of the most underrated voices of his generation. I felt compelled to write this obituary to honor his legacy. His service to world peace should never be forgotten. Godspeed William Blum, this is one devoted malcontent who salutes you.
Peace, Love, & Empathy- Nicky Reid/CH
Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post
* The Whole of the Moon by the Waterboys
* Outsmarted by the Hives
* Whisper to a Scream by Icicle Works
* Glorious by Adorable
* Bring On the Dancing Horses by Echo & the Bunnymen
* Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival
* You Can't Put Your Arms Around a Memory by Johnny Thunders
Yes, in a career spanning half a century, Blum was probably best known for the praise he received from one Osama Bin Laden for his antiwar cult classic deep state rip-and-run, Rogue State. He became downright infamous for refusing to denounce the bastard's good taste in agit-prop. Instead, while denouncing the attacks on September 11, he stood by his work and supported its use by anyone as a tool for historical illumination. As a raving queer leftist who has been published by everyone from libertarian capitalist pigs to right-wing tribalists, I can relate. William not only had the courage to stand up to his own countries foul foreign policy but he never bowed to the Mandarins of the Fourth Estate who scoffed at his brilliant prose.
Blum had an uncanny start for an anti-imperialist crusader. He was in his youth a devout anti-communist cold warrior who secured a job at the State Department with ambitions of becoming a globe-trotting defender of the "free world". This dream came crashing down when he witnessed the unspeakable carnage of the Vietnam War. He quit his promising career with the deep state and instead devoted his life to combating the tyranny he discovered that it truly represented. He helped found the Washington Free Press, which quickly became a cornerstone of the antiwar movement and the burgeoning Fifth Estate which sought to restore the soiled good name of American muckrakery. He stepped in the footsteps of America's finest bards of outrage; Thoreau, Twain, Mencken.
Blum reveled in his new-found calling as an anti-establishment provocateur. He worked closely with burn-listed rogue spooks like former CIA case officer Phillip Agee. He once faked a flat tire outside the gates of Langley in order to record the licence plates of CIA agents coming and going so he could later publish their names and addresses. Blum was the proto-Assange but it was his role as an underground historian that earned him infamy. In his raison d'etre, Killing Hope, Blum gave a carefully detailed, excruciatingly well sourced account of America's toxic history of endless conquest, in blow-by-blow chronological order, from our covert excursions into Maoist China at the end of the Second World War to the imperial train-wreck of the second invasion of Iraq. The work earned Blum resounding praise from academics, intelligence officers, Pulitzer Prize winners, and even a former New York Times bureau chief. But the lion share of the legacy media was beside themselves with vitriol over Blum's exposure of the war crimes of sacred cows like JFK and Bill Clinton, not to mention the long history of collusion between the self-proclaimed free press and the American intelligence community which included fomenting coups and perverting popular elections, almost always in favor of despotic military regimes.
It's little surprise that these corporate sock puppets would throw one last hissy-fit at the gravestone of a literary novice who so rudely showed them what a real journalist looks like, but the virtual radio silence from the alternative left media (with a few shinning acceptions) that William Blum helped create is what I find truly revolting. It took me almost a week to even learn that a man I loved had passed. The rapidly shrinking Russopobes at CounterPunch, a once fine organ that Blum helped put on the map, waited five days to give the self-proclaimed democratic socialist a lukewarm send-off, buried 29 stories down on their weekend edition. Blum was a devoted leftist but he was an anti-imperialist first and foremost and he didn't shy away from calling a spade a spade, even when it was politically incorrect to do so. He rightly spoke out against America's covert regime change operations in Ukraine and our nation's increasingly unhinged position towards Putin's Russia. In the end he got written off by many of the same fellow leftists who once sung his praises for the same reason he got written off by high-brow war-porn operations like the Times, he spoke the truth and the truth was inconvenient.
William Blum was a devoted antiwarrior to the very end. He was also one of the most underrated voices of his generation. I felt compelled to write this obituary to honor his legacy. His service to world peace should never be forgotten. Godspeed William Blum, this is one devoted malcontent who salutes you.
Peace, Love, & Empathy- Nicky Reid/CH
Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post
* The Whole of the Moon by the Waterboys
* Outsmarted by the Hives
* Whisper to a Scream by Icicle Works
* Glorious by Adorable
* Bring On the Dancing Horses by Echo & the Bunnymen
* Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival
* You Can't Put Your Arms Around a Memory by Johnny Thunders
Monday, December 10, 2018
HW: Death of a Dick
It seems like just last week we finally fucking buried John McCain's stinking corpse and it's already time for another 24/7, month long, imperial funeral marathon. Since the very second former president and well known war criminal George HW Bush finally dropped dead (What was he, like 900?), every channel from CNN to Nickelodeon has been surgically attached to his decomposing dick. "Oh, what a great man!" "What an American hero!" "His breath smelled like roses and his jizz tasted like mayonnaise!" Judging by the coverage, you would have thought the man cured fucking cancer rather than twiddling his thumbs while a whole generation of queer people died of a plague he refused to even address so he could keep cutting checks from those Millennarian fag-bashers in the Christian Right, OH WHAT A HERO!...
We're all told how humble our 41st president was, yet his obnoxiously opulent funeral put some of the African dictators he bankrolled to shame with all the subtlety of a goddamn Master P video. Pre-pubescent quires and blazing guns and fluttering doves and balling bitches. I'm surprised they didn't drag his gilded casket away behind a solid gold tank. I've seen North Korean missile parades with more modesty. The bastard even had some saccharine Josh Groban knock-off warbling philosophic about his Greek godlike achievements- "He swung his golden sword, and spilt blood for our lord, and when he unsheathed his dong, his interns swore it twas a gourd..." I would have burst out laughing if I didn't have to swallow a mouthful of vomit.
We're all told about HW's hallowed career as a death defying war hero. Few people mention however that our heroic flyboy strafed two life boats escaping the wreckage of his latest target in the South Pacific in clear violation of international law. If Tojo had managed to get the upper hand on our burgeoning American war machine, it would have been "war heroes" like old HW standing trial at Nuremberg. Greatest Generation my ass. The core philosophy of our much vaunted "Greatest Generation" was best summed up by those would-be-war-heroes in the Waffen-SS, "We were just following orders!...", yeah, now drink yourself stupid in suburban purgatory and cheer on the National Guard while they shoot your long-haired kids for refusing to do the same.
And of coarse, we're all told about George Bush, the great and humble statesman, who oversaw the fall of communism and the end of the Cold War. They swiftly glaze over his "victories" in Panama and Iraq without delving into the towering horrors those conflicts entailed. They can't really even be accurately described as wars. Wars require two sides. They were more like carefully staged massacres, choreographed bloodbaths, the thorough annihilation of two defenseless third world countries by the last superpower standing. All while the rest of the world watched in despair at what could easily become their fate if they dared to cross the only bully on the block.
After provoking the Panamanian National Guard into retaliation with months of Marine Corpse hooliganism along the border of the still illegally American Panama Canal Zone, our newly elected fearless leader unleashed all out hell on the tiny Central American nation, supposedly with the sole intention of taking out his former lackey, a coke smuggling rapist named Manuel Noriega. Apparently this task necessitated burning the nations poorest barrio, El Chorrillo, too the fucking ground, displacing some 20,000 people, and filling mass graves with nearly 3,000 civilian bodies. The country never recovered. When asked if all this carnage was really necessary just to nab a tin-pot money launderer who use to be on his CIA's payroll, that sweet gentle statesman responded that every human life was precious but not precious enough to give up the opportunity to prove he wasn't a wimp. Compared to Iraq, however, Panama got off easy.
The first Gulf War began much the way Panama did, with a formerly allied tyrant, Saddam Hussein, goaded into an attack over a highly disputed territory. Hussein only invaded Kuwait after receiving several green lights to do so by high-ranking members of Bush's staff. When HW called for blood atonement for the subsequent invasion, Saddam was utterly stupefied by his former chum's total about face and made several desperate attempts to reach out and make some kind of face-saving peace deal. But it was already too late, HW's geostrategic Grand Guignol show of post-Cold War power was already underway.
A fierce rain of bombs was unleashed upon the desert nation and its people, obliterating power plants, radio stations, nuclear reactors, oil refineries, factories producing toxic chemicals, bridges clogged with civilian traffic, and pretty much everything and anything else that fucking moved. A civilian bunker miles from anything of strategic importance was blown to smithereens, killing 408 cowering people inside, most of them women and children. Iraqi troops were slaughtered in cold blood after waving the white flag of defeat, tens of thousands more were roasted alive retreating on the infamous Highway of Death where 60 miles of fleeing soldiers were boxed in and then systematically annihilated by a swarm of American bombers so thick that it only cleared up after several near collisions. More Iraqi GI's were buried alive in their bunkers by US Army bulldozers and shot if they tried to escape.
The shear scale and variety of sadistic torments over the span of just a few months remains baffling. What's all the more baffling is that the majority of these acts of barbaric ultra-violence occurred after Iraq had already been roundly routed and defeated. 100,000 Iraqi soldiers were murdered in total. Over 3,000 civilians were killed by the initial bombing but within a couple years the near complete devastation of the nation's once modern infrastructure caused the untimely deaths of another couple hundred-thousand. By the end of the decade that number had creeped up into the millions as a result of the crippling sanctions started by our last true warrior president, all while his beloved colleagues in the American mass media covered and covered up the massacre with the Vaseline gloss of a Hollywood blockbuster.
The closest thing to a reason for this devastating carnage given by Bush was that it was necessary to usher in a new era of American dominance, a single polar world in which one country called the shots. Other nations could be built like the US dictatorships in Panama and Iraq, and they could just as easily be ground into dust. The lord giveth and the lord taketh away. The mammoth blood baths of HW marked the birth of the neoconservative era of American super-imperialism, or as Bush put it, "a new world order". In short, the man destroyed two entire nations in four years because he could. There was no more Soviet adversary to check his influence. He murdered all those people to send a message. A decade later on September 11, 2001, the Middle East gave its response in a manner cruel enough for even a simpleton like Bush's son to understand. That's the true legacy of the old bastard, or at least it should be. Osama Bin Laden didn't start the War on Terror, his fellow monster and former sponsor George HW Bush did. In a parallel universe, Bush's long life would have been ended by a shot in the dark from a Salafi Seal Team 6 and Bin Laden would have died in a palace, surrounded by loved ones. Strange the way things work out.
Beware of heroes, dearest motherfuckers. They have an uncanny tendency to be villains with better luck and sharper PR campaigns. HW was a dick. The fact that he's dead doesn't change that.
Peace, Love, & Empathy- CH
Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post
* We Appreciate Power by Grimes
* Cult of Personality by Living Colour
* Leave Him Now by Cloud Nothings
* Family Man by Nitzer Ebb
* Danny Nedelko by IDLES
* N.W.O. by Ministry
* Ironic by Alanis Morissette
* What Do I Get? by Buzzcocks
Dedicated in loving memory to Pete Shelley, a man who only bombed our ears with beautiful noise, and who's death was overshadowed by the death of a dick. Godspeed my brother. The next pint's on Christ.
We're all told how humble our 41st president was, yet his obnoxiously opulent funeral put some of the African dictators he bankrolled to shame with all the subtlety of a goddamn Master P video. Pre-pubescent quires and blazing guns and fluttering doves and balling bitches. I'm surprised they didn't drag his gilded casket away behind a solid gold tank. I've seen North Korean missile parades with more modesty. The bastard even had some saccharine Josh Groban knock-off warbling philosophic about his Greek godlike achievements- "He swung his golden sword, and spilt blood for our lord, and when he unsheathed his dong, his interns swore it twas a gourd..." I would have burst out laughing if I didn't have to swallow a mouthful of vomit.
We're all told about HW's hallowed career as a death defying war hero. Few people mention however that our heroic flyboy strafed two life boats escaping the wreckage of his latest target in the South Pacific in clear violation of international law. If Tojo had managed to get the upper hand on our burgeoning American war machine, it would have been "war heroes" like old HW standing trial at Nuremberg. Greatest Generation my ass. The core philosophy of our much vaunted "Greatest Generation" was best summed up by those would-be-war-heroes in the Waffen-SS, "We were just following orders!...", yeah, now drink yourself stupid in suburban purgatory and cheer on the National Guard while they shoot your long-haired kids for refusing to do the same.
And of coarse, we're all told about George Bush, the great and humble statesman, who oversaw the fall of communism and the end of the Cold War. They swiftly glaze over his "victories" in Panama and Iraq without delving into the towering horrors those conflicts entailed. They can't really even be accurately described as wars. Wars require two sides. They were more like carefully staged massacres, choreographed bloodbaths, the thorough annihilation of two defenseless third world countries by the last superpower standing. All while the rest of the world watched in despair at what could easily become their fate if they dared to cross the only bully on the block.
After provoking the Panamanian National Guard into retaliation with months of Marine Corpse hooliganism along the border of the still illegally American Panama Canal Zone, our newly elected fearless leader unleashed all out hell on the tiny Central American nation, supposedly with the sole intention of taking out his former lackey, a coke smuggling rapist named Manuel Noriega. Apparently this task necessitated burning the nations poorest barrio, El Chorrillo, too the fucking ground, displacing some 20,000 people, and filling mass graves with nearly 3,000 civilian bodies. The country never recovered. When asked if all this carnage was really necessary just to nab a tin-pot money launderer who use to be on his CIA's payroll, that sweet gentle statesman responded that every human life was precious but not precious enough to give up the opportunity to prove he wasn't a wimp. Compared to Iraq, however, Panama got off easy.
The first Gulf War began much the way Panama did, with a formerly allied tyrant, Saddam Hussein, goaded into an attack over a highly disputed territory. Hussein only invaded Kuwait after receiving several green lights to do so by high-ranking members of Bush's staff. When HW called for blood atonement for the subsequent invasion, Saddam was utterly stupefied by his former chum's total about face and made several desperate attempts to reach out and make some kind of face-saving peace deal. But it was already too late, HW's geostrategic Grand Guignol show of post-Cold War power was already underway.
A fierce rain of bombs was unleashed upon the desert nation and its people, obliterating power plants, radio stations, nuclear reactors, oil refineries, factories producing toxic chemicals, bridges clogged with civilian traffic, and pretty much everything and anything else that fucking moved. A civilian bunker miles from anything of strategic importance was blown to smithereens, killing 408 cowering people inside, most of them women and children. Iraqi troops were slaughtered in cold blood after waving the white flag of defeat, tens of thousands more were roasted alive retreating on the infamous Highway of Death where 60 miles of fleeing soldiers were boxed in and then systematically annihilated by a swarm of American bombers so thick that it only cleared up after several near collisions. More Iraqi GI's were buried alive in their bunkers by US Army bulldozers and shot if they tried to escape.
The shear scale and variety of sadistic torments over the span of just a few months remains baffling. What's all the more baffling is that the majority of these acts of barbaric ultra-violence occurred after Iraq had already been roundly routed and defeated. 100,000 Iraqi soldiers were murdered in total. Over 3,000 civilians were killed by the initial bombing but within a couple years the near complete devastation of the nation's once modern infrastructure caused the untimely deaths of another couple hundred-thousand. By the end of the decade that number had creeped up into the millions as a result of the crippling sanctions started by our last true warrior president, all while his beloved colleagues in the American mass media covered and covered up the massacre with the Vaseline gloss of a Hollywood blockbuster.
The closest thing to a reason for this devastating carnage given by Bush was that it was necessary to usher in a new era of American dominance, a single polar world in which one country called the shots. Other nations could be built like the US dictatorships in Panama and Iraq, and they could just as easily be ground into dust. The lord giveth and the lord taketh away. The mammoth blood baths of HW marked the birth of the neoconservative era of American super-imperialism, or as Bush put it, "a new world order". In short, the man destroyed two entire nations in four years because he could. There was no more Soviet adversary to check his influence. He murdered all those people to send a message. A decade later on September 11, 2001, the Middle East gave its response in a manner cruel enough for even a simpleton like Bush's son to understand. That's the true legacy of the old bastard, or at least it should be. Osama Bin Laden didn't start the War on Terror, his fellow monster and former sponsor George HW Bush did. In a parallel universe, Bush's long life would have been ended by a shot in the dark from a Salafi Seal Team 6 and Bin Laden would have died in a palace, surrounded by loved ones. Strange the way things work out.
Beware of heroes, dearest motherfuckers. They have an uncanny tendency to be villains with better luck and sharper PR campaigns. HW was a dick. The fact that he's dead doesn't change that.
Peace, Love, & Empathy- CH
Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post
* We Appreciate Power by Grimes
* Cult of Personality by Living Colour
* Leave Him Now by Cloud Nothings
* Family Man by Nitzer Ebb
* Danny Nedelko by IDLES
* N.W.O. by Ministry
* Ironic by Alanis Morissette
* What Do I Get? by Buzzcocks
Dedicated in loving memory to Pete Shelley, a man who only bombed our ears with beautiful noise, and who's death was overshadowed by the death of a dick. Godspeed my brother. The next pint's on Christ.
Sunday, December 2, 2018
The Church of Jesus Christ Satanist
Maybe this is evil but I've always wanted to start a cult. It just seems like a fun thing to do. The robes, the guns, the girls, the mirrored aviator shades. Death squads, armed compounds, and fireside orgies. There is just something strangely romantic to me about taking over a ghost town in Wyoming, painting all the buildings blood red, and declaring war on the federal government and reality itself. The fact that it's also a tax exempt way to get laid and loaded doesn't exactly hurt either. Sure it usually ends badly but to go out in a blaze of glory set by the feds on live television while neck deep in barely legal pussy, oh sweet Jesus, what a way to go! So I figured, after 11 years in Catholic school and another 6 in hermetic self-isolation, why not try my hand at the game. I'm an off-puttingly charismatic and mentally ill gadfly. If Jim Jones, Osho, and Charlie Manson, then why not Comrade Hermit. It's high time we had ourselves a genderfuck messiah. The idea is very 2019, don't you think?
First off though, I feel obligated by my own syncretic spirituality to clarify that I don't believe in half of the bullshit bellow. Maybe publicly admitting that isn't the best way to start a new religious movement but it certainly feels like the most post-modern. Personally, I'm an agnostic. I like to keep an open mind, but I generally subscribe to an odd mix of Christian Gnosticism, Liberation Theology, and Celtic Pagan Pantheism, which basically amounts to a sort of Irish Folk Christianity, like Santeria for transgender Lapsed Catholics. But that's a touch too sincere for a cult. Sincerity is for spirituality. Cults and their mainstream cousins, organized religion, are about theater. So, spirituality aside, I've decided to use this blog to launch the Church of Jesus Christ Satanist. A cult for the Twenty-first Century!
The doctrine goes that after Jehovah wen't nuts and started turning motherfuckers into pillars of salt and flooding half the planet just for kicks, a righteous young renegade angel named Lucifer launched a failed celestial palace coup to overthrow a despotic god and liberate mankind and beyond by granting all beings the ability to evolve into their own gods. When the coup went south, god deposed Satan and cast him and his fellow renegade angels down to earth, which theologians often get mixed up with hell or purgatory when in reality they're just three different names for the same sub-celestial realm, from which Satan and his fellow fallen angels began to plot a grass-roots, Maoist-style, peasant revolution to bring down heaven once and for all.
Satan's angels took many forms across the planet; Odin, Set, Shiva, Loki, Kali, Quetzacoatl, all preaching a similar form of tribal earth worship. God fired back by sending Abraham to poop the pagan party and stir up shit across ancient Mesopotamia. He also got busy corrupting the heathens in Rome with material greed, causing them to pervert Satan's message into a justification for imperial conquest. Satan's solution was to fuck a human and spawn a son to spread the true word of Lucifer and confront god's quislings in Rome and Israel. That son was none other than Sir Jesus Christ, who, contrary to popular belief, was in fact the anti-messiah foretold in Abrahamic lore.
A chip off the old block of sulfur, Christ was a renegade in his father's image. A wine guzzling, polyamorous, faggot who rolled with twelve hunky, blue collar, boy-toys and a smart-mouthed, sex-working, fag-hag who he made his bride. Jesus roamed the deserts, hanging out with hookers, eunuchs, and lepers and railing against the tyranny of imperialism and organized religion. He performed Vaudeville-style magic tricks, vandalized temples, and taught peasants that the power of god was already within them. Naturally, Christ had to go. So god had his favorite dicks in the Roman Empire and the Pharisees team up to have the baddest faggot in Bethlehem gruesomely murdered on the cross.
But Christ rose from the dead for one last zombie pep rally with his boys and his bottom bitch that convinced them to keep the movement going in the shadows of Jehovah's tyrants. The first Christians were the only true Christian Satanists before our new church. They lived a proto-Kropotkinite existence, forgoing class and money, dwelling in caves, and performing psychedelic fueled fertility rituals. God only managed to keep this burgeoning underground happening under his thumb by using his old chums in the Roman Empire to appropriate Christianity and transform it into another ball crushing, despotic, Abrahamic, sky-god cult. The true teachings of Christ were manipulated and mutilated beyond recognition and the ultimate pagan outlaw was used to justify the destruction of heathen cultures across the globe by the same cunts who killed him.
This is where the Church of Jesus Christ Satanist comes in to revive the anti-messiah's bad name and re-declare war on the god he died rebelling against. We are a church that recognizes the validity of all pagan deities as reflections of the original heathen god, Satan. We dress in black and red robes and reject all forms of government and authority as well as the gender and sexual norms they perpetuate to separate our divine biological relationship with the Devil. We perform sacramental orgies and use the awesome power of hallucinogenic pharmaceuticals to realize our true evolutionary potential as gods in our own right. Our saints include spiritual iconoclasts like Friedrich Nietzsche, Aleister Crowley, Timothy Leary, Alejandro Jodorowsky, Peter Kropotkin, and naturally, yours truly as well as true Christian renegades like Jacques Ellul, Dorothy Day, Leo Tolstoy, and Ivan Illich. And, of coarse, the quickest way to the Devil's heart is my boudoir.
Like I said, it's all theater. But like all great theater, it comes with a grain of truth. The true goal of the Church of Jesus Christ Satanist, aside from getting me laid and spooking the squares, is to divorce the righteous teachings of Christ from the cruel and despotic teachings pushed in the Old Testament as well as by a few of the loonier Apostles. It also seeks to create a bridge between what I believe to be the anti-clerical and anti-authoritarian roots of early Christianity with it's influences in Mesopotamian Heathenry as well as the rituals it appropriated from European Paganism which have informed everything from the veneration of the Holy Mother archetype to the best parts of the Christmas tradition. I don't actually believe in Satan, at least not in the literal sense. But if god really was as callous as that dictator described in the Old Testament then it would only follow that his antagonist would be the real good guy. This is why so many good people remain attracted to the seemingly un-defendable premise of Satanism. Parts of the Bible have been used to successfully oppress so many people for so long that some of them are willing to praise a demonic serpent just to free themselves from its shackles. I can sympathize and I have the odd feeling that Christ would too.
So what do you say, dearest motherfuckers? Are you with me? Upon this blog I build our church. Praise Jesus and Hail Satan! Let the orgy begin.
Peace, Love, & Empathy- CH
Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post
* Rite of Cleansure by Burzum
* If You're Feeling Sinister by Belle & Sebastian
* Spirit In the Sky by Norman Greenbaum
* Santeria by Sublime
* Sympathy For the Devil by the Rolling Stones
* Raining Blood by Slayer
* Beginning to See the Light by the Velvet Underground
* Levitate Me by the Pixies
* In Conspirasy with Satan by Bathory
* Number of the Beast by Zwan
First off though, I feel obligated by my own syncretic spirituality to clarify that I don't believe in half of the bullshit bellow. Maybe publicly admitting that isn't the best way to start a new religious movement but it certainly feels like the most post-modern. Personally, I'm an agnostic. I like to keep an open mind, but I generally subscribe to an odd mix of Christian Gnosticism, Liberation Theology, and Celtic Pagan Pantheism, which basically amounts to a sort of Irish Folk Christianity, like Santeria for transgender Lapsed Catholics. But that's a touch too sincere for a cult. Sincerity is for spirituality. Cults and their mainstream cousins, organized religion, are about theater. So, spirituality aside, I've decided to use this blog to launch the Church of Jesus Christ Satanist. A cult for the Twenty-first Century!
The doctrine goes that after Jehovah wen't nuts and started turning motherfuckers into pillars of salt and flooding half the planet just for kicks, a righteous young renegade angel named Lucifer launched a failed celestial palace coup to overthrow a despotic god and liberate mankind and beyond by granting all beings the ability to evolve into their own gods. When the coup went south, god deposed Satan and cast him and his fellow renegade angels down to earth, which theologians often get mixed up with hell or purgatory when in reality they're just three different names for the same sub-celestial realm, from which Satan and his fellow fallen angels began to plot a grass-roots, Maoist-style, peasant revolution to bring down heaven once and for all.
Satan's angels took many forms across the planet; Odin, Set, Shiva, Loki, Kali, Quetzacoatl, all preaching a similar form of tribal earth worship. God fired back by sending Abraham to poop the pagan party and stir up shit across ancient Mesopotamia. He also got busy corrupting the heathens in Rome with material greed, causing them to pervert Satan's message into a justification for imperial conquest. Satan's solution was to fuck a human and spawn a son to spread the true word of Lucifer and confront god's quislings in Rome and Israel. That son was none other than Sir Jesus Christ, who, contrary to popular belief, was in fact the anti-messiah foretold in Abrahamic lore.
A chip off the old block of sulfur, Christ was a renegade in his father's image. A wine guzzling, polyamorous, faggot who rolled with twelve hunky, blue collar, boy-toys and a smart-mouthed, sex-working, fag-hag who he made his bride. Jesus roamed the deserts, hanging out with hookers, eunuchs, and lepers and railing against the tyranny of imperialism and organized religion. He performed Vaudeville-style magic tricks, vandalized temples, and taught peasants that the power of god was already within them. Naturally, Christ had to go. So god had his favorite dicks in the Roman Empire and the Pharisees team up to have the baddest faggot in Bethlehem gruesomely murdered on the cross.
But Christ rose from the dead for one last zombie pep rally with his boys and his bottom bitch that convinced them to keep the movement going in the shadows of Jehovah's tyrants. The first Christians were the only true Christian Satanists before our new church. They lived a proto-Kropotkinite existence, forgoing class and money, dwelling in caves, and performing psychedelic fueled fertility rituals. God only managed to keep this burgeoning underground happening under his thumb by using his old chums in the Roman Empire to appropriate Christianity and transform it into another ball crushing, despotic, Abrahamic, sky-god cult. The true teachings of Christ were manipulated and mutilated beyond recognition and the ultimate pagan outlaw was used to justify the destruction of heathen cultures across the globe by the same cunts who killed him.
This is where the Church of Jesus Christ Satanist comes in to revive the anti-messiah's bad name and re-declare war on the god he died rebelling against. We are a church that recognizes the validity of all pagan deities as reflections of the original heathen god, Satan. We dress in black and red robes and reject all forms of government and authority as well as the gender and sexual norms they perpetuate to separate our divine biological relationship with the Devil. We perform sacramental orgies and use the awesome power of hallucinogenic pharmaceuticals to realize our true evolutionary potential as gods in our own right. Our saints include spiritual iconoclasts like Friedrich Nietzsche, Aleister Crowley, Timothy Leary, Alejandro Jodorowsky, Peter Kropotkin, and naturally, yours truly as well as true Christian renegades like Jacques Ellul, Dorothy Day, Leo Tolstoy, and Ivan Illich. And, of coarse, the quickest way to the Devil's heart is my boudoir.
Like I said, it's all theater. But like all great theater, it comes with a grain of truth. The true goal of the Church of Jesus Christ Satanist, aside from getting me laid and spooking the squares, is to divorce the righteous teachings of Christ from the cruel and despotic teachings pushed in the Old Testament as well as by a few of the loonier Apostles. It also seeks to create a bridge between what I believe to be the anti-clerical and anti-authoritarian roots of early Christianity with it's influences in Mesopotamian Heathenry as well as the rituals it appropriated from European Paganism which have informed everything from the veneration of the Holy Mother archetype to the best parts of the Christmas tradition. I don't actually believe in Satan, at least not in the literal sense. But if god really was as callous as that dictator described in the Old Testament then it would only follow that his antagonist would be the real good guy. This is why so many good people remain attracted to the seemingly un-defendable premise of Satanism. Parts of the Bible have been used to successfully oppress so many people for so long that some of them are willing to praise a demonic serpent just to free themselves from its shackles. I can sympathize and I have the odd feeling that Christ would too.
So what do you say, dearest motherfuckers? Are you with me? Upon this blog I build our church. Praise Jesus and Hail Satan! Let the orgy begin.
Peace, Love, & Empathy- CH
Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post
* Rite of Cleansure by Burzum
* If You're Feeling Sinister by Belle & Sebastian
* Spirit In the Sky by Norman Greenbaum
* Santeria by Sublime
* Sympathy For the Devil by the Rolling Stones
* Raining Blood by Slayer
* Beginning to See the Light by the Velvet Underground
* Levitate Me by the Pixies
* In Conspirasy with Satan by Bathory
* Number of the Beast by Zwan
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