Sunday, January 26, 2020

The Many Faces of Bernie Derangement Syndrome

It's getting pretty damn near impossible, even for a vengeful anarcho-cynic like myself, to deny that the system clearly despises Bernie Sanders. Both the DNC and their moronic B-team in the so called mainstream media seem to be downright apoplectic over the fact that the grizzled old buzzard is leading the presidential pack in all the ways that count. Not that you'd ever know it by watching the news. Based on the coverage, you would think Bernie was trailing behind the Yang Gang in the polls. Even at the debates, they avoid his perpetually pontificating old ass like the drunk chick at a wedding party, while they softball grounder after grounder to poll-fucked centrist losers like Amy Klobuchar.

CNN's January surprise, a totally toothless collection of anonymous accusations about a single hypothetical sexist comment made years ago to progressive rival and pathological opportunist, Elizabeth Warren, is just further proof of this prejudice. The sheer absurdity of the idea that Bernie just randomly went all Archie Bunker all over Warren's ass and everyone, including her, just happens to remember the event just in time for the last debates before the Iowa Caucus, is downright dumbfounding. The only thing more bugfuck nuts in my mind is the fact that any suite-and-tie wearing member of the status quo actually considers this asshole a threat. He's a fucking poseur and he's their best hope for taking back the White House. Clintonism has officially become a mental illness. Call it Bernie Derangement Syndrome and call those TERF's at the DSM.

In case you missed it, I've never liked Bernie Sanders. It's not the pie in the sky welfare spending or the tiresome FDR (founding father of the modern American concentration camp) worship. I could begrudgingly live with all that. But it's the simple fact that the motherfucker, a self-proclaimed Eugene Debs loving leftist, just isn't antiwar. It's the one issue I vote on as an anti-imperialist syndicalist vehemently apposed to any mockery of "democracy" that doesn't begin and end on the factory floor. Oh sure, Bernie says all the right shit and voted No on a couple bloodbaths, but when push comes to shove, he'll vote for any atrocity sanctioned by the Democratic Party, whether it's starving half a million children to death in Iraq under Clinton or sending half of Africa to hell through the black hole of that rapist's wife's Libyan no-fly-zone. And this is largely what defines Bernie's absolute lack of character. In spite of his populist pleasing Independent pedigree, like all social democrats, Bernie is a creature of the party. The party, the party, the party, all else falls beneath the godlike benevolence of the party, including the peasants, fuck, especially the peasants. If the party wants a war, the party gets a war. If the party deems it necessary, they'll feed the war-shy proletariat to the Freikorps dogs like puppy-chow, and Bernie will loosen the leashes.

This is what makes the powers-at-be's Bernie Derangement Syndrome so goddamn vexing to me. This is the limp-wristed prick who stood silent with that goofy Chucky Cheese grin and his hands in his pockets while Hillary the Barbarian pegged his young supporters out of one rigged primary after another. The bitch cheated on him worse than Bill at a Weight Watchers convention, and he still fucking endorsed her. What is so damn scary about a devoted pussy who has never once taken a serious stand against his ungrateful party? Are the so-called centrists really so greedy for the crown that they'd rather lose with Biden than win with Bernie? Or is their something bigger to this electoral mental illness?

I think the only quasi-logical answer to this question lies among the riving young throngs of America's other electoral class inflicted with BDS, my longtime frenemies, the Sandernistas. Young, intelligent, yet almost stupidly loyal, these kids follow Bernie like battered Pitbulls trailing Michael Vick. No matter how many times that old bastard sets them up to get fucked in the rape-cage, they follow, limping and bleeding, they follow. But unlike their duplicitous master, these kids are the real fucking deal. Much like the unsung better half of Trump's deplorables, this set is sick to death of the very wars their sensei condones and commits. And unlike Miyagi, Daniel-son likes to kick ass.

 This was proven to be fantastically true when a few diehard Sandernistas actually managed to crash congress. AOC may have learned to play good dog to that million dollar plastic surgery disaster, Nancy Pelosi, but the Muslim half of the Squad has proven to be an epic migraine headache for warmongers on both sides of the aisle. And what's even scarier than the veiled scourge of little Ilhan the Great, is Bernie's former DNC rep, Tulsi Gabbard, who has actually launched a legitimately revolutionary campaign, I believe in a semi-successful Kamikaze mission designed to push Bernie into a more consistent antiwar direction. This madness simply can't stand. The children of the revolution are out of control. So their dickless leader has to go, by hook or by crook.

The saddest thing about the many faces of Bernie Derangement Syndrome is that it exposes the very flaws that keep a legitimately dangerous movement from achieving the kind of revolution they so clearly crave. Much like their parents in the new America First movement, these kids wanna burn Babylon to the ground for its sins, but they're just too goddamned shackled by the learned helplessness of statist hegemony to realize that they don't need a deflateable cult of personality to achieve this. Like much of America in these all-or-nothing days, it takes me back to that ultimate allegory for post-imperial nihilism, Breaking Bad. I just want to slap these sweet babies and tell them, You are the danger, children! It is you, not your surrogate Walter White's who are the ones who knock. Stop being little Pinkmans and burn this meth lab of an empire to the ground with Heisenberg in it. Sometimes I feel like a genderfuck Mike Ehrmantraut. No more half measures, dearest motherfuckers. We need a real revolution, not another empty handed charade.

Peace, Love & Empathy- Nicky/CH

Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post

*  Aneurysm by Nirvana
*  Baby Blue by Badfinger
*  Children of the Revolution by T. Rex
*  Dancing Choose by TV On the Radio
*  Circle the Drain by Soccer Mommy
*  Cult of Personality by Living Colour
*  Start Chopping by Dinosaur Jr.
*  Passing Out by Strand of Oaks
*  Your Dog by Soccer Mommy
*  The Passenger by Iggy Pop

Sunday, January 19, 2020

It's Time to Bring the War Home Again

As the dust settles on Donald Trump's latest high octane game of chicken with the Islamic Republic, an eerie calm seems to have risen like fog from Soleimani's grave to take its place. But while the whole world exhales, war nerds like myself struggle like David Carradine to find the loop to loosen the belt around our throats. That's because deep down in our wonky ill-nourished guts we know that this shit is far from over.

Unlike Trump's usual foreign policy impulses, that seem to be governed more by techno-Tourette's syndrome and penile insecurity than anything resembling a sane strategy, there is a very sick method to the madness when it comes to his dance with Iran, and that's because the clumsy footed fuck is dutifully following the same choreography as George W. Bush. The choreography of slow consistent escalation that can only end in the most devastating war the world has seen since the fall of Germany's Third Reich and the rise of Uncle Sam's Fourth. Trump may be a pathologically unbalanced wild card on every issue from abortion to bathroom etiquette, but he still takes his marching orders from the same Zionist piggy bank as the neocons he won 2016 mocking.

Every step Trump has taken since entering the topographic maze of Pennsylvania Avenue has been tailor made to provoke Iran into the genre of open warfare they have masterfully avoided since their Reagan era bloodbath with Trump's Middle Eastern counterpart Saddam Hussein. The violation of the Nuclear Deal. The escalation of the Shia genocide in Yemen. The recognition of colonial Jerusalem. The build up of troops to fight our own former proxies in neighboring Iraq. The Gulf of Tonkin games in the Strait of Hormuz. And now the calculated cold blooded murder of Iran's greatest strategist, the man who designed the Islamic Republic's cagey Fourth Generation foreign policy which has made a fantastic fool of the nation's most fearsome foes.

According to Iraq's embattled PM, Qassem Soleimani died on his way to peace talks with his Saudi adversaries that Trump himself encouraged. He was shot down in the most chickenshit cowardly ambush our government has thrown since J. Edna plied John Dillinger to the Biograph Theater with a whore in red. There is no going back from this one, kiddies. The dye is cast. The only question left worth asking now is what do we, the few proud anti-imperialists living in the belly of the beast, do about it? How do we prevent World War 3?

We certainly have the numbers on our side. Every poll from here to Sunday makes it abundantly clear that Americans are not willing to follow our fearless leader into the killing fields of Persia, not after the Iraq fiasco. So this should be easy, right? Wrong. Liberal democracy has been carefully constructed to be the most effective form of authoritarianism in the history of mankind. That's because it's a prison built out of mirages of myth and illusion, rather than the cold rebar enforced stucco of vulgar totalitarianism. Their is quite simply no need for bars once you've convinced a populace that safety and security only exists within the cozy confines of their cells.

One has to look no further than Trump himself, a man so vile to the very establishment he belongs to that a third Red Scare was needed just to keep him and his followers in line on the dogma of the New Cold War. But he's jumped through every hoop like a purebred Clintonian on Iran for the cold hard cash of men like Sheldon Adelson, men like the shadowy nameless creatures who have made the social democratic Donald, Bernie Sanders, the largest recipient of defense industry donations in 2020, even as the system hedges its bets by tossing tacks onto his campaign trail. The sad reality is that voting don't mean jack-shit when the banks own the ballots. To quote Neil Young "....We're finally on our own."

So what do we do then, dearest motherfuckers? To be dangerously frank, whatever the fuck it takes. That's how we pulled our troops from Indochina in the early Seventies. Sure, cunts like Ken Burns will have you believing it was the work of thoughtful politicians and banjo-strumming pacifists, but every successful social upheaval in history has been the beneficiary of a diversity of tactics. America didn't suddenly come to its senses on Vietnam, it was terrified that not leaving those jungles would mean losing control of the mothership.

Kids were clogging the Capitol streets with Vietcong flags and repurposed football helmets while whole platoons were turning their guns against the officer class and refusing to die for them or their stupid fucking war. Sure, the American public was gradually won over by the Quixotic non-violent street theatre of the Yippies, Woodstock and the McGovern campaign. But, as disturbing as it might sound, that public support had to be weaponized by the incendiary propaganda of the Weather Underground, Stonewall and the Days of Rage, creating a culture of near apocalyptic upheaval permeating every corner of the zeitgeist. Even then, it wasn't enough to end the slaughter. It simply forced Custer to take to the sky and blitz millions of yellow people charcoal black before starving them with near genocidal sanctions.

Judging by the statistics of the war machine's own optics on the results of a hypothetical American ground invasion of Iran, I'm willing to bet that this will be the likely strategy of today's blood thirsty mandarins. A devastating air war on Iranian infrastructure coupled with the kind of crippling sanctions we're already seeing. The results will be genocidal. Iran won't exactly be conquered, it will simply be reduced to a garish and malleable slush of shattered dreams and mutilated viscera.

It's these kind of moral revelations, along with the fact that the Helter Skelter of the Summer of Hate broke far too many good eggs, that convinces me that the anti-imperialist movement in this country needs to do more than just tear a page from the SDS playbook, we need to write a whole new chapter. We need to take a page from the book of Soleimani and develop our own form of Fifth Generation Warfare. We need to use the theatre of the New Left without the careless body count. We need to bring the war home, but only the parts of it worth fighting. The civilian militias of Muqtada and Hezbollah. The popular occupations of enemy embassies by the rowdy youths of Bagdad. The regional drop-out autonomy of Rojava. I'm not saying things wont get ugly. We must prepare ourselves for that eventuality. But we don't need to be the ones who make it ugly.

I guess it goes without saying that I've always been a bit more Malcolm X than Martin Luther King, but lets face it, dearest motherfuckers, the war on Iran has already begun. We need to bring that war home to end it, but we need to fight it right. It's the only way we'll deserve to win.

Peace, Love & Empathy- Nicky/CH

This post is devoted, in loving memory, to Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. Two slain brothers who fought the same beast with two very different strategies, both were equally necessary to effect change. I struggle to carry on their fight for peace and justice with every word I type. Respect.

Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post

*  Only Shallow by My Bloody Valentine
*  Bombtrack by Rage Against the Machine
*  It Might Be Time by Tame Impala
*  Paint It Black by the Rolling Stones
*  Kick Out the Jams by the MC5
*  Ohio by Neil Young
*  Have to Explode by the Mountain Goats
*  Its Coming Its Here by Swans
*  Gimme Shelter by the Rolling Stones
*  Black Metallic by Catherine Wheel

Sunday, January 12, 2020

Trannies with Guns: Because Enough is Enough!

I need to buy a gun. I can't state it any simpler than that. It's something I've needed for sometime and I seem to feel like I need it a little more each day. The gun doesn't have to be fancy or high tech. I don't need some AR hunting rifle in drag or one of those phallic three digit magnum monstrosities. I need something basic and reliable. Maybe a .38 or .45 wheel gun. Something just powerful enough to put an irate cis-male down in two shots or less. I've always wanted a gun but I never felt like I really needed one until recently, about four years ago to be exact, right around the time I came out as a trans person. Now, as my fluctuating gender continues to veer further and further towards the feminine end of the spectrum, I've come to understand the stone-cold necessity for the Second Amendment more clearly than I ever have before. So I'll say it once more with feeling, dearest motherfuckers, to really drive the point home, I need a fucking gun.

Those are the thoughts that swing through my dizzy skull every time I hear another horror story about some trans or gender-bending individual being slaughtered for the high crime of living outside the closet. I've been having these thoughts a lot lately, 22 times in the last year to be exact. That's how many trans murders occurred in 2019 that we know of and that doesn't even include the girls killed in police custody. I wish I could say that this is an anomaly, but it's not. According to the American Medical Association, it's a goddamn epidemic. At least 157 of my people have been slaughtered since 2013, right around the time the Christian White, I mean Right, switched gears from the now dated practice of fag-bashing to that new national pastime of tranny-stomping, and I say 'at least' before that staggering headcount because most transgender murder victims still go unreported or misgendered. The police can't seem to help themselves, even in death they spit on us.

And this is why gun control is a steaming sack of elitist bullshit. When you tell people to give up their guns, you're really telling them to trust the cops. This might work smashingly for billionaires like Michael Bloomberg and the bougie brats in March For Our Lives, but for marginalized people like myself, it's a fucking slap in the face. As I mentioned above, pigs kill trannies. Just ask Layleen Polanco, who was found dead in her cell at Rikers this year. Or Johana Medina, who was only released from one of ICE's fine concentration camps just in time to die in the ER from untreated medical problems.

 Trans people are nearly four times as likely to experience police violence as cis people. We're regularly targeted for harassment just for presenting in public, because so many of our sisters have had to seek refuge from economic persecution in the form of victimless sex work. So yes, suburban liberals, I need a fucking gun. I'm what your bodyguards in the police are overpaid to prevent. Our liberty threatens your property value, so we are disposable people. But one gun is not enough, and enough is exactly what I've had my fill of over the last five years. Enough dead sisters. We all need to get armed and we need to get fucking organized.

This was the conclusion Huey Newton and Bobby Seale came to in 1966, when they formed the first chapter of the Black Panther Party for Self-Defense. A couple of inner-city Oakland round-the-block boys who met at Merrit Community College, Huey and Bobby bonded over a shared passion for the Black Power Movement, particularly bombastic thinkers like Robert F. Williams (author of Negroes with Guns) and organizations like the Deacons of Defense, who took up arms to defend their rural communities from the scourge of the Klan. Much like today, shooting black kids in the back without repercussion was like a goddamn competitive sport for the Oakland PD in the Sixties. Huey and Bobby decided that their communities needed to be defended from the police by well armed and well trained civilian militias. And thus America's most dangerous civil rights enterprise was born. I can't help but to see parallels with my own community's existential struggle for survival.

What genderqueer people like me need is our own Black Panther Party, Trannies with Guns, because enough is enough. I'm sick and tired of having to ask myself, 'Am I going to get raped by the police tonight?' every time I leave the house after dark in lipstick. And I'm sick, physically sick, of seeing my sisters get cut to fucking pieces just for using their own goddamn bodies to make a living. Huey once said that the point of the Black Panthers was to appeal to "the brothers on the block." Well, we need some motherfucking Purple Panthers to appeal to our sisters on the stroll. We need to set up our own civilian militias to defend sex workers from both the cops and the twisted johns who prey on them without repercussion. We need to create autonomous safe spaces from the barrel of the gun, so our kids don't have to look over their shoulder every time they use a public restroom not approved by the state that seeks to erase them.

We need to take care of our own, dearest motherfuckers, from the state and the streets, because if we don't, who will? I'm done with being scared. So I need a fucking gun, and ten thousand armed sisters and brothers to have my back. As Huey said, All power to all the people. My people too. Lock and load, bitches, we got work to do.

Peace, Love & Empathy- Nicky/CH

Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post

*  The Harder They Come by Jimmy Cliff
*  Volcano Girls by Veruca Salt
*  The Drowners by Suede
*  Bang a Gong (Get It On) by T. Rex
*  Search & Destroy by the Stooges
*  911 is a Joke by Public Enemy
*  Say It Loud, I'm Black & I'm Proud by James Brown
*  Hate My Way by Throwing Muses
*  Me & A Gun by Tori Amos
*  Pretty On the Inside by Hole
*  Power to the People by John Lennon

Sunday, January 5, 2020

Sympathy For Soleimani

A preemptive strike, that's what white people call terrorism, and that's apparently what transpired this Thursday on the tarmac of the Baghdad International Airport. A preemptive drone strike, ordered by our president, murdered General Qassem Soleimani, Iran's most important military figure, alongside six others including the commander of Iraq's Popular Mobilization Unit, a legally recognized part of Iraq's military. This was not an attack on a military operation. These men were meeting to attend a funeral for victims of another American terrorist attack earlier in the week. This was an act of extreme cowardice. This was a war crime. But most importantly, this was indeed a calculated act of war against two sovereign nations, a week in the making.

The previous Friday, rockets struck an American base in Iraq, killing a single American mercenary. This is a crime that remains unsolved, but the Trump Administration wasted zero time blaming it on Iran via their alleged proxies in the PMU. No evidence given, no evidence required. An American soldier of fortune died in Shia country, which is the greenlight Trump has been looking for to shithouse Iran since Sheldon Adelson payed him to do so in 2016. I suspect that Sheldon's friends back in occupied Jerusalem may be the ones truly responsible for this convenient attack, but that's just a hunch from a stalwart anti-Zionist with too much time on her hands. Take it with a grain of salt.

This attack set into motion a procession of tit for tat escalations that ended with the assassination of a man so revered by his people that a response is all but a forgone conclusion whether Iran wants it or not. Their hands are tied. Meanwhile, thousands of American troops prepare to re-flood the scarred battleground of America's greatest imperial blunder, as the shitheads of American cable news take turns telling facetious horror stories about the extra-judicially murdered Soleimani. If you were dense enough to take these morons at their libel, you would be forced to come to the conclusion that the general was some kind of blood drinking Sith lord. But who was he really, to us and his people?

Qassem Soleimani was the brains behind Iran's fearsome Quds Force, a sort of Shia Seal Team 6, devoted to protecting the faithful across Iran's tight sphere of influence. Much like fellow western boogeyman Vladimir Putin, Qassem was no angel but he was far from the satanic super-villain our media elites and their deep state chums have painted him to be. And just like Putin, Qassem's greatest crime was overreacting to legitimate western threats. As most professional soldiers are want to do, he often went too far, but his primary contribution to the region was containing the vilest strains Wahhabism, and the sheikhs, Zionists and Yankee officers who coddled them. This is why the man is seen as a hero, not just in Iran, but to people across the region who have spent decades at the mercy of American facilitated proxies. Soleimani beat the bastards at their own game, creating his own coalition of fucked-over proxies that have become known by enemies and allies alike as the Axis of Resistance.

I won't lie to you, dearest motherfuckers. I'm not an unbiased journalist. In fact, I view the title itself as a contrived notion. I have long been sympathetic towards the goals of the Axis of Resistance, not because I have a strong affection for any of its members, other than perhaps those anti-Zionist militiamen in the decidedly stateless Hezbollah, but for basic tribal reasons. My sympathies are personal. I have a dog in this fight. To put it bluntly, ISIS, Al-Nusra and the rest of those Salafi cunts kill fags, my people. While Hillary and Obama facetiously draped themselves in the rainbow flag, they kept the Saudi pipeline flowing to those equally facetious flag-drapers in the Islamic State as they flung people like me from the rooftops. Now, Iran is hardly a friend to my people either, but compared to their Wahhabist rivals, they might as well be. Many people remain oblivious to the fact that, while homosexuality remains very much illegal in the Islamic Republic, that very same republic has long been the safest place for transwomen in the Islamic world, offering people like me surgery and recognition based on a Persian culture that has always maintained spaces for third genders. I would likely be stoned for being a lezbo upon receiving treatment, but it's still a lovely gesture compared to my fate in their neighbor's dusty kangaroo courts.

More importantly, this loose collaboration of Middle Eastern minorities has managed to cobble together the most successful bulwark to western imperialism that region has seen since Nasser and the halcyon days of Arab Socialism. So I find myself in the awkward position of throwing my wig in with these Shiites, Baathists and communists. I reserve hope that they can still be influenced by the example of wiser men than Soleimani, like Abdullah Ocalan and Muqtada al-Sadr, but regardless, I support the dark angry men flooding the streets of Baghdad  and Tehran, raging against the white man's terrorism, for the simple reason that there needs to be a proletarian response to the imperial bourgeoise violence of pre-emptive strikes. Opponents of imperialism across the political spectrum need to display their solidarity with this movement even if they don't agree with all of its members or values, because, just like the Vietcong and the Sandinistas before them, the idea of the Axis of Resistance remains it's most powerful attribute, and that idea is poor people unite and shatter this goddamn empire.

So here's to General Soleimani. He may very well burn in hell, but this one furious faggot who hopes he at least gets a cell with a view, one floor up from the Shah.

Peace, Love & Empathy- Nicky/CH

Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post

*  Sympathy for the Devil by the Rolling Stones
*  Oh Sweet Nuthin' by the Velvet Underground
*  Oliver's Army by Elvis Costello
*  Where Eagles Dare by the Misfits
*  Sat By A Tree by Dan Deacon
*  North American Scum by LCD Soundsystem