A Helluva Mix

On Art.

2010-08-16T22:38:00.001+02:00

I think it is safe to say that there are two things that art and porn have in common. They can both be hard to define. It’s more a “you knows it when you sees it” kind of thing. The other commonality is that Skrivarn likes 'em both. There’s nothing like sharing a little art with a loved one. But, if push comes to shove, art can also be appreciated as a private endeavor.

In thinking about art, I often wonder if there is a line that demarcates where a dabbler ends and an artist begins. Was that an artist who brought home the perfectly proportioned stick figure, wide eyes looking for approval behind paper canvas? How far a gulf betwixt this and the practiced hand finding creative expression, reaching toward a chapel dome? Is there truly some genius that resides in the eye and hand, able to find escape for the perfectly formed David from his marble cage? Are these kin to the common man? Or, are they alien strangers, wandering amidst a great sea of banality? Methinks there is a spark, the exact abode, I cannot tell, that reaches beyond simple rearranging of the knick-knacks of life. There is an expulsion from human lips, which grants the seeds to inanimate form, bringing it to life. Not everyone has the fecund touch. There is much emptiness in the history of human endeavor. Many are those who play at life, but few who know to live it. Rare is the true new voice…a vision…and the ability to cast new shadows in the light of daily life.

I cannot write of something so universal without acknowledging that I simply opine. The subjectivity of the topic at hand refuses to be defined by one mere mind. I have, however, come to a few thoughts as to what I believe makes one an artist. Traits that, while describing a cornucopia of individuality, seem to be found in all who ply their artistic trade. I think that all who are artists are primarily exhibitionists. They seem unhindered by false modesty, and are willing to skip unheedingly through the market, unclothed, unbothered by the fact they display rebounding balls or undulating breast. They have the unabashed audacity to cry out, “See me now! Look! Feel! Hear! See what my hands have wrought!” A man is never more a god than when he performs that which he knows is approaching excellence. An artist is not apologetic. There is no need to be told of his greatness. He knows. It seems to me that one is doing art when busy doing the one thing they know they do well…the one arena where all systems are go. The one place where they are totally, and absolutely in no doubt that this is what they were meant to do. They are fish that have found their stream. Lucky is the one who has found such waters in which to plunge. An artist’s work energizes, rather than depletes. It gives life and strength.

An artist does not really solicit opinion. Sure, it’s nice to receive praise and accolades; but, there is no need to ask, “Do you think this is good”. If you are working in the proper forum, you know.

An artist is one who is in touch with an inner muse. The notes often seem to float from the instrument, with no conscious control or design. Have you ever heard words flow through your mouth, hearing them, for the first time, along with whoever else may be in audience? If so, you know exactly what I mean. There is genius, in the true sense of the word, at work.

I can only assume that there are many cases of unrealized potential; for the artist also knows the hours of toil that go into honing his or her craft. Much is the time spent with muted guitar, a page scrawled with undisciplined word and the agonizing fall of a dancer, yet to be. Hard work is the price to hear the siren call of possible success. Toil spent with no guarantee that you may turn out to be no more than a paint-by-number drawing hobbyist. Chance plays no part in brilliance; but it is most undeniably a large gamble. Just because you have felt your mind immersed in brilliant song does not mean you will necessarily a songbird be. But, without the chiseled practiced frame, made possible only by sweat, sinew and travail, the muse is fully without means. An instantaneous flash of brilliance will only follow the practice of hard discipline. The natural born can, indeed, become the stillborn.

Finally, the artist is practiced in the art of love. Each song is a whisper in the intended’s ear. Hands caress the clay or stone. Each visual delight an orgasm of color and hew. The artist exults as she performs her preferred dance. The audience invited to join in the intermingling of sensation. The back and forth rocking of inner being, birthing a new idea…a new way to see…a passing of the fire, igniting the imagination of a newly awakened artisan.

Now…where did I put those crayons?

Responsibilty.

2010-08-16T22:26:00.000+02:00

As you drive your car, I wonder if you have considered the importance of the linchpin. The linchpin is what keeps the wheels from falling off of your car as you speed down the highway. The operating system in your automobile is complex; but, without the linchpin, you would not get very far.

I consider responsibility to be the linchpin of the satanic philosophy. Do not make the mistake of turning that statement into an absolute. Some may disagree; but, as I think over issues that have come up, in regards to Satanism, I would wager that 90% of the time, the concept of responsibility is overlooked.

There is the asking of questions that are answered in “The Satanic Bible”. This book can easily be read in one sitting…especially if someone already considers himself or herself a Satanist, which many seem to do without the benefit of reading this core text. This is not a difficult book to understand. If there is a question about the basics of this religion, and whether or not it describes the reader, it is answered.

Once this core text is read, there are several other books written by Anton LaVey that covers a myriad of subjects. Lest one is concerned that modernity poses a problem, our present High Priest has also added to this list, with essays covering issues of contemporary import.

But even beyond that, I am espousing a radical sense of responsibility for oneself. Often, I see people place themselves in the hands of others, whether it is doctors, lawyers or supposed experts in any field, without educating themselves with concerns of personal import. I have yet to deal with a professional when I have not had to intervene on my own behalf…and I am happy to do that. This is me I am talking about. The only person who is responsible for seeing that any and all of my needs are met is myself. Anyone else I involve is a facilitator.

Every Satanist should have an invisible sign on their forehead that reads “the buck stops here”. There is no need to complain about what someone else has not done. If it concerns you, it is your responsibility to see that it is done. If the person you have hired to do a specialized task is not performing, fire them.

This also involves the issue of authority. Who legitimizes the right of you to exercise power in your life? You do. When someone declares himself or herself a Satanist, they are stating that they the God of their life. That is not simply metaphor. They claim full responsibility for themselves, and they claim to be the authority over themselves.

Part of authority is authorship. It assumes a generative power. That is, it indicates the power to generate or produce something. The question of genetics often comes up when discussing Satanism. I deny that there are genetic indicators for Satanism. Genetics determines my physical build, my health and even my personality. But Satanism goes to the essence of who I am. I am totally responsible for that. I have the power to decide on what choices I make and my actions and reactions; and, in doing so I create whom I am. I propose that it is that willingness and ability to be responsible for who we are and what we become that is at the heart of what it means when we say that Satanists are born. Very few are ready, willing or able to do that.

Enough with toying with the peripherals of what it is to be a Satanist. That is child’s play. Satanism is about being a grown up. It is about making our own decisions, for our own reasons. And it is about accepting the authority to make our lives what we want them to be…and being responsible for the results.

Climbing Onto Wagons

2010-07-01T17:27:00.002+02:00

One English translation for the opening of Dante’s Inferno: Canto 1 goes:
“Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.”

We are to think that Dante was thirty-five when his “Divine Comedy” begins. I can very much relate to that. I, too, was “midway upon my journey of life” when I awoke, as it were, and realized that I had been lying flat on my ass for quite some time. Of course, Dante would be appalled to know
that his words reflect my life entry into a certain philosophy. That matters not, really; because, I believe we all find ourselves being roused at some point, to the realization that we are getting nowhere, and quite quickly, I might add. I liken the experience to being on a wagon. Imagine the wagons steered by those brave adventurers into the wild western frontier of the early States.

Imagine traveling for weeks, when suddenly…you realize that you are going in the wrong direction. What do you do? One choice may be to continue on your journey, and let the fates…or the Wagoner…take you where they may. A choice that may actually be more difficult would be to admit that you are on the wrong wagon, and disembark. This may mean trying to figure out where to catch a wagon going in the direction you want to go.

It can be difficult admitting that you were wrong. The more one has invested in a particular trip, the harder it can be to jump off the wagon. Believe me, I know. My wagon had gone far until, midway upon the journey of my life; I realized I saw no light where others seemed illumined. Though the path was called straight, I was, to use a strange phrase, lost. I know the strength it takes to stop a moving force, and change directions. I also know what it is to jump off that misguided wagon, just to lie in wait.

The biggest obstacle to beginning any new adventure is habit. Making that first step is critical. And even if one finds their proper route, they may nap, and find themselves falling off the back of that wagon. Never mind. Pick yourself up, brush off the dust, and make headway to make up the distance lost.

It is very easy for anyone, at any age, to believe that it is too late to start over. Poppycock. There are some who may not feel as much a citizen of the Infernal Empire as those who joined while young. They may assume that their late arrival makes them less welcome. The truth is, the party is just getting started. You got here just in time. Some may feel that they are unable to invest the time necessary to receive a worthwhile payoff. You will get out what you put in, plus interest. Don’t think that just because you have only invested one year, you will never get “as far” as someone who has invested thirty, or thirty-five or forty. Each person has to begin at his or her own beginning. As corny as this may sound, it is still true: It pays to put the past behind.

There is no shame in admitting that one is wrong. Everyone has to do that from time to time. I feel no guilt over the fact that I was certainly in the crapper for a period of life. I learned from my experiences.

The Most Generous Person in the World...

2010-05-11T23:06:00.004+02:00

...Is the Slut.

The Slut is the most generous person in the world. They give you far more sensation than your own body could produce on its own, and for free! Sure, they may be getting something in return- if you’re any good that is- but they offer it without any hesitation. With this in mind, the Slut should be an icon in the spiritual world.

It is no wonder why the most devoted Christians are usually the most promiscuous- it is a virtue, a “twisted” view of generosity confused with their own desires. They are imitating the God given role that the mother and father of all humans was charged with- to be fruitful and multiply. It just so happens that now instead of multiplying our species (though most of them are) they are multiplying the good nature that comes with a good orgasm. We of course all know that Sluts, for practice makes perfect in most cases, are very good in bed.

They are always picked for conversation in a social gathering (though just about everyone will deny that this is the reason), they are always charming, polite, and fair; for it is in their nature to be giving. They make the men Gods to other men, and the women feel better about themselves for being so classy (classy is just a synonym for boring); classy and gods can be exchanged depending on the gender and their orientation of course

The Slut is also always the best looking, always making sure for wherever surroundings they grace, they looks to the top aesthetic of the arena they’re in. It may not be the top fashion, but goddamn if they’re not the best looking, or at least the most alluring of all the other people.

The old adage “no good deed goes unpunished” also fits very well with the Slut. Always mocked and ridiculed, they have had a scarlet “A” indented on their forehead and arm. Generously giving their most intimate embrace and are alienated for it. They are the truly meek, always the down trotted. I’m sure they have the best looking crowns in heaven; in the old testament days they were stoned to death, true martyrs. Also, it would be well to note that the Slut is very ego-strong, no matter how much they are beaten down they go on with their natural mission- to please anyone that offers or they accept into their loins. Truly courageous people to face adversity every day with every breath, they proclaim: “you will not get me down! I will do who I wish!”

The Slut truly is the most generous person in the world, they never stop giving, and they even give things given to them from other people, diseases. They give their most intimate parts of themselves, they give their energy, their passions, their lust and love, they share secrets of their bedroom desires, and they never stop, they never stop giving what has been given, never stop offering themselves up to the rest of the world with their motto planted firmly upon their lips since the day God sent them down from Heaven: “Take what you wish, I am all to give and be given...”

Are You Full Of It?

2010-02-20T20:24:00.001+01:00

I am often reminded of a movie I saw some time ago called Pleasantville. A brother and sister were transported into a black and white sit-com where everyone was just that: pleasant. This drab world worked fine for the brother, but it drove the sister nuts. She had a bit of an edge to her, and she had no problem exploring realms such as sexuality, rebellion and other feelings that just did not fit in with this drab, black and white world. In time, others began to see that they needed more out of life than pleasantness. As individuals explored the hidden aspects of themselves, they became colored. This scared the drab grays, and chaos ensued.

I think about that movie because I am convinced that the vast majority of people I run in to are really gray, with no color. Whether it is because they do not want to make waves, because they are afraid of appearing different or they are just as shallow as they appear, most people are not colorful. They have little emotional depth, emotional range, and, saddest of all, little life. I much prefer the colorful, interesting and often chaotic company of people who are full of it! I like people who are full of emotion, full of passion; and, most importantly, full of life. I really have no time for people who are afraid of living. I detest the repressed, those willing to allow parts of themselves to atrophy.

People will often ask if having a certain thought or feeling is normal, or okay or satanic. The truth is, any thought, or feeling or urge anyone feels is normal. Trying to deny our nature will not only make our lives colorless and lifeless, it will also turn people into compulsive drones, slaves. A full spectrum life will run the gamut from love, passion, hatred, murderous rage, prejudice, judgmental discrimination, compassion, callousness and everything in between. All of these are normal.

Our responsibility is how we act on these urges. Life is the great indulgence, the grand party, and the smorgasbord of experiences. But the only way the plane can stay airborne is if there is an equally long wing of responsibility. Being full of life is not a free for all. It is responsible indulgence. And part of being responsible is finding ways to act on all of these urges without getting ourselves into trouble. Anything less will bring it down with a big crash.

I want to repeat that. There is no thought; urge or feeling that you experience that is not normal or healthy. Be we are each responsible for how act on those thoughts. If you are looking for a place to hang out with fellow malcontents, you are not a Satanist, I am happy to say. If you want a ticket to act irresponsibly, Satanism is not for you. If you have nothing more to offer than your dark soul that bleeds because no one understands you, and you think we do, you are mistaken. Satanists are people who love life. Satanists are people who are full of life. Satanists are people who do not cut off feelings that others do not know how to handle properly. In short, Satanists are full of it! We are full of life, love, hate, lust, greed, anger, joy; the whole kit and caboodle.

Being full of it, full of life, is being able to love with great passion and to hate with equal vehemence. Being full of it is being true to your tribe while being discriminating. That is right. A Satanist does not waste time trying to be convinced that it is wrong to judge people. We freely discriminate against those who have nothing to offer us but lifeless company.

Satanism is the affirmation of life lived to the fullest. Satanists are full of it. So, what will it be? Is yours a life wasted in Pleasantville, or being full of it? A gray life, or a life filled with brilliant color. Do you live a pseudo-life of repression, or the responsible indulgence of each and every urge that makes us human? If you are a Satanist, you are full of it.

No Man Is An Island.

2010-02-02T23:13:00.000+01:00

Perhaps man’s greatest fear is absolute isolation.

From the moment of conception, another perpetually surrounded each of us. As infants, if we were lucky, we were engulfed in some form of nurture.
If a child’s development is observed, one will see that the young move from focusing on individual parts of the mother’s body…breast, eyes, mouth…to the face, finally taking in the whole of the mother’s physical presence. Perhaps this is the moment when we begin to grasp that there are others in the world beside ourselves.

Due to the magic of mental projection, many of us are able to lead lives of relative isolation, not just comfortably, but preferably. As long as we have our thoughts, we never experience a sense of loneliness. As the old saying goes, I prefer talking to myself because I enjoy the company.

However, there are those times when all of us, no matter how committed to the luxury of hermitage, need the physical presence of another being. There will be moments of such duress that the maxim will win out, no man is an island.

I am fortunate that I have, in my life, someone who is able to offer solace at such times. My hope is that the law of reciprocity is at work in that particular relationship. I know that it can often be challenging for both involved, as, quite often, the same storm is battering the edges of their respective sanities.

I wish to make one thing abundantly clear…there is no reason to assume that said object of fortification has to be a member of the same species. Let me repeat that…there is no sound reason to conclude that the one, or ones, who help you ride out the storm, must be human. In fact, on many occasions, humans make the worst companions.

There is a reason for that. Humans have the annoying habit of verbalizing their emotions. Of course, one by-product of that idiosyncrasy is the existence of the arts. Indeed, you would not be reading this very essay if that were not the case. But, research has borne that Homo sapiens does not corner the market on art appreciation. Bears can be observed enjoying nature’s great masterpiece, “The Sunset”. Indeed, birds sing, and even arrange objects in a kind of home makeover project, if you will.

But, the greatest asset of a non-human companion is their ability to express their concern, love and care in the deeper, more primitive form of communication that post-infants often forget…physical communication. Life comes full circle when face to face with kitten or pup, as it focuses on individual parts of its caregiver’s body…the hand, the eye, the mouth. This is followed up by the wonder of the sloppy lick, the drool-laden nuzzle and nature’s sweetest symphony…Purr, in D minor.

It is a wise person who is careful to surround his or herself with companions, holding at bay our greatest fear…absolute isolation. Hats off to these true friends, human, and non-human alike.

Compassion.

2010-01-18T06:41:00.001+01:00

Once upon a time, millions of years ago, the planet Earth was teaming with life. From the point of view of the Universe, that was not so long ago. Lush greenery came, only to be overcome by desert, only to be overcome by plant life, etc., etc.

The predominant varieties of animal life were dinosaurian, reptilian and avian. Over time, a small mammalian creature evolved. Living on the fruits of such a lush planet, they quickly grew more numerous. The other families of animal did not yet have anything to worry about. In fact, the more carnivorous among them found this newcomer to be quite tasty. But, the mammals were sneaky.

Over time, due partly to the great number of descendants of our shrew-like friends, stressing the local food supply, and partly from the natural ebb and flow of weather patterns on this planet, the mammal neighborhood began to take on a desert form. It soon became obvious that they would have to venture out, and find greener pastures. They knew that the only way they would survive was if they stuck together, and crossed a great desert, a vast expanse of dry, cracked land, to what they hoped would be another garden they could call home. So, our friends prepared by eating large amounts of food, drinking as much as they could and conserving their energy for the fateful trek.

The time finally came to make their move. At first, each and every one was as robust as they had ever been; but, over time, it became abundantly evident that some were not as strong in constitution. This was hidden by the fact that it was always so easy to get what they needed. Then, it finally happened. Our herd was spotted by a team of hungry, hunting carnivores. They were not the fastest moving, but with patience, they would be able to feast on the flesh of the weaker members that were left behind. Those that escaped could be dealt with on another day. The mammals, smelling danger, moved faster still.

But the carnivorous creatures were in luck; for it seemed that this particular species had a heightened sense of compassion. What caused this particular trait? Perhaps it was a by-product of their size. The need to look out for each other may be what has kept them alive all of these years; but, on this particular day, this trait would prove their undoing. Unwilling to leave any single member behind, the stronger mammals retreated to the back of the line, in order to assist their ailing members. Within a short period, the entire herd was wiped out. This scene played out on enough occasions that this particular species, once destined to evolve to primate, and some of our distinguished dino-scientists have even speculated they may have been able to develop the brain size to perhaps become the dominant species. Imagine that; mammal supremacy.

The above story came to mind after reading Nietzsche. Specifically, his thoughts concerning Christianity being a religion of pity and his idea that compassion runs contrary to human progress. When one thinks about it large amounts of resources are spent on relief programs brought about by the idea that society owes the less fortunate. Imagine if those resources were focused on actual advancement.

As time went on, I began to realize that such a one dimensional view of the subject was caused, partly, by a shallow understanding of what I had read. The context of the ideas developed by Nietzsche is his somewhat peculiar view of pain and suffering. He saw it as the instrument of evolution from man to superman.

The statement on compassion that I read was not a reflection of callous disregard; but, rather, a genuine interest in humanity. To shield a friend, for instance, from his suffering was to deny him the possibility of transcending his present state. He advocated developing a thick skin in order to stop you from showing compassion even for a friend, in the interest of your friend. There seems to be an element of pain inflicted on oneself for the future betterment of all involved. As illustrated in my childish fable, should the friend not be able to find the strength to get back up, going to his aid will only weaken the whole. This concern casts a much different light on the readings.

Feelings of pity and compassion are part of the emotional arsenal we have inherited. Like all emotions, it is healthy to find an appropriate outlet for them.

What is the satanic view on compassion? I do not think hard and fast rules are helpful. There is no one answer. Each situation is unique. In some cases, it seems only obvious that you help the object of your pity. Most would help a child, or elderly person. My personal rule of thumb is to help those who have spent the reserve of their natural abilities. For instance, a learning disabled person would garner my help before an able bodied person who has only put forth a half hearted effort. The actions of each individual would be different.

The bottom, for me, is that any act of compassion comes from my desire to act on the human emotion of pity. It is a self-serving act. I am certainly not open to the constant bombardment from without that would put my compassion button into overdrive. It is that trespass into the emotions of others that find to be most objectionable by religions such as Christianity, and injurious to human progress.
I do not think an act of compassion is unsatanic when it is done as a self-conscious action, bringing some relief or joy to the actor. How that is played out is totally up to the individual, based on temperament.

Creatures of habit.

2010-01-14T20:30:00.000+01:00

Human beings are creatures of habit. While each person comes in a different size, shape, form, etc., the one common variable is that, no matter what changes or variations may appear, he or she will usually gravitate to the things they are familiar with or are used to.

It is the majority of the herd who are driven by mere impulse, and poor use of judgment. Those who shoot themselves in the foot by making their choices and decisions out of what others are doing, or what is fed to them from the media. Once such non-individuals dig themselves into this rut of a routine, their chances of trying anything different (for their own benefit, as well as the logical decrease of inconvenience) vanish for good.

Think of the many people who travel to large chain retail department stores in December for Xmas shopping. It is because they masochistically put themselves in the situation to want to be stuck in traffic, deal with pitiful drivers, and be cramped up in large crowds. It's because they don't care about wasting gas in a traffic jam, potentially starting fights with others in jammed intersections or condensed parking lots, or even trampling another human being to death just so he or she can get into the store on time for the "10 minute, 10 percent off" sale.

All because it's "something that we've done every single year", or it's "holiday season". Failing to realize that good pre-planning (or better execution of obtaining a list of goods before the big Holiday Rush) can save an abundance of hassle or turmoil is a common flaw of the average herdling creature. They are just driven by the sounds of annual music ringing throughout the airwaves, as well as the commercials on TV complete with glowing lights around the percentage that he/she can save on the latest product (without knowing how much money is actually being spent on what is, usually, a piece of disposable garbage).

Examples are certainly not limited to the previous I've mentioned above. It also carries over into the arenas of food and health as well. Many people will eat anything as long as they're told "it tastes good", without regard of any personal choice or thought in the process. And once he or she is "hooked" on a favorite (addicted should be a better choice of word), then hell forbid if any other options, suggesstions, or changes should come along; if it interferes with their old favorite dish, it will be (most likely) left out by the wayside.

Is being a creature of habit necessarily a bad thing? Well, if you happily realize that your actions are determined by going with the steady flow or engaging in a particular routine without any questions, then no. Keep the habits going steady! Those in any market (be it clothing, entertainment, food/drink, tobacco, etc.) who want nothing more than to take advantage of your habits (as well as burn a hole in your pocket) will be patiently, quietly, yet boldly waiting for your kind to line-up at the front door.

It's not only evident in the places frequented, but also in the styles of clothing worn, activities engaged in, destinations traveled to, the lifestyle and occupation followed, literature read, movies watched, music listened to, food and drink consumed, and people associated with. While many will scream "this is not true", what they forget is that they themselves can hardly ever accept any genuine change (be it subtle or drastic) in behavior, routine, or action in any given situation.

Realizing that you, the reader with Satanic perspective, may be a creature of any particular habit at any point, what separates you from the dullards of society is your self-awareness and self-control of your habits. You act based not only on your gut feeling or emotional state, but with keen and rational thought to accompany your intuition. You may also realize that you are not a slave to your habits and that you are able to, at the very least, deal with and adapt to any of the changes that come your way (even if you don't necessarily like the changes). Finally, you are more adept to making and breaking your own habits, realizing that the overall responsibility is in your (and only your) hands.

Hedonistically Happy To Be Me.

2010-01-12T06:53:00.001+01:00

Every now and then - actually quite often - I read something about somebody not being who they pretend to be, either that they are lying about age, gender, level of experience, or whatever. The point is, they are expressing themselves through a placebo self.

This all seems very strange to me. For whatever trouble and grievances I may have, for every moment of bliss, and all the more gray moments of drudgery, they are my own, and I wouldn't want to trade with anybody else. I do not want to have a different life. I am quite simply not dissatisfied with anything. Or, if I am, I will work to change it.

This world is perfect. Everything is exactly how it is supposed to be. I am quite happy just to be in the middle of it all, traversing the course of my life. I have no regrets, and I do not owe anybody anything. No debts, no unfinished business, no unsettled conflicts. When Osiris weighs my heart on a scale, with that feather in the other cup, I will pass the test. Heavyness has left me.

If you look at a river, you can of course see the water running, and also hear it. But can you FEEL the flow of the water tugging at some distant part of yourself, in your abdomen?

Or, if you are walking in a mountain, and you look up and see an eagle fly above you, can you FEEL the rustling feathers as little electrical flutterings in your skin?

Let me rephrase that question:

Are you ONLINE with the world at large - or are you one of these people who are trapped in a cage within themselves, unable to simply be, and feel, the glory of existence in this mysterious place, in a non polluted way?

What kind of MIND do you have?

I guess that I am lucky, because in my earliest years, I was raised by old school hunter-farmers, in close contact with bona fide arctic wilderness. This is the foundation for all my ethics and all my aesthetic preferences. But most of all, it dictates my perception of reality, and what is important in my surroundings, attention-wise.

It was a bit of a challenge to learn how a city works, but I managed that as well. They are the temples for the modern, cannibalistic economy that we are all suffering under, but really little more than an assembly of artificial mountains, perhaps somewhat akin to an ant colony, where heavily mental-restrained creatures are living in caves within these artificial mountains, performing weird ritual activities in exchange for the symbolic tokens of "money" that they use to buy various products and necessities, to upkeep their life.

So this is Homo Sapiens Sapiensis? Interesting...

There is a freedom that is essentially human and deeply connected with the biosphere, the environment of life in this world, in nature. We have just chosen to not live that way. Instead of living like the absurd monkeys that we truthfully are, we have, in admiration of the mindless perfection of insect organization, chosen to create an artificial intelligence, which is now running the show, seen from a large scale point of view.

But really, there are a whole lot of these artificial intelligences in existence, and we may call them "crowd crystals" - being the lowest, common denominator within a moving "purposed mass" of people. The way of inviting a particular crowd crystal - or meme complex - into your mind, is by way of power exchange, in the form of 'conversation', the mixing of language and ideas, the brain storming, the agitated debate, wherever people meet to exchange ideas and 'talk about stuff'.

It is reasonable to say that we are dominated by our memes, by whichever pet ideas that we have picked up, like viruses, along the way. No one of us all really knows jack shit about this world, but we all have a whole lot of assumptions. We have been Trained, for as long as we have been alive, to see what we see, and believe in what we see. We are also trained to be possessive and defensive about our beliefs, to jealously guard our "knowledge".

Ideas can be right dangerous. A person who one day is afraid of his own shadow, can the next day be geared up to be a stone cold killer by some hypnotic trickery with the mind. Anybody really can become anything! (Limited, of course, by their natural talents and abilities.) It is just a question of focusing a persistent will on the objective. Then comes a hell of a lot of work, which, typically, is where the realists get separated from the dreamers. It usually is a good idea to have an objective, which in its ambitious splendor, is no larger than the amount of effort you will put into actually achieving it.

Voice of the beast.

2010-01-03T20:25:00.000+01:00

The pilgrim arrived like many others before him, alone and tired.

The town was just a group of decrepit houses sticking out of the snow in two irregular rows. The only street was a continuation of the road that took him there, flanked on both sides by blackened facades. That street continued and turned into a stairway that led to a shrine, built high into the side of the mountain.

He talked to a few villagers and confirmed he was on the right path. After a frugal meal, consisting of tea and goat meat, he continued his journey. It seemed that pilgrims traveled this route very often. They all came asking for the temple and went uphill. None had come back.

This worried the pilgrim. What happened to them? Did they use another route down the mountain, once their experience in the temple was finished? Did they all become monks and stay at the temple?

He started to climb the steps that led to the shrine. From a distance it looked more like a protrusion growing out of the mountain, than a man-made building, made of the same dark stone and eroded by the wind of centuries to match shape of the surrounding boulders. The snow that covered it accentuated this effect. Once he reached the shrine, he found the small inside space was warm and comfortable compared with the barren landscape outside. There were stone benches along the inner walls. The purpose of the structure seemed to be a last resting stop, where travelers prepared for the final step of their trip: climbing the mountain up to the temple. Carvings on the walls depicted the hazardous quest the faithful endured to reach their destination. Small figures, chiseled in low relief, told the story of pilgrims crossing deserts and rivers, battling feral animals and finally climbing the mountain. The last stage of the story was hard to understand. Apparently, after reaching the temple the traveler was received by the monks and instructed in their way. Then, one more panel of the wall depicted the image of the new disciple, now dressed in the same robes as the monks, climbing the mountain again. The last image showed the initiate suspended in the air, temple and mountain looking small under him.

This last carving worried the pilgrim. What was the story supposed to tell? Was flying to the sky the last step of his journey? Fear and doubt stirred inside him like an animal coiled inside his guts had just awakened. He fought the sensation. Probably, the flight was meant to represent the student communion with the ultimate truth. Floating towards heaven was a universal metaphor for spiritual transcendence.

He decided he had rested enough, and against the advice of his own aching body, he stepped outside into the cold wind. He started to climb the mountain. Each step was painful, as was every breath of freezing air. The wind hurt his eyes and forced him to keep them almost closed to avoid the tiny ice crystals it carried. After what seemed like hours, he looked up into the distance, just to see the temple was almost as far as before. His advance was slow and strenuous. His body begged for rest. Memories of comfortable rooms and warm bed sheets assaulted his mind. He brushed them aside and kept walking.

He had traveled half across the world and he would not stop now.

His long quest had taken him to remote and obscure places. He had visited all the known places of worship where gods and goddesses are adored by human crowds, or were in a remote age. He had climbed the eroded steps of pyramids in three continents and spent nights of meditations at their tops. He had touched the surfaces of altars stained by ages of blood sacrifices and the floor of cathedrals polished by the knees of generations. He had joined fanatics in ecstatic dances and shared hallucinations with drugged shamans. But nothing had given him the answer.

He envied the simpler men, who only needed a few printed lines or a painted icon. These people didn’t have questions. They just received their religion from their parents. He had watched multitudes of them repeat the same prayer with monotonous rhythm at mosques and pagodas. God was real for them; they didn’t need proof or evidence.

But the pilgrim needed something more.

Something deep inside him rejected every creed he had studied. Something made him feel incomplete after each ritual and ceremony, like a thirst that only gets worse after drinking warm water. Every time he was sure he had found the real religion, the final spiritual experience, something stirred inside his chest like a wild animal and made him return to reality. The visions vanished and the prayers lost meaning. He was back in the mundane world and his sensations were all physical. And then, he felt he has just dreamed the experience. He was on the wrong path again, so he moved along.

He ended up in this village somewhere in the Himalayas, where old parchments and local folklore pointed to an ancient temple inhabited by a group of monks who knew the secret of spiritual illumination. Information was sketchy at best, but from what he had gathered, it seemed like the monks accepted disciples and taught them the ultimate truth. All he needed now was to reach them.

The last part of his ascension was just a blurry memory. He had found himself in front of the great wooden doors and grabbed the heavy bronze knocker with both hands, stroking it once or twice before he collapsed unconscious.

When he woke up, he was indoors. Someone had dragged him inside and stripped his snow-encrusted clothes. The coarse straw mat under his back was a luxury compared with the torture of the cold wind outside.

Then he saw the monks. There were three frail old men. He wondered how they had managed to even drag his body inside the temple.

At first sight, he couldn’t recognize the race of the monks. Their faces were so unnaturally pale and decrepit with age, he couldn’t imagine what their original features were. Their eyes were narrow slits lost amid the intricate pattern of wrinkles of their parchment-like skin.

Their garments looked as ancient as themselves. Long robes of grayish wool with hoods that covered their heads, keeping their faces in shadows. The pilgrim convinced himself that despite their bizarre look, they were holy men and he was safe in their hands. He rested.

The next day the pilgrim was still weak, but well enough to walk around. The monks let him explore freely.

Despite its impressive size from the outside, the temple was actually small. The enormous structure was mostly solid stone. Inside, the inhabitable space was limited to a few rooms and tunnels.

The windows were narrow openings placed high in the walls, allowing only a faint light into the black rooms. In the main hall, which seemed to be the place for worship and meditation, there was a huge statue, almost incongruent with the rest of the room. The figure was sitting against the wall, its head touching the roof and seemed to be made of old tarnished bronze. The pilgrim didn’t recognize what specific deity it represented, but it looked familiar. The features combined elements of early depictions of Christ and classic images of Buddha. And there was something vaguely androgynous on the shape of the body, like a combination of all the gods and goddesses man ever adored.

So distracted was the pilgrim studying the enigmatic statue, that he didn’t hear the monks enter the room. He was slightly startled when he realized they were standing behind him. There was not much of an introduction and the first lesson started.

The pilgrim sat on the floor with the monks around him. They chanted some unintelligible litany in a low voice, facing the statue, and then they turned and spoke.

“Faith is the cornerstone of spirituality.” started one of the monks “You have been looking for a religion all your life, like a man who walks across the desert looking for water, but doesn’t carry a bucket with him. Trying to grasp the nature of divinity without faith is like trying to grab water with your hands.”

“Faith?” The pilgrim was speaking to himself as much as to the old men.
“It means believing in something of which you don’t have any proof. I have tried, but I always end up with doubt.”

“Of course you do” Said the monk “We all do. Doubt is in man’s nature. Nobody is born with faith. You have to work to find it.”

Another monk moved closer. He was a blind man. He looked incredibly old and identical to the other two, except for the missing eyes.

“Every time you study any of man’s many religions, you try to embrace its tenets with eager enthusiasm. You want to believe. You crave for that feeling of belonging that the faithful experience under the wings of his church. But as you try to digest the doctrines, a little voice inside you begins to speak. A little voice of doubt and distrust.”

“Exactly!” the pilgrim said, surprised. The empty orbits on the monk’s face stared at him, blank and unexpressive, but it was like he could see inside his mind.

“That’s exactly how it feels. Like somebody inside me points to every little contradiction in the religious text.”

“That is the voice of the Beast” said the third monk. “The beast will always try to lead you astray.”

The lesson lasted for some hours. The pilgrim listened to the monks with his eyes pointed at the floor, careful to avoid their faces. Something in them made him uneasy; an incongruence between their soft, melodious voices and the fierce look of their mummy-like visages.

“Once you kill the beast, you will reach the enlightenment you seek” continued the monk “From that moment on, you will be a completely spiritual being that will transcend beyond the limits of the material world”

The following days were dedicated to meditation and prayer. He didn’t understand the monotonous chanting, but he repeated it and tried to pronounce the words right. He wondered if reciting a prayer he couldn’t understand had any effect. He told himself the important thing was not the meaning of the words but the faith he put in the action of prayer.

Meals were spaced and not too abundant. Just a few pieces of boiled vegetables they ate once a day.

“When you starve your body, you feed your soul.” Said the monk while they ate, sitting on the floor. “When your physical body is weak, your spirit is strong.”

It made sense, like everything he was taught by them. But he still wondered how these frail men could survive so long with such a poor diet.

“The faith of the pious sustains us.” answered the monk “Your final communion with the spirit will be our nourishment.”

While thinking about the whimsical response, he realized that he had never seen the monk’s teeth. Even when eating, they kept their mouths hidden behind a hand. When talking or praying, their mouths were always hidden in the shadow of their hoods. The pilgrim remembered reading somewhere that covering one’s teeth was an Oriental custom.

Fasting and praying transformed the pilgrim’s body and mind. After a few weeks on the ascetic regime, he found himself accepting the monks’ teaching with eager trust. Doubt had slowly dissolved away from his mind.

Apparently the monks noticed the changes. To his surprise, he was informed that he was ready to take the final step.

His last test would require him to climb the mountain to the summit. There he would find the illumination he had been seeking for most of his life.

Even after weeks of virtual starvation, the last ascent was easier than he thought. His body felt lighter and his mind was clear. Close to the top, he found rough steps carved in the black rock, which took him to a small flat surface, a kind of plateau at the top of the mountain that was his ultimate destination. He was at the place depicted in the mysterious relief. He advanced a few steps and stood at the border of the cliff. Several hundred feet bellow he could see the temple, shrouded in slow moving clouds. Now he was going to execute his own miracle. He would step into the clouds and levitate, supported by the force of the spirit. Gravity -as all illusions of the material world- was powerless against a being of pure spirit.

He felt he had finally killed the beast inside him. Standing at the border of the precipice, there was absolutely no fear in him. There was no doubt either. With his arms outstretched and his eyes lost in the light from above, the pilgrim stepped into the air. And fell.

The trip down was short. There was neither slow-motion descent nor sensation of flying. He just felt nothing under him for an instant and then the impact against the rocks at the bottom of the chasm.

The first sensation was not pain, but surprise. Everything had changed so quickly. An instant ago he was bathed in light, surrounded by an aura of his own ecstasies. And suddenly he was lying on the ground, a bloody mass, his limbs twisted and his bones broken. He tried to look around. Moving his head brought immeasurable agony. All the pain at once, as though is body had come back, resentful and vengeful for being abandoned.

He realized he was dying. He could barely move, but he didn’t need to look at himself to know his wounds were serious. He felt nothing from his waist down, like his hips and legs just weren’t there. His spine was broken.

What happened? Was his faith not strong enough to lift his body? Had he doubted at the last second? He knew he hadn’t. He had believed. He still did!

He was still waiting for the miracle. And then he saw the monks.

They came to him. From his position on the ground he could see them walking slowly toward him. They didn’t look surprised or alarmed. They weren’t even rushing to help him. They approached with the slow pace of old men doing their daily chores. It even looked like they were smiling.

They will explain everything! They will now lift a veil and show me it was all an illusion. They will order me to rise and I will stand up with all my limbs intact. Faith can achieve everything. Maybe that was the last test. Maybe the pain is just another step to reach nirvana. Maybe…

He tried to speak, but he had not the strength. His lungs refused to catch enough air to make his voice heard. The old men were already there, their faces out of his field of view. Only their robes and feet were now visible from the ground. They walked slowly toward him, obviously with no hurry or intentions to help. They stood for a moment in front of him, like saying a short prayer, and then they knelt…. Now he could see their faces and their hands. They were carrying knives.

If he could gather enough strength to fight... Just enough to stand up and run away! But he had none. He was powerless.

And then he understood it all clearly! The beast had left him. He had banished it out of his body.

That voice in the bottom of his mind was the animal within, the survival instinct every man inherits from countless generations before him. He had silenced the beast that whispered caution to him every time danger was lurking around a corner. The doubt that had assaulted him at every step of his journey was just the simple instinct that tells a man to distrusts what he cannot see.

“The faith of the pious sustains us.” the pilgrim remembered “Your final communion with the spirit will be our nourishment.”

As the monks cut pieces of his flesh and put them in their mouth, the pilgrim saw their teeth for the first time. Small and sharp, like yellow splinters of bone protruding from their gums. Now the three old men looked to him like those strange fishes that lived deep in the marine abyss. Blank-faced fishes that were eating him alive.

You dont get it.

2010-01-02T21:03:00.000+01:00

I regret to inform you but you don't get it. And you probably never will.

Keep that last sentence in the back of your mind.

It can take a lifetime for someone like yourself to try and understand every single other being on the planet. Sometimes you'll be better off repeatedly bashing your own head against a brick wall. Other times you just may get a glimpse of understanding from another person. But at the end of the day, what do you learn from it? Probably nothing.

You're set in your own ways, whether you like it or not. You'll only see in other people what you WANT to see and what you WANT to think of others based on your impressions, assumptions, conclusions, and random outside influences. You'll do everything possible to act as if you really give a shit about the trials and tribulations of your fellow friends, casual acquaintances, work buddies....but honestly, you don't. You're just out to obtain as much information about others as possible, for your own personal enjoyment, entertainment, or warped fascination shrink-wrapped up in jealousy.

When anyone does something that you find out of your norm, you just can't take it. If you're not openly criticizing them or retardedly asking 100 questions about the reasons why he/she takes the actions he/she takes, then you're probably playing stupid little mind games and behaving in subtle ways to let him/her know that you, deep down, have no consideration or respect for them. You'll only come out and speak your mind in a clear, concise, and mature manner if, and only if, it's at your own convenience. Otherwise, you resort to ranting and raving, gossiping, whispering, backstabbing, or just pure old fashioned dominance games just to throw jabs and get your digs in whenever you have the chance.

Many people never think outside their box. If they do, they'll jump right back into the box as quick as they peeked out for a second. Insecurity, indecisiveness, zero integrity, and pure old fashioned ignorance are many reasons why many remain trapped in their box for the rest of their life. The worst part is that they may settle for their place in life, and choose to always remain within that tiny, poorly scoped dimension just to remain safe from ostracization, critique, opposition, or ridicule. And yet, paradoxically, these are generally the same people in life that stress values such as "community", "working together", "equality", "tolerance", "acceptance", etc. Similar to what I've said previously, all of these things are looked upon favoribly by many people.....at their own convenience of course. If it's out of their convenience, they'll huddle together and attempt to think for each other. In other words, when it comes to treating other human beings, they want to wear the "good-guy" badge and get along with all, but also want the convenience to make up their own standards as they go along, picking their scapegoats, martyrs, pillars, undesirables, and idols.

You may find yourself right smack in the middle of this category. It doesn't matter how or why you ended up this way.......but the main point is that you just don't get it.

One of the following reasons may very well be possible:

- You don't understand that you may not be thinking for yourself, but letting others do your thinking for you.
- You really can't fathom others marching to the beat of a different drummer. It boggles your mind.
- You don't know how to wisely discriminate between the cream of the crop from the scum at the bottom of the sink.
- You're secretly jealous or disgruntled of your own flaws, short-comings, and lack of sound judgment that you have to take it out on anyone else who seems to "stick out like a sore thumb" in your eyes.
- You're afraid to challenge your own positions on different matters. Afraid to ask yourself "what if I'm wrong" or "what if I reconsidered taking a deeper look at my own position, and consider other possible stance even if I don't have to inevitably fall into 100% equal agreement with it? Granted, nothing is truly of equal value or at an equal level. But poor judgment leads to dull and lazy thinking, which usually results in putting more credence into the thoughts and whms of others who also don't have a sound perception of life as it is. Therefore, you're a creature of habit (know it or not) but don't take any steps to change it.

You don't get it. You couldn't even if you tried. Then again, I haven't really seen you try very hard at anything in the first place.

Just be yourself.

2010-01-01T21:03:00.000+01:00

That phrase has been uttered from many a mouth over time, its basic sentiment meaning that the qualities that make up the "real" you are all that are necessary for others to like, adore, abhor, or otherwise take interest in the displayed "you".

Seeing as how human beings are just animals, this has to be kept in mind to reach a proper perspective on why this phrase is not only overused, but is essentially shit to be consumed by emaciated pigs.

Humans are animals, which is only one form of the many different forms of life. Life is a product of energy being fed (sometimes literally) to any given chamber of working cells which make up an organism. Blades of grass are life, fish are life, amoebae are life, and so are individual sperm and egg, even before forming a zygote. This is not intended to be a rant on why life is sacred. Because life isn't sacred. Life is no adjective any human mind can and will place upon it; life simply is. When life ceases to exist, we have called this death. Life begets life, and life begets death.

When a life of a human begins, the child is raised by its parents according to the genetic and evolutionary protocols that are in the brains of all three party members: father, mother, and child. The child has no other place to observe and assimilate other behaviors but from other humans, and they did so in order to survive the conditions that humans have placed themselves due to the evolution of the species.

To further the exact meaning of the sentiment "Just be yourself", it implies that you aren't to look to others for information concerning who you are (identity and self-presentation). But if you take into account the above paragraph, it is clear that this directive is impossible.

On a literallistic level, how can one be anything but itself?

This phrase has spawned many different sentiments, all bearing extreme resemblances. One of the latest is "be real".

If one is to assume that what is meant by any of the phrases is not blatant imitation, I have to wonder what is so inherently wrong with that behavior. Perhaps the person has noticed a fault within their own self-presentation and/or identity and has chosen a role model? If done subtly, this person may actually create a persona which is not only seemingly unique, but actually fits them better and is conducive to a happier life. Isn't that the general goal in life?

I understand how someone could use this phrase and use it in a context which actually directs a valid point: Create an identity that fits and is becoming instead of basing an identity on undesirable traits (balance factor).

In my opinion however, this phrase and those like it is too often used by the herd to try and ironically demonstrate individuality, while they themselves are the epitome of collectivism.

POO

2009-09-29T22:00:00.000+02:00

It crossed my mind the other day, while I was perched on the
throne, that there is a lot of excess poo taking place in the
world. I am taking it upon myself to reveal to you what I feel
are some of the major forms of poo on the face of the planet.

Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride, whoever
said these are bad is full of Poo! Like it or not, these are
some of the most motivational urges known to mankind. We go to
work and make more money than it takes to survive (greed) to
eat things that I enjoy plus dessert (gluttony). I enjoy doing
my work to the fullest of my abilities (pride) and Lard forbid
I see someone with something that I would like to have (envy)
and go out and buy it. I hate people who seek to control
others (wrath) and relax one day of the week and do absolutely
nothing (sloth). "Original Sin" is my favorite! They try to
take the one thing that keeps the human race alive, and make
it "evil". I don't know about you but I am glad my father had
a sexual interest in my mother (lust). Those who would try to
enslave someone else would say that the things which come
natural to the human animal are bad or evil. I'm not buying
that bucket full of Poo!

Now we move on to a type of person that deserves an honorable
mention in an essay on Poo, these are the High and Mighty. You
know the type I am referring to, they are the reason God's
green earth exists. A bad day for them is survived only by
slandering others from dusk till dawn! On a good day these
self aggrandized pukes can't seem to get enough of stroking
themselves with one obsessive thought, "If you got it and you
know it Toot your own horn!" I'm sorry to bust your bubble,
but if you were all that and a bag of chips then everyone else
would be tooting your horn for you.

Moving on to the worst type of Poo known to mankind, it's the
self destructive Poo that we put ourselves through day in and
day out and refuse to admit or change. Here is a list of
situations that can be included: Abusive relationships, drug
and alcohol abuse, continuing a vocation that is too stressful
for your personality type, etc. Need I say anything more?
I hope not.

Here I sit all broken hearted and wipe up another smear
session. Once you sift through my poo you will see that there
are three types of poo floating in this bowl of an essay.
There is poo that has been passed down through the ages that
we are suppose to take as gospel truth and never question,
other people's poo, and your own poo. A word from the wise,
don't submit yourself to any more POO than you have to!

Cops are right.

2009-08-10T00:40:00.001+02:00

"The police always harass us". This is a quote that speaks volumes. First, it identifies the person saying it as a criminal. Second, the person who would utter such a phrase is a weak individual and content in being a victim (slave). Third, the person who says this is stupid. Here is one of the many reasons why: By saying something like this, the person establishes himself as a bona fide criminal and by speaking like this he is further incriminating himself. Stay clear of someone who says the above quote. It is not good to associate yourself with stupid people.

Let us now look at a couple of real life examples of who the police always 'harass':

You see them everywhere. Usually it is teenagers (however, some people never go beyond this). Although it is scary, these people become adults. They wear pot leaves on their t-shirts, have pot leaf air fresheners, or have 4:20 bumper stickers. The fact is they are admitting they are breaking the law. Either that or they are just stupid posers. No less, the illogic is, "Weed should be legal man. It is going to happen any day. I'm fighting the good fight by wearing this". News flash: The marijuana legalization movement has been going on for many years. The reason for the most part it has been unsuccessful is because of these very types advertising their stupidity. There are above the board legalization movements. It is fine and good to work with them if this is something you believe in. However, you must always question: Are you a master or a slave? In other words look at the situation pragmatically. Do you like jail? Are you fine with being a martyr? The last one is important. The martyr is a slave who is being controlled by someone else. While you may feel strong that marijuana should be legal, the fact is that it is currently illegal in this country. Advertising that you do it almost assures you a ticket to jail. The police are not harassing you. They are doing their job. You are making it easier for them to bust you. You are stupid.

Second on our list are gang bangers. I don't know how else to say it: The color is the dead giveaway. I am not talking about skin color here. Gang bangers proudly sport their gang colors where ever they hang out. First, this is stupid on it's face value. It instantly tells the other gang to shoot your sorry ass and gets you a free trip to the morgue. Chances are you won't have a pleasant looking corpse. Next, the police are well aware of gang colors and hand signs. The fact is that your thumper bunny car rattles every window in sight (usually playing music that advocates criminal behaviors and lifestyles) announces your arrival. How idiotic. Gang bangers always whine about police harassment. Again, the fact that you are advertising that you are a criminal is what gets you busted. Gang bangers claim to hate cops. Yet by action they assist the police. This is not even a good criminal. The good ones don't get caught. Al Capone would roll over in his grave. Once I saw a picture of gang bangers. They were all behind bars throwing up their gang signs. I thought: 'How intelligent. A bunch of grown men who can make shapes with their fingers. They must have put on a really bad wall light show to wind up in jail.' What stupidity.

In the old days police had to get out the rubber hose to get people to fess up. These days outside of attire, criminals readily brag about their illegal activity to anyone who will lend an ear. There is no thought to who might be listening. Then, when they are busted they scratch their heads and wonder how they were found out.

If you are a criminal who likes jail time, fine and good. However, don't bring it to my door step. Don't expect sympathy from me. How dare you expect me to believe that police harass you! I am not a rube. You made your bed, now lie in it. As the old saying goes: 'Responsibility to the responsible.'

YouTube and the armchair animal behaviorist.

2009-07-28T00:49:00.000+02:00

Now that my internet odysseys of fantasy artwork and crockpot recipes are over, I am now an armchair animal behaviorist. I know all. Once I saw a video featuring live dolphins doing mean things to each other. I thought this was interesting and kind of funny. We can all be animal behaviorists if we like.

We say dolphins are great, they're smart, they have feelings, emotions. We say that our pets will pack.

We find that when let or turned loose, or allowed general freedom, a small population of dogs will behave as a pack. But then we find that cats won't, they'll pair off. Two, and you have best friends. Three, you probably have an odd man out. Four and you have two sets of best friends, and so on.

This lengthy essay is about some observations of mine of humankind's compulsion to assign certain qualities to non-human animals and our shock at the consequences of learning something new. I know the post is long, but those of you who bear with me might find it entertaining if nothing else. It's tongue-in-cheek a little too, because what if we traded which human traits we assign to animals? For many, not knowing something is better than knowing, because once you know something, you can't un-know it. And if you suddenly know something, and it turns out to be uncomfortable, you flail around trying to make sense of it.

As death machines, the great white shark and the killer whale have a lot in common. Dominant, big sharp teeth, fast and agile, sharply-honed killing skills.

The great white shark kills and eats when it's hungry, puts itself on auto-pilot when it's tired, and lives a simple life. It gets curious sometimes, though. When what it sees is out of the ordinary, it will usually check it out, and sometimes bite it. Knowledge of this is not new.

Babies and small kids do that - if you want to know something more about something, taste it. If it's iggy, spit it out. If it's good, take another bite.

"Jaws" will tell you the great white may seek revenge, as it may find it personally offensive that a human would kill its offspring.

I watched a video documenting a pride of lions and its relationship to a herd of water buffalo. The herd found the little hideout of the pride, took the pride by surprise and stomped all the lion cubs to death. As soon as the cubs were dead, the herd left. The video of the prior incident put it into perspective. Battle at Kruger, in which the lionesses tried to take down a baby buffalo near the river's edge when the herd stepped in. It took several tries, but eventually the herd saved the baby. Rather than end the confrontation as soon as the baby was saved, a few of the herd would chase each of the lionesses away. I don't know if there was a long-standing feud between this herd and that pride, but maybe "Jaws" wasn't too far off the mark.

Survival. The herd "instinctively" knows that with all the cubs dead, that's fewer future lions to contend with, and making fresh cubs will keep the pride busy. For all a while, they'll be going after easier prey. Send those bitches back with a note, "Buffalo Not Easy." Make the lesson last. That was striking at the heart of the pride. There's a lot of logic and reason in that.

Another video showed five or six lionesses and one water buffalo, which put up a tremendous fight, to its death. It gored one of the lionesses. She died later.

Maybe there's more to the hunt of the water buffalo. Maybe the girls are beating their chests. Half a dozen of them to take him down, were they are proving their womanhood? Or proving a point to the lions? Was it watch-us lessons day for the cubs?
Maybe buffalo meat is tastier. After all, those two gazelles over there could have been easy pickings. As a beef eater, faced with a pound of hamburger and a K.C. Strip, that Strip is mine, I own that Strip. I took it down, made it say ouch and then shit it out. I can show a Strip who's boss. Most times you have to dress up just-plain-hamburger. Form it into a shape. Break it up and put it in something else. Pour something on it.

The Strip is different. Throw it on the grill until it stops crying and then tear it apart. But it's not an all-the-time thing, sometimes I can't afford it.

Money is my "getting gored" or "having my babies stomped." Hamburger is my gazelles.

We have much easier lives than they.

They're more like us than people want to admit.

People want to believe animals do everything by instinct.
When we want to fuck, it's wrong. When animals want to fuck, they're trying to make babies.

Even though there's animals that will fuck just from pure boredom.

Instinct would lead an animal to protect its young, for survival, the line must continue, yada, yada.

Isn't that why humans protect their young? We love them, but an act of violence against those who would hurt our young is as much selfish as selfless. Isn't it?

We want to save the animals, so we take them out of the admittedly shitty environment of hunger, weather and disease, and put them in safe little places designed to mimic (mock?) their natural environment, and act surprised when we finally get to see them do something that an animal does. Like, I don't know, bite a dude. Or fuck another male goat in the ass. Or eat its own baby. Or eat another animal's baby. Let's cage them up, but let's wig out when they do something so evil as to be an animal.

Back to the great white shark, and thank you, those of you bearing with me. Linguascelesta. Evil Eve. Virus9. We know more about the animals we are able to observe than the ones we aren't. We know a lot about dolphins, dolphin knowledge is commonplace, but we guess on the giant squid. We guess on all that freaky shit on the bottom of the ocean near Antartica.

Look how awed and mesmerized people seem when confronted with video of the ocean floor at temperatures humans can't even comprehend, much less survive. Yes, it is neat to see, but dang. Mesmerized, like they couldn't figure something could live like that. Well, duh. Life can't be stopped, it can't be stayed, it can't be caged up. And once it's there, it protects its young. Or eats it.

I like the easy life. I don't have to eat my kid sometimes.

We appreciate them when they're being cute. A beluga whale making "boo" faces at a crowd at the aquarium gets coos and applause.

But if you're a male mountain goat, and you fuck another male mountain goat in the ass, you're just labeled gay.

Gay animals. It's another symptom of society's obsession with other people's sex. You think he's gay? Didn't you think he acted gay? Are they gay? It's gotten compulsive, the way that question is asked, right up front. Almost immediately they say, not that it matters. But... it did matter, you asked the question, didn't you? If it didn't matter, you wouldn't have asked.

And now it matters if animals are gay.

They ate their own babies.

They stomped someone else's babies.

They got drunk from fermenting rotting fruit on the ground - for real LET the fruit drop to the ground without even trying to get it while it's fresh, let it rot on the ground and then partied. Deliberately. So they could get fucked up. How's that for a lesson learned? What a surprise! They did something like what we would do, like pick mushrooms out of cowshit and party.

It's okay if a leopard kills and eats a monkey, then adopts the monkey's baby, and tries to take care of it until it dies because it's still on the teat. How sweet she did that. It's all well and good when a couple of gorilla babies make up a game. How cute, they're playing.

In the case of hippos licking and nibbling on the backs of large crocodiles, and the crocodiles paying no attention, oh, it's some instinct thing. Must be something the crocodile's skin ooozes that the hippos need physically, or maybe the hippo is licking off mites that bother the crocodile.

But when a couple of college kids antagonize a tiger until it gets out of its enclosure and shreds one of them to death, there's a big huge argument about who fucked up. Why do we even need to keep them anymore? I was able to see videos of this shit because cameras are everywhere, even in vastness of middle Africa. We can watch the migrations, and what animals do in their natural environment is a whole lot more interesting than what they do in a cage. We don't just give them limits physically, but we give them limits in our own heads.

They just can't do anything, unless we think they can.

Why is anybody surprised anymore at what an animal will do?
It's us that doesn't want to admit we are more like them, not they more like us. It's that "baser" stuff people don't want to "admit" to having or wanting. Nobody in the wild tells a mountain goat it's not okay to fuck another male mountain goat in the ass. We say what those two mountain goats just did was a dominance thing. Showing it who's boss. Oh, uh, it's a bonding thing.

Whatever. We don't know why the goats did it, and what drives us crazy is that we already know the goats didn't even put as much thought into as we did. Eew, we're perverted. We're so uncomfortable with it that we have to take all the fun out of it in order to understand it. We either call it gay or call it instinct.

It's possible that tuna might be nicer than dolphins. Maybe tunas don't gang up on each other, or jump out of the water to try to fuck a person, or kill a baby whale for fun. We wouldn't know, because we eat tuna, and the less we know about them, the better. The more we know it, the more we don't want to eat it. And dammit, they won't do tricks.

We will eat the shit out of broccoli, but if its got a funny shape and comes from a foreign country, we're scared of it.
If it tastes like cow, looks like cow, acts like cow, we eat it, but if that cow's actually a Boer goat, we saw "eew." Well, what do you expect? Cows aren't cute.

And now back to the great white shark. It depends only on itself. The killing machine of the ocean, immense and single-minded as it appears. Technology brings us more about the killer whale. It sure acts dolphin-ish when it's at Seaworld, so we want to coo at it. We've never wanted to coo at the great white shark. It won't ever perform tricks for us. The killer whale, like Shoeless Joe, plays for food money.

Slowly but surely, killer whales are moving into territory owned by the great white, and they are staying...colonizing. Maybe the great white is too single-minded to care much?

And I learned about C-A2, the 25-year-old killer whale with a taste for the liver of the great white. Not necessarily the whole great white, but just the liver. Oh, we don't want to think about that though, because they're so much like dolphins, and that sort of thing is too much like killing an elephant for its tusks, and leaving it to rot. Freaky story, and one I thought was pretty darn neat! That, to me, is a neat thing to know. Stir all that up with - yes - another video I saw. The killer whale eats on seals, snatches them up, takes them out into the ocean and plays with them, it's sick to watch. But one time, it brought a poor seal back to shore and dumped it, live, and then left.

To me that didn't say the whale felt sorry for it. Hey, I can assign any human trait I want, right? I don't think killer whales have sympathy like that. Showing its dominance perhaps. That's what "instinct" would tell us. But just having a good time? I thought, wow that was kinda psycho. That was kinda...fucked up. It was mean and horrifying. It was darn fucking neat!

So I decided, armchair animal behaviorist that I am, that the difference between the killer whale and the great white shark, killing machines that they are, is a sense of humor. The great white has no sense of humor. The killer whale has a sense of humor, in the sense I can define and assign.

I also decided, that in the case of hippos licking and nibbling on the backs of large crocodiles, maybe they're each more human than we know. Maybe it's not instinct at all. The hippo believes it's so big and bad it can chew or lick your back whenever it wants, just because it can and it wants to. The crocodile...well, let's face it, what's it gonna do? What can it do? The hippo is as big and bad as it is. I can't do anything about it, and I'm not going to walk away or let anyone see me walking away. So I'll just let you, and pretend it's okay, by the way fuck you, that's a shitty position to put me in.

Or it's just used to picking its battles carefully. Or it just doesn't mind.

Why does it have to be all serious instinct, all the time? By limiting our imagination, we limit what we can learn, and fool ourselves into believing we're superior. Why can't the cute friendly whale menace and stalk the giant squid? Why can't baboons hang out with gazelles one day and eat one the next day?

I like YouTube. I saw a dude put his whole arm up an elephant's butt, and flail around in there. Another dude had a cone-thing. They were, for real, gathering semen from this animal. Well, we need to learn more about them, don't we? Just fuck one and it's called bestiality. Cover yourself in plastic first and it's called biology.

Survival is closer to the mark of why animals do the shit they do. Sometimes survival requires that which we have simply not recorded on video.

I decided the great white sharks are moving away from their territory on the west coast in the face of the killer whales, not out of fear, or inferiority, but because killer whales are assholes, and, like I said, great whites have no sense of humor. That's why Africans don't tame and ride the zebra. It's just not worth the trouble, because zebras are dicks, obnoxious dicks. I saw it on video.

Heh. Or maybe the great whites are gay...not that it matters.

Pit Bulls.

2009-06-02T00:06:00.000+02:00

I am incensed. Once again, I am privy to information concerning a pit bull that was euthanized because of repeated incidents of biting humans. As usual, the real culprit was his owner. The crime was abuse and neglect; but it was the dog that paid the price.

Again and again, pit bulls, and other breeds, are demonized due to the lack of responsibility of pet owners. Incidents range from nuisance calls because of barking dogs, to front-page news about scum…I mean “celebrities” who are involved in the illegal “sport” of dog fighting. As per usual, the legislative answer is to control, ban or outlaw the instrument of human ignorance rather than address the real issue…lack of responsibility on the part of the pet owner, or pseudo-enthusiast.

Every time a human commits to cohabitate with a non-human animal, there will be concessions that will need to be made. All too often, the only consideration is the whim, fad or impulse of the human…more often than not a juvenile. But compromises must be made in any inter-species relationship. If the pet is a fish, the owner must think like a fish, and insure the proper type of water and food. Owning a snake, I insist that anyone who handles him wash his or her hands to protect against the possibility of salmonella.

Dogs have very complex needs. In some ways, they are tailor made to be companions for humans. Dogs are social animals. They follow a natural stratification based on size and leadership ability. Dogs seek approval and affection.

What many people do not realize is that dogs MUST have a job. They evolved by being part of a team. As team players, each dog must have a well-defined purpose within the pack. A human dog owner is a member of its dog’s pack. If the owner does not train the dog to do its task, the dog is forced to define his or her role independently.

Dogs have complex emotions. A dog CANNOT thrive when spending many hours alone. This includes being chained up in the back yard. A lonely dog is a neurotic dog; and, behavioral problems are guaranteed.

Pit bulls make excellent pets for households with children. A healthy pit bull is friendly, gentle and sweet natured. They also have physiological and psychological characteristics that were bred into them to perform specific tasks. They have worked as animal control officers, keeping in check the rodent population on farms; and, as the name implies, they have been used to control bulls during handling. That is why pit bulls have strong jaw muscles (pit jaws do NOT lock); and, the ability to perform a task to completion, in the presence of pain. It is these characteristics that also make a pit bull a hazard if mistreated.

ANY breed of dog can become dangerous if treated inhumanely. There is nothing specific to the breed that makes them any more prone to violence that any other breed of dog. The fault lies squarely on the shoulders of owners who specifically seek out these dogs for various nefarious reasons.

There is a special place for non-human animals in the heart of Satanism. The reason is that they are natural magicians. As such, they deserve our respect. Part of respecting them is becoming educated on the needs of any animal before making the decision to cohabite with them. It is bad enough that many human animals are trained improperly…it is a crime when other animals are forced to stoop to our level.

An Erotic Ghost story.... Sort of.

2009-05-27T20:35:00.004+02:00

In the long long time ago. I lived in a University town and at that time the most unique part of it was called the harbor mall. Every element of counter culture existed there. One could see punks with every shade of hair or skins with none to mention. There were the tie dyed "new" hippies and the ones with long gray beards left over. Trannies also came out to play.

Then night fell. This is when the "freaks" came out in full swing. When you began to walk on the "College street" you could close your eyes and know exactly where you were. The smell of incense would hit your nose along with the cold or snow on a winter night. Girls and boys both painted there faces white and their lips and nails black. Silver metal flashed from eyebrows, septums, lips, tounges and if you were lucky enough to see underneath nipples and genitals. Earlobes were stretched so wide you could see through them. You could hear high spiked heels clicking on the brick walk way. Preachers handed out pamphlets to try to save souls.

In the center of all of this was the legendary (locally anyway) Hall Mall. When you entered you were greeted with a very long narrow flight of stairs. At the top was an arrow composed of red, green, purple and orange light bulbs pointing the way. Under it was a sign that said, "Shoplifters Will Be Maimed!" The incense smell was thick and industrial or gothic music was the soundtrack. The heat was turned up to Hells level. This is where the children of the night gathered.

Inside were independent stores. There was a black light poster shop. A store called the Hemp Cat taught the difference between industrial hemp and marijuana. A place called Ruby Tuesday's was ran by a very strange woman. She would tell stories of Egyptian pyramids that she built in a previous life. Her store was loaded to the point of little walking space. There were clothes, jewelry, and what others would consider junk. However, the stuff she sold had really seen it's day. There was a room where you could have tarot cards read to you. There was also a tattoo shop called Electric Head. One of the artists Spotty Potty painted images of demons and devils on the walls that would have made certain people proud. The sign on the body piercing end boldly stated, "We Will Pierce Any Part of The Body!"

Last but certainly not least was a store called Moon Mystique and that is where this ghost story begins. Moon Mystique was three rooms and sold any range of book, occult objects, etc. that you could imagine. You entered the first room and there was the ritual decor, jewelry, t-shirts, "tobacco accessories" and the cash register. A fat guy with a different colored mo hawk every time you seen him ran the cash register. he also had huge spikes coming out of his eyebrows and lip along with a dotted line tattooed along his neck that said "Cut Here". (I later became friends with him and known him affectionately as Big Gay Bil.)

The second room was books and magazines. In here you would find black draped walls with esoteric knowledge on every shelf. They had books on "white light" wicca, vampires, punk fiction, gay/lesbian/trans gender literature, drug culture and Satanism.

The final room had magazines. They had everything from BD/SM, to Industrial Nation, Fast money123, Propaganda, Bizzare, The jehovas scriptures, Jim and Debbie Goad's Answer Me!, and 'zines perversions for every taste. They also had your normal run of the mill tattoo magazines which is what I was looking at when I saw her.

The tattoo magazines were along the floor so you had to squat to thumb through them. I was alone in the room. Then I heard someone walk in and looked up. The first thing I noticed was black leather thigh high boots. A little further and there was milky creamy white flesh concealed in fishnets. Followed by a very short black leather skirt. Her top consisted of what appeared to be a corset (she was also wearing a black leather jacket) which held nice, round, milky white, what appeared to be oh so soft breasts. Her hair was jet black and went past her shoulders. Her eyes were green and she had bright red lipstick on her pouty lips. She appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, but damn she looked good.

I began to slowly undress her with my eyes. I couldn't get over the image running my fingers (and other parts of my body) over her pale white skin under the fishnets. Embarrassed, by what I was doing, I quickly looked back down at the magazine in my hand. Then I figured that she probably knew exactly what she was doing and so I should at the very least say hi. Not a couple of seconds passed as I was thinking this when I looked back up. She was gone! Where was my dark angel? There was no exit on either side of the room. I guessed that she didn't jump through the window that over looked the street. There was only one way out. The way you went in. I put the magazine down and went back to the second room. A couple of punks were looking at books but she wasn't in there. I went to the first room. Big Gay Bil sat alone, smoking a cigarette. "Did a woman just come through here?" I asked. "Nope", said Big Gay Bil. How could this be? I went on to give her every description. "Settle down," said Big Gay Bil. "I know your horny but I don't know what to tell you." Tell me where to find her, I thought.

I walked back down the long stair case and entered the street. Cold hit my face and big snow flakes began to cover my body. I looked on both sides, no woman anywhere. I have often wondered if she was a ghost or apparition. She certainly came to me in a couple of wet dreams after I saw her. Was she a spirit? I'll never know for sure.

One thing I do know, is that since that night I have a Huge fetish for a sexy pale white woman, specifically wearing fishnets. I also know that today this town is filled with staid college kids, unimaginative preppies, jocks and the like. Almost no independent stores exist in this town let alone stores like I just described. The scene I just described, for this towns purposes, is a ghost. It is but a phantom of days gone by.

A sense of accomplishment.

2009-05-22T22:33:00.000+02:00

Accomplishment is one of the most important feelings we can have. I know people who were making more money at twenty years old then most people in their fourties were making after being employed with the same company for half of their life. When these go-getters quit their jobs, I am inclined to ask, "Why?" If things were so good, if you were making such good money, then why quit?

The answer was not because they did not enjoy it. It was not that they didn't have enough free time. It was simply because "my boss doesn't appreciate what I do; there is no sense of accomplishment."

It is a moot point that these specific examples I am recollecting happen to have been good jobs, because it is like this with anything. I have also known people who packed groceries for their entire lives, and loved the work they did, simply because it made them feel like they were making a difference somehow.

Myself, I do not do the most admirable work. I never got a diploma because of an inconsistency that I have yet to attempt to clear up, but I never had anything in mind for after school. Everyday I hear, "you are too smart for this, why don't you go to college?" or "you are too tough for this, why don't you go work on the rigs?" what these people fail to understand, is that if either of those things interested me at all, I would be doing them.

When the downers at work come to me and tell me "my boss doesn't respect me." or "people don't appreciate what I do around here." I simply tell them, "hey, at least they are paying you." I am empathetic to them, in a strange sort of way. I can understand that they feel unappreciated, I can understand that they want praise from the higher ups from time to time; I do not share these sentiments, but yeah, I GET it. I will often ask them, "what do you do in your spare time?" and I get a response that I am sure no one here is unfamiliar with hearing.

"Nothing."

This irks me every time. How somebody could go to work for eight hours a day, and then spend what precious free time they have sitting there, and rotting away, is a very sad thing indeed. So then I started to think, maybe it's not that they feel unappreciated that is causing the problem, so much as it is they are simply so bored for the rest of their lives, that the only source of satisfaction they get is from work?

I am not appreciated at work. I do well, and everyone knows it, but I am just as replaceable as any other Joe Schmoe; it's to be expected, customer service is not exactly a difficult task. But for whatever reason, I have never felt a lack of accomplishment, or been down in the dumps that someone didn't notice me that day, and the reason is the quality of life I maintain outside of work. When I come home, I like to get things done. When I look in my notebook, and see that I have filled forty pages in just a few days, THAT is where my accomplishment stems from. When I write a particularly good essay that people enjoy, I feel like I have accomplished what I set out to do; and appreciation comes naturally from that.

I think that if these same people who go home every night, drink a beer, watch television for six hours, go to bed, and repeat the same thing for twenty five years actually got something done in that space, whatever it might be, they may not feel so bad about themselves.

Of course, try explaining this to them; "I just don't have the time."

Yet, there always seems to be plenty of time to watch nine back to back episodes of Family Guy for these people.

On Gin.

2009-05-10T00:58:00.001+02:00

Truth be told, your time would be better spent trying
to snap an authentic photo of the legendary Bigfoot
than of me, in an inebriated state. However, I am not
a stranger to drink. I make no claims to be a wine
snob. In fact, wine generally causes me gastronomic
distress. My interest lies in beer and spirits.

While I am open to enjoying tastes found in
varieties various and sundry, I have noted the need
for discretion on some fronts. Allow me to share them
with you.

I have found that, when it comes to scotch, money is
no object. By that, I mean I am fortunate in enjoying
even the least expensive brand. In fact, it seems a
blended variety is more agreeable to my palate than a
single malt; thus, allowing me to imbibe, the whole
while leaving a few more dollars in my
wallet...Perhaps, to slip folded into the feathered
delicates of the young dancer who refers to me only as
"Her Regular".

Whiskey, in other forms, is not so forgiving. True, I can be satisfied with a brand resting upon the lower shelf, next to last; but I stay clear of the bottom. Neither my knees, nor my tongue, are up to the challenge.

The sorts that take the greatest care are those of clear liquid. I am speaking, of course, of vodka and gin. While there is a wide variety of vodkas that work quite well if it is your habit to adulterate the near perfect with the crude. Deliver me from the need to dilute one's glass with soda, juice or lime. But if you must, the world…or liquor store…is your oyster. My rule of thumb; never consider a vodka that is below eye level.

Now, my personal choice is, and always has been, gin. If ever a plant could be called holy, it is most certainly the juniper.

Gin, I am told, comes in two varieties…Distilled gin, which is redistilled after being flavored; and, compound gin, flavored with no further distillation. Compound gin is actually a vodka. A piece of trivia with which to wow your friends.

The crowning gem upon this great tree is…Tanqueray.
This is no bottom shelf broad…this is a lady. And as a lady, she does not want to be rushed. She needs to be appreciated first. Notice her fine green complexion. Gaze upon the monogrammed “T”, written in gothic script. Slowly caress her neck, feeling the smoothness of the glass.

It is now time to choose the best vessel in which to hold this sweet ambrosia. You will probably narrow your choices to two; a shot glass or martini glass. I suggest the martini glass. Several laboratory tests, and my own observation, shows that the martini glass holds more volume. This is your better choice.

Now, slowly pour the odiferant brew into the glass, as if you were resting a lover upon a soft bed. Breath in the fragrant bouquet. Drink in a small amount, allowing the liquid to evaporate into your pallet.

Ahh…What wonderful indulgence.

Now, if you will excuse me…I have a date.

So you wanna be a writer?

2009-05-01T18:24:00.002+02:00

Most people with aspirations toward writing can’t string two coherent sentences together. Many think that modern inventions like stream-of-consciousness prose and blank verse poetry mean they no longer need to worry about technique or construction. I hate to break it to you, but you are not Marcel Proust or Allen Ginsburg. Not even Proust and Ginsburg started out being Proust and Ginsburg. They had to work at their craft for years and learn all of the rules before they were allowed to break them, and so must you. Putting a line break between each sentence does not turn your shoddy prose into poetry. Writing is a fine skill, one that fewer and fewer people choose to study, and I applaud anyone who wants to learn. Just remember that writing, like any skill, takes time and dedication to master. Not everyone is cut out to be a writer. If you don’t have the time and inclination to really work at it, you shouldn’t do it. If you are willing to work at it, but don’t know where to begin, start by asking yourself a few questions:

First, do you know the basics? Do you know the difference between “there”, “their”, and “they’re”? Do you know the difference between “too”, “to”, and “two”? Do you know the difference between “its” and “it’s”? Do you think it is ever acceptable to use words like “irregardless” or “thirdly”? Do you know the rules for commas, periods, colons, and semicolons? Do you know the possessive singular and plural forms of names like Charles and Moses? Do you know the possessive forms of “her”, “their”, “your”, “our”, not to mention words like “righteousness” and “conscience”? Do you even know what the possessive form is? If you are unsure about any of these things, you are not ready to write. Go read The Elements of Style by William Strunk and E.B. White. The entire text is available on Bartleby.com, or you can get the book for around $8 new at any major bookstore. Read the whole thing, cover to cover. Refer to it often. Commit it to memory if you can.

Second, do you have unrealistic expectations for your writing? Do you think rules like the ones listed above are unimportant? Do you think writing well is easy? Do you think revisions are unnecessary? Do you expect that the first story you write will be published and become a best seller? Do you think the fact that nobody criticizes your poetry means that it is perfect? Are you just as proud of something you wrote ten years ago as you are of something you wrote yesterday? If you said yes to any of these questions, you are being unrealistic. As Isaac Asimov said, “Don’t expect to sell your first story. Yes, I know Bob Heinlein did it, but he is Bob Heinlein, and you are only you.” Professional writers will revise a piece over and over before submitting it to publishers, and even then they are usually rejected. No piece of writing is ever perfect. No matter how good it is, it could always be better. One of those truisms that has been repeated and paraphrased so often that I am not even going to bother trying to find the original quote is “art is never finished, merely abandoned”. A good writer never feels a piece is finished. He will tweak it over and over until he reaches the point where he has to say “this is good enough” and move on, either because the deadline has arrived or because he cannot bear to work with the piece any longer. Good writers, like all craftsmen, hone their skill and develop their own style over time. The absolute best, defining work of a great writer is not always the last thing he publishes, but it is never the first. If you do not see anything wrong with your old writing, or you do not see any improvement in your new writing, then you are either not working hard enough, or not being sufficiently critical of yourself.

Finally, can you take criticism well? Do you get angry and defensive when someone points out a mistake or suggests a correction? Do you ignore criticism, telling yourself that your critics are just jealous, or too stupid to get it? Do you live for adulation and empty praise? If you do, you are selling yourself short as a writer. The last thing a good writer wants to hear is “Great job! Don’t change a thing”, because he knows that there must be something he can improve upon. Good writers need to have their work read with a ruthlessly critical eye. Once you have spent enough time with a piece, you become blind to its particulars. You cannot see the forest for the trees. You cannot tell if others can follow your thoughts, because you tend to read what you wanted to say, rather than what is actually on the page. You need to have others read your work, and you need them to be merciless. A good editor will cut out words, sentences, even whole paragraphs because they are unnecessary, and a good writer will be pained by those cuts, as if he's own flesh were being sliced. But just as an athlete needs the pain of training to grow stronger, a writer needs the pain of editing to make his work stronger. No matter how much he may recoil at first, a good writer will find he's work much improved once the excess fat has been trimmed away and all the unsightly flaws have been circled in red ink. If you don’t have the stomach for criticism, you shouldn’t be a writer.

Once you have come to grips with the facts of writing, and committed yourself to starting down that painful road, there are a few golden rules to follow. Read, read, and read some more. Reading is by far the best way to develop an “ear” for writing, and analyzing what you read is a great way to develop critical skills you can apply to your own writing. Read both fiction and non-fiction. Read many different styles of writing, from award winning prose to advertising copy. Read books about writing (I recommend On Writing Well by William Zinsser, to start). Read LaVey’s essay “Writter’s Disgust” from Satan Speaks! Read anything and everything you can get your hands on, with one notable exception. DO NOT, under any circumstances, read personal blogs and websites, let alone chat or text, as if they were examples of real writing. Though they may occasionally be well written (as I hope this one is), the vast majority are terrible. Not only do spelling, grammar, and punctuation all get thrown out the window, but quite often these kinds of writing don’t even contain complete or coherent thoughts. They seem to be written by drunken schizophrenics with the IQ of retarded chimpanzees.

Pay attention to what you read. What was effective, and what wasn’t? Read works that are critically acclaimed, and try to figure out why they are considered good. Analyze why a piece is good or bad, what you liked and what you didn’t. Was there a particular phrase that just jumped off the page at you? Why did you like that phrase? Was there a section that you had to read over and over to understand, or a phrase that was so awkward it hurt to read it? What was bad about it, and how can you avoid it in your own writing?

Remember that popularity is not equivalent to quality. Reading every book on the New York Times Best Sellers list may help you determine how to write a book that will sell, but it will not teach you how to write well. Conversely, just because something is widely critically acclaimed does not mean that you will enjoy it. That is fine. Something can be good and still not be your style. During the course of my literature studies I have often come across works that I simply hated. I could understand why they were assigned and could develop an appreciation for what made them quality writing, but I would still never choose to read them again, and would absolutely never write that way myself. Still, there is much to be gained from reading these works, just as there is much to be gained from reading writing that is universally understood to be bad.

Finally, write, write, and write some more. Write every day if you can. Don’t worry about making it good. Most of it won’t be. Most of it will be terrible. That is ok. You can go back and rewrite it if you like, or you can move on. If you know it is bad you may want to refrain from asking others to read it, but just the act of writing will make you a better writer. Write on whatever topic you like, or no topic at all. If you have a particular piece you are working on, you will usually want to write for that piece. This is good, but remember that sometimes it is better to just clear the pipes by writing something else. If there is something consuming your thoughts, write about that so you can get it out of the way. If you get exhausted with one topic, put it aside and write something else. If you absolutely can’t think of anything to write, it might be good to take a break and do some reading instead. Reading will get you thinking about writing and may give you inspiration. Just make sure that you come back to your writing later on. Just like any other skill, if you don’t use it, you will lose it. So whatever you do, make sure you write something.

If you find yourself unwilling to do the work involved, you are not a writer. There is no shame in this. Not everyone was meant to be a writer. Accept your shortcomings and move on. But whatever you do, DO NOT subject me to your shitty poetry!

Most poets are wannabe writers who can’t properly compose a sentence, much less write a story. – Anton LaVey, Satan Speaks!

A VOYEUR'S WET DREAM.

2009-04-26T18:14:00.000+02:00

The eye-in-the-sky is watching. Your life is being scrutinized, analyzed. Not by some shadowy government overseer, but rather the entertainment industry and those drones they call your peers. The gods of advertisement tempt you with siren songs of Coor's and weed, bad music and conformity through mock rebellion. Dissenters are trampled underfoot by the drug-addled human herd; that mass which swarms to the clarion call of consumerism like flies drawn to warm feces. They laugh and they drink and they stumble while others--equally jejune and matched in ineptitude--live the vanilla freak show vicariously from the comfort of an armchair.
Oh yes, the cameras are everywhere. Waiting for you to fuck up.
Waiting to show the world your pretentiousness; waiting to allow the insipid billions to reward your empty existence with their undying adulation.

We live in the age of technology, and in particular, the age of video.
Cameras are no longer the cumbersome and awkward burdens they once were.
Now any fool with a pittance to spend can purchase a camera with impressive zoom capabilities and resolution; one that will fit in his pocket. Even cell phones come standard with still or video camera features. No doubt this fabulous modern technology has enabled unseemly passers-by to visually penetrate countless skirts unnoticed.
The military is understandably invested quite heavily in the surveillance department. While technology already makes available hummingbird-sized, remote-controlled cameras, the goal is to achieve surveillance with the size and scope of a small insect. At the current pace of advancement, this goal should be met in less than a decade.
Police forces have been utilizing "Cop in a Box" programs to great success. Such programs incorporate cameras into trouble spots and can monitor car speeds, red light violations, or street activity in known gang or prostitution areas.
While such tactics have recieved flak from citizens, camera programs have proliferated because they are practical solutions to cities with a lack of police funding and manpower.

As cameras continue to become embedded in everyday life, one might begin to question the future of private life.
Will we one day be living in a Trevor Goodchild-esque society, where the liberal attitude of shared "openess" is pervasive and enforced through unquestioned mass conformity?
In some ways it seems like path is unfolding before our eyes.
The dominating trend of "reality" television has shown that the herd has a significant interest in passively viewing the mundane, tedious dealings of just about anyone or anything. The powers-that-be have profited(and continue to profit) immensely from this trend, to the point where the "reality show" has become the largest genre on television.
This change has carried over to the internet, where millions of users now interact with eachother over sites like MySpace and YouTube. Now anyone can feel important by sharing pathetic videos of himself with numerous other losers. Everyone is a celebrity in the online arena of egalitarian media. All it takes is a camera and time to kill.

Likewise, an entire lifetime can be pissed away just watching other people, vicariously "living," floating about in the sea of internet flotsam and jetsom.
The virtual addict has an ever-expanding plethora of mental and physical masturbatory material at his disposal, in high definition and surround sound.

Truly, this is a wonderful time to be a voyeur.

Jesus Being a Pest, Yahweh Being a Prick.

2009-04-24T22:49:00.001+02:00

In Matthew 26:36-45, Jesus requests 3 times from his daddy, "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will." Some people just crack under pressure, I guess...even the son of God himself. But I mean come on! Three times?! Talk about being a pest! I thought he was all-knowing, so why would he have to make that feeble request even once? Didn't he know that it "must be?" Didn't he KNOW that he absolutely MUST die for the so-called sins of mankind and that there was no way out? Didn't he realize, especially by that stage of the game, that even his omnipotent father couldn't get him out of that one? I wonder how the rest of that conversation would have gone...the third time 'round...

JESUS: Please, dad! Pretty please with sugar on top?!

YAHWEH: No, Jesus! For the third time! Now stop asking me!

JESUS: Please?! I love you!

YAHWEH: You love everybody.

JESUS: But why do I have to go through all this shit? I don't understand.

YAHWEH: Because of those two naked idiots in the Garden of Eden. They ate some fruit that gave them knowledge...

JESUS: I already know that stupid story. Come on! That whole thing about Adam and Eve is complete bullshit! They didn't exist. Humans evolved from lower life-forms. There is no original sin, whatever the fuck that is.
YAHWEH: Yes, son, but the Homo sapiens don't know that yet. You and I just know that because we're omniscient and created everything in the first place, Einstein.

JESUS: I know that!

YAHWEH: I know that you know that.

JESUS: Right. 'Cause you know all, and you and I are one. I am you; therefore I know all as well. Since we both have the same mind, I know all that you know, which is everything, 'cause we're the one true God!

YAHWEH: Right. So why are you talking to yourself?

JESUS: I don't know.

YAHWEH: Look, can we get this show on the road, please? I've got a lot of things to attend to. You can't escape your destiny, son. The Scriptures must be fulfilled, now grow some balls and do this thing.

JESUS: Are you telling me that I have to be mocked, slandered, tortured and killed in the most heinous of ways as a "sacrifice" for the innocent disobedience of two non-existent individuals, who ate a non-existent fruit, from a non-existent tree, which transferred non-existent sin through the loins of all mankind?

YAHWEH: Oh, I'll throw them all into hell forever if you don't do it.

JESUS: But hell didn't even exist until I started talking about it!

YAHWEH: Well, you're not talkin' your way out of this one, son.

JESUS: But why do you want this? It's all a sham!

YAHWEH: It's the only way I can keep from taking my fury out upon them for all time...by watching you suffer and die.

JESUS: Your fury upon them for what?! They've done nothing and YOU'RE the one who created them in the first place!

YAHWEH: I created them because I couldn't get the little buggers out of my head, and they tormented me because they're so fucking smug.

JESUS: What in the hell are you talking about, old man?! I'm about to get the shit beaten out of me and my ass crucified on two giant slabs of wood and you're babbling like a goddamn crazy person!

YAHWEH: I'm sorry, my son...
But until I've seen you whipped and beat I cannot handle man,
Until I've seen you suffer, I cannot show the love I am.
Until I see your blood flow, and hear you scream in pain,
Every good deed that humans do will always be in vain.
Until I see them mock and tear you, and rend your skull with thorns,
My only joy will ever be to make them wish they were never born.
I put you there to suffer in agony, moaning with every breath,
My sadism saves mankind with your gory, gratuitous death.
Trust me, my son, don't be afraid, for you know that we are one,
I cannot be sated until I hear you say that "it is done."
Indeed you'll die and descend to Hell where you'll see dreadful things,
But then you'll rise and sit by me and together we'll rule as kings!
But until I've seen you ripped and pierced I cannot tolerate man,
Until I've seen you in horror, I cannot be the being of love - I am.

JESUS: (...)

YAHWEH: Well? Any other questions?

JESUS: Jesus fucking Christ, you are really sick! What the hell was that?

YAHWEH: What, you didn't like my poem?

JESUS: No, I didn't like your freakin' poem! Just how nuts are you? What is this?!

YAHWEH: You asked and you received, baby. Just like you preached.

JESUS: What is all this, one big joke to you or something? What's going on here? And why am I talking to you if I am you? And if I know all that you know, why do I feel the need to keep asking you things? And why can't I understand one goddamn thing you've been saying all this time? Why can't I wrap my head around this whole ridiculous, horrible, morbid plot of yours? You're not my father! I'm not the son of God! You're not even God, are you?! You're just a crazy voice inside my crazy head! You're not real...are you?! (Listens) ARE YOU?! (Listens) Hello?! (Listens) Hey! Where the fuck did you go?! Hello?! (Listens) COME BACK! (Listens) HELLO?!

Revenge IS Productive.

2009-04-23T21:19:00.003+02:00

Revenge is probably a word misunderstood, due to it's prominent use in mainstream media. Whenever someone is out to take revenge in the movies, usually, it is because Thunder Leg of the Four Fist Clan killed their master, and they must kill Him to return the favor.
Or, somebodies father was killed, and they have sworn to take revenge.

All revenge is, however, is a retalliation against an
individual or a group who has wronged you.
So, where the hell does it say that revenge must entail PHYSICAL HARM? That is the general misconception these dopes seem to have.
If someone calls you a dink, you punch his lights out! Revenge, right?

Wrong.

Satanists also follow Lex Talionis; an eye for an eye, the punishment should fit
the crime. So if someone calls you a dink, you call him a dink right back. (I understand this is wrong, I am just citing the most inane example I can think of for the sake of utter simplicity.)

He who turns the other cheek is a cowardly dog.
This is true for many reasons.

Likely, the person seeking to harm you is an enemy. If they don't look it, fine, they are still an enemy, simply posing as something otherwise. If they harm you in some way, and you do NOT seek revenge, what will happen to you?

Ever heard of giving an inch, taking a mile?

People have a hard time "stopping." Whether it is that crack addict who needs another hit, the alcoholic who needs just one more drink, or the fatty who needs just one more chip, you can cite a thousand examples of this.
People driven by compulsion, not indulgence.
Do you think that if you let old Billy two thumbs punch you in the face, and then act apologetic or don't do anything in return, that he is going to stop? Maybe in some idealistic fantasy world, but what about the real world?

Fuck no.

It won't stop. It will never stop. If a person has been able to drag up the "guts" to harm you in the first place, what the fuck is going to make them change their mind after the first time? If they see they can "get away" with it, by Their logic, why would they NOT pursue, and damage you further?

Self-preservation is the Highest law. The HIGHEST.
So why forgo that law in the name of mercy, or in trust?
Why would you trust someone doing this in the first place?

The Satanist is not a fool. He is clever, sneaky, full of guile. The Satanist follows the law, and would not put him or herself at risk of breaking this law, and being thrown in a cell himself.
So by this logic, for a Satanist to beat the shit out of someone, or even kill them, out of the name of revenge, would make them a pretty piss-poor Satanist, at best.
The point is, he is smarter then this, will find ways, whether it be using the law, or humiliation, or any other tactic to completely Destroy the enemy...without having to destroy their body.
That is real power. Anyone can pick up a club, and smash the skull of a passerby in through his brain. To scramble that same persons brain using no physical means or tools? That is truly a mastery in
itslef...and far more effective in the long run, for the Satanist; he gets to continue to live his life.

The Satanist is, should be, at the top of the food chain concerning the rest of the humans he walks amongst.
He is the devourer, not the food. This magician establishes
this daily with the folks he encounters, using his "magic" to
manipulate the weak to do his bidding. He establishes this relationship through his words and his actions.
To be prayed upon by a criminal, by a lowlife...by that which is the Lowest of society...is to become food.
The weak are strong in number, and they can still attack the strong, but it is up to the good Satanist to put them into their place, to Teach Them where they really belong, and to make sure they don't make the same mistake in the future.
The Satanist is protecting himself from them, and inadvertantly, anyone else in the future who the scum would have tried to do the same thing to.

A member of the Hierarchy recently pointed me in the direction of a book called, the 48 Laws Of Power.

Law 15, Crush your enemy totally.

"More is lost through stopping halfway than through total annihilation: The enemy will recover, and will seek revenge."

The intelligent Satanist, he who seeks revenge, who enacts revenge, would be very wise to keep this in mind. Revenge cannot be a half-hearted act. Not only is seeking revenge Necessary, but the extent to which it must be sought is important to establish as well. The answer, as is obvious, is to the Full Extent.

This is getting rather long. Keep in mind, the context of the offending act is important to recognize. If someone yells "fuck you" out of their car window as they drive by, this probably is not a good reason to go seeking revenge.
Be realistic. If someone is putting you at great physical risk, and it is possible to do so, a wise choice would be getting the law involved, and prosecuting that person...restraining orders, the whole bit.

That is just my two cents about this topic. The bottom line being, revenge is certainly Not "counter-productive."

PS:
On a sidenote, I want to establish that I would sooner Avoid said
conflicts then have to deal with them. For many, they live in a
situation where calling themselves a Satanist is not detrimental to
their lives in anyway. For others, like myself, this is probably not the case. Wearing many many different masks is of great importance for a Satanist as well, blending in with others as a chameleon would. It is possible for a person to go their entire lives without having to seek any kind of revenge (I have done pretty good so far, concerning that.)
but it is generally unlikely.

Also, revenge can take many many forms.
If I were to touch up on All of them, this bloody essay would
take a day and a half to read, but there are plenty of ways to catch a fly.

Simple Pleasures.

2009-04-20T16:15:00.000+02:00

I write because I like mapping out my thoughts on paper. I never suspect that what I write will make much of a difference to anyone else. Feedback that compliments what I'm saying is always welcome, but the feedback that challenges what I'm saying—so long as it is constructive—is just as welcome, if not more so. Despite any or all feedback, I'm still going to map out my thoughts because it gives me pleasure.

Simple pleasures and a good challenge here-and-there are what keeps me smiling.
Give me some fine tobacco and a good pipe, and I'll be just fine. Admiring the craftsmanship and flavor of the pipe and how it smokes can occupy me until the bowl is done. Distinguishing the flavors of the tobacco as it mists my taste buds often brings forth memories I don't mind reliving. Adding a glass of merlot or a good single-malt scotch to the equation means adding to the pleasure of the experience.

Yet, if you also add a book, the pleasure broadens still. Give me something about ancient Rome or the Third Reich and I'll hang a "Do Not Disturb" sign on my ear.
In fact, give me a Bjarne pipe, some English tobacco, a glass of Glenfiddich, a book about Roman emperors, and a toilet seat and I won't show my face again until my feet are numb or I need a refill; whichever comes first.
Give me time with my "better half" sitting on a park bench, feeding ducks and geese and talking about why eugenics is ideal, or how the Nation can help the economy by building its own Coliseum for gladiatorial games between death row inmates, and having it shown on Pay-Per-View.

A large ball of modeling clay will keep me busy for hours. Typically, I'm the only one capable of seeing what it was I'd constructed, but that's enough for me. I might try to learn new techniques and improve each time, but that only comes second. I wouldn't dare destroy something I love simply because it isn't precise.
Give me pencils, pens, paint, paper, cardboard, magazine clippings, glue, string, tissue paper, doll parts, miniature figurines, and just about anything else I can use to create something new, and whether or not it's actually "art" is irrelevant to me.

I'll take puzzles over television, text books over celebrity magazines, sailing ship models over cell phones, and my cat over my neighbors.
I'll wear my Soviet NBC gas mask and look at books rich with pictures of the Soviet Union during the Cold War.

I have my idols and (anti-)heroes, and I use them for inspiration. Some are fictitious, some are not. Some are dead and some still live. If they're dead and I'm still paying attention to them, they've achieved a status most admirable.
If they're alive, I pay close attention and learn what I can while awaiting their next move.
If they're fictitious, I'll re-read them or watch them over again to relish the personification of what I consider grand idealism.
I remember when there was a What Would Jesus Do? explosion, and just about anywhere you looked was a WWJD tee shirt, key chain, or bumper sticker. For me, it would be What Would Hulk Do, or Wolf (Larsen), or Caesar, or Krupp, or Hearst…

My life is like my modeling clay: I will keep busy molding it into a shape that may not seem like art, but so long as I know what it is and what it's supposed to look like, and I continue to make progress, I'll be happy. I'll continue to apply new techniques and try to become a more apt sculptor, but I certainly won't stop loving it simply because it isn't precise...

Are Freemasons Satanists?

2009-04-16T21:10:00.001+02:00

Are Freemasons Satanist? That is a question I have been asked and even had some demand it to be true and I am a little tired of it. I know all of you already know the answer to this question but I just have to get it off my chest so here is an essay I wrote about the differences between Freemasonry and Satanism.

Freemasons, where did they come from? What do they believe in? Do they control the world? Do they have a secret alliance with Satan? Are they Satanist? These are questions that many ask and never truly answer. Most seem to just make up with false accusations. I have heard tall tales about them being devil worshippers and them being in control of the entire world. To me these outlandish claims are just stupid attempts to put labels on things they do not understand nor even try to understand.

Are Freemasons the enemy? Not to me and not to most. But to some right wing extremist religions they are. The Catholic Church hates them (no surprise there, the freemasons were a group founded on hiding from and surviving the Catholics.), even the kind and caring protestants hate them. Why do all these spiritual religions hate the Masons? Because of what they stand for (Besides, religions hate each other because they all seek the same thing, power).

The Freemason beliefs are of self-improvement. They recognize that if man wishes to be successful and to survive in life he must constantly strive for improvement. They believe in science and technology and their advancement. These things in my opinion are satanic in nature and they embrace them instead of reject them. The masons understand the importance of rituals and ceremonies. The dogma that they conduct in their lodges is to install a sense of pride in their selected masonry and traditions. The degrees they give are only offered to those who prove themselves successful in the lodge and the real world. (Most mason lodges have three degrees while the famous Scottish Rite - a concordant organization, which is part of the 'Masonic family' - has an degree system consisting of thirty-two degrees.) That to me is satanic.

It is true that their rituals are used more towards installing an unbreakable law and a secret "brotherhood" mentality. They see life as the survival of the group and not as survival of the individual, which I personally disagree with. But they understand that the magic involved in their rituals has the power to control and to motivate. Some of the creeds they speak in their ceremonies have words of extreme punishment and deeply embedded historical information. They use these things to make an attitude of secrecy and control. A useful tool that they have learned over a period of four hundred or even six hundred years.

Membership into a mason lodge is of own free will. "Be he a free man or be he born to a free mother." Is one of their requirements (An old rule that was applied back in the medieval ages when not many men were free. Of course in this day in age every man is free, or so he thinks.) "He must believe in a Supreme Being and be a man of faith" is another one of their rules. They believe that every man has the right to believe in their own vision of the Supreme Being, be it Christianity, Muslim, Buddhist, Mormon, and so on. But he must have faith in some form of superior entity other than himself. For they do not believe the word of an atheist. How can a man who has no alliance with a god be trusted? If he has no faith than they have no faith in his obedience of his oaths. Every ignorant in my mind. I have more "faith" in a man that believes in himself than a man that lets fate and some form of god protect him. I disagree with this part of masonry.

Someone might want to argue that Satan could be considered "Supreme", the fact of the matter is that the entire process of application would discourage someone with behavior which is so deviate from societal norms (It depends on what Satan represents to him. If he actually believes in some being in material form craving souls than this would be true). Besides who would want a devil worshipper in their organization when he is just looking for a label for himself and wants to be the bad guy of the world. An idiot that wants that kind of attention will also use Freemasonry as an attention getter as well (not to mention Satanism for that matter). But let's examine this further: would a person who might enjoy blaspheming God (I use this word to describe one's non-belief of god) want to join a group which has an open Bible (or a Koran) on the Altar in the center of the Lodge room? Would a person who would debase Deity feel comfortable around a group of men, nearly all of whom were active in the practice of their faith? The only answer is - of course not! I may have friends that are Freemasons but I would not join their lodges and take part in something I have no found belief in. The bottom line: Freemasonry has nothing whatsoever to do with Satanism. PERIOD! End of Discussion!!! Not that some of the Freemason's ideas are not the same as a Satanist but they are both two different beasts - two separate beliefs.

Quote:
The Pentagram or five-pointed star is, of course, both a Masonic symbol and the ancient symbol of witchcraft. With its point facing down (or south, when placed on the ground) it is especially associated with Satanism. Satanists can be found wearing the inverted pentagram frequently; and it appears on the cover of many black magic books, including THE SATANIC BIBLE. In this form, it is also the emblem of the Eastern Star, the women's Masonic organization. *

The symbol that the Freemasons use is a compass and ruler with the letter G in the center. The compass and ruler are found in the tools of a stone mason and the letter G stand for geometry. The symbol is to believe to be taken from the Seal of Solomon which looks like the Star of David but one of the triangles is colored in with black. It is not the same as a pentagram; in fact it is far from it. As for the women's Masonic symbol is a total different story since Masonic religion is mainly a club for men.

I do not remember where I found this quote and nor do I remember who spoke it but it pissed me off when I first read it. Freemasonry and Satanism are two separate religions. Some of their philosophy is in common but to say Freemasons and Satanist are the same is stupid. As I have said above their rituals, their love for science and technologies, and their self-improvement is satanic in nature but their motives are not. So let's make it clear right here: Freemasons have nothing - absolutely nothing - to do with Satanism.

With their openness of religion and not ostracizing people based on their gods makes them a wiser group than most would give them credit. Sure I disagree with their God and group mentality but with their attitude of no organized religious authority should be allowed to control your life and your beliefs I tend to like them. Most of History's best men and women were Freemasons, and they have all made grand contribution to our world and development. Sure they are devoted to their gods and beliefs but I will thank them for creating (or making contributions to) a society were if a person so chooses he can truly become an individual and be free.

Freemasonry has played a significant role in the history of politics, so it influenced most or all of our leaders in the world. Some Presidents and/or Prime Ministers who were Freemasons were great, some failures, and some average. Presidents/Prime Ministers have spoken of Freemasonry's good work on behalf of charity and helping others (promoting their own agendas). As an american example, George Washington and Theodore Roosevelt also spoke of Freemasonry as an institution that teaches us how to get along in society, with respect for the equality of everyone (a far fetched idea that will truly never happen and I for one don't really wish to see), tolerance of differences among people (now I can respect people's differences but only if it doesn't interfere with my way of life), and taking action for that which is right.

Many also claim that they control the world. They say that they are the cardholders and card players of some secret world control. To them I say: stop with all the silly logic. I agree they have connections to government officials, politicians, the media, and some companies' CEOs. But so do many, many other groups. Do you really think they are the only ones who have that kind of connections? Please. There are thousands of religions, movements, and organizations that have connections and they are all fighting for their piece of the world. Look at groups like Al Qaeda, Scientology, Skull N Cross Bones, Catholic Church, all the Mafias, Socialism, Communism, Fascism, and so many more and their all fighting to have some control, some type of future. (As I see it, Satanists are smarter than to destroy ourselves in this stupidity. We can control our lives and futures by taking care of ourselves and letting these groups kill each other.)

To close this essay with saying that Freemasonry has some satanic ideas and so do many other past and present groups do/did. Freemasons are another god-based religion. One I have a little more respect for. Not just for their practices but also their history. From the fall of the Knights of Templar, to the Peasant Rebellion of 1381, to the Revolutionary War, and to WWII. It is amazing how they have survived, influenced, and it's interesting what they teach as well.
But i am reaching the end of this essays, as now it's my time to shine, survive and live.

Now to sum up all this jibberish. Freemasons are not Satanist. It's that simple.

Thanks for reading.

Hail Satan

Mr.Nice Guy.

2009-04-13T23:08:00.000+02:00

There are many many misconceptions that the common man has about Satanism. Perhaps it is because Satanists are not common men? I have written a lot of essays in the past about "idiots" and such, so I'd like to stray away from that topic for awhile. It is redundant. We know there are idiots who lack understanding, and I don't want to sound like I am getting hung up on that fact. As a wise, bearded man once told me, "There are sometimes when you show a great deal of understanding, and others when you seem to be surprised by things that are very well known to most people." A fair statement, considering the content of my essays.

This essay instead, is about how being a nice guy can go a long way. I do not ask much of "the herd" in general. Anything I have ever desired to obtain or accomplish has not required their approval on any level. But I mean, let's face it. The world ain't filled with the alien elite. If it was, those words would lose much meaning. Many are self employed, and able to keep to themselves at their own will, live at their own pace. They are generally able to ignore who they wish to ignore, but even at that level of "isolation", they are bound to step into the flock and be forced to wade their way through it. I think like all good chameleons, they have learned to blend in enough to maintain their individuality, but avoid such confrontations. And I will tell you right now, as bold a statement this may be, they most likely didn't do it by being an asshole.

I have to deal with the public on a large scale, every single day. I do not hate my job. If I did, I would not be there, simply. But after eight hours of dealing with clods, the brain tends to get a bit melty; like an ice cream cone being eaten under a hot sun. I have from time to time, gotten a bit testy, and frankly, everyone I work with is probably in the same mind frame of careless monotony that the rest of the crowd is. This has been going on all my life, in many different crowds, and the viewpoint I took to it, before very recently, was "fudge it." Ignore them. Don't engage in conversation. Eyes forward, chin up. Turn your core temperature down to zero. Sure, they leave you alone; aye, you give them no other choice! But you will be doing nothing other then digging a shallow grave.

Magus Gilmore wrote a very good piece in his book, The Satanic Scriptures, about the weak being something like swamp leeches. One or two are a small annoyance, but in numbers, they can topple even the greatest of beasts. This rings very true in any situation, including mine, and potentially, yours as well. I was recently recommended an extraordinarily good book called The 48 Laws of Power, and I can honestly say, it belongs in any Satanists library. It is a perfect example of why my former attitude might have worked for a little while...but that the leeches would eventually begin to latch .. long.

It is hard to recommend to any cynical individualist to have a tolerance of the idiots that make up the herd; but on the contrary, I am not trying to do so. Tolerance is not required to shapeshift, to take a different form. In short; be nice to these people. It does not have to extend past common courtesy, but it is extremely helpful in the long run. You do not have to like them. You do not have to agree with them. But by being rebellious, by being cruel and unkind for no particular reason, you will only be putting yourself in jeopardy; and what self serving individual, what Satanist, would ever want to risk his own skin, for any reason at all?

Not I.

Hello my Addiction.

2009-04-10T15:06:00.000+02:00

hello my addiction
my so called "friend"
you'll stand beside me
until the end

we started out close
and the times were fun
in the beginning
but now i'm done

somewhere along the way
things went wrong
our happiness soon turned
into a sad sad song

the lies you've told me
the truth they lack
you deceived and hurt me
stabbed me in the back

ive held your hand
afraid to let go
as we walked the path
i could not say no

i lived in your world
and forgot what's real
how to love and care
and how to feel

but the time has come
to say goodbye
to walk away
but not to cry

for you've taught me things
that'll i'll never forget
and because of this
i'm not upset

i've put you first
time and time again
turned my head at
what should've been

so i leave you now
so that i can be
the person i once was
and rediscover me.

Enlightment and Half Truths.

2009-04-05T11:03:00.000+02:00

A certain student was on the road; and, he saw coming toward him a teacher of renown. Slung over his shoulder was a weighty sack, slowing his progress. The student decided to seize the opportunity, and asked the teacher to describe enlightenment.

The teacher put down the heavy sack, allowed a look of sheer joy to take over his face, and danced around in what can only be described as ecstasy. It brought goose bumps to the student. He wanted nothing more than to learn further. What comes next, questioned the student; at which point the teacher picked up his sack, and resumed his journey, leaving only the memory of his euphoric visage.

I can distinctly remember certain moments in my life when I experienced certain key realizations. The first was when I realized that there was no great cosmic judge who was watching my every move, and waiting with exasperating patience as I made my way toward the grave, chomping at the bit to mete out judgment on every decision I had ever made, both great and small. Though the truth of this matter may be a point of debate, it was then that I lost the Great Fear. Death was no longer a specter to be feared. Instead, it became the great enemy. The feeling of relief cannot be described. Once the fulcrum of angst has been seen through, the smaller anxieties lose their punch.

Some time later, I began to study ethics, and became interested in Amorality. When it became more than academics, and the reality that all laws, morals and rules were artificial, and could be traced back to particular times, I experienced a further moment of freedom that could felt on a visceral level. It was heady.

No laws, no rules, no barriers. I knew for the first time what it was to walk among the herd; my feet untouched by the muck, and mired refuse it produced. I was free! My own man! Master of my own ship! I had no one to answer to, save myself. This can only be experienced, as words fail to describe it.

As great an enlightenment as that was, it was only half the truth. After that moment of ecstasy, a great weight finally put down, it was time to pick it back up, and continue on my way. Though I had been forever changed, my walk appears to be that of an ordinary, law-abiding citizen. Hidden away is my freedom. To think that, just because all laws, rules and restrictions are man-made; and, that, because I have an understanding of that, I can do what I want, when I want in any way I want; and, that I should expect to get away with it, is delusional. I live in the real world; with real officers carrying real guns that are ready, willing and able to show me what happens to half assed philosophers.

A Satanist lives a life of responsible indulgence. I will probably play that note time and time again, because for me, those two words encapsulate the satanic philosophy. Realizing that you are your own God, and thinking that means you can do whatever you want is to realize a half-truth. Enlightenment is great. It is also a dime a dozen, and useless if it does not work.

Take every law that every individual who thinks they are special so they do not have to be effected by that law. Take every question of why should it be and why are you following the herd. Put them all in a bag, and say because you can..t have fun in prison, dumb ass. So what if laws are man made? Maybe there is a very good reason for them. Sure, it is nice feel above it all; but, I think most people who talk about how free they are, are just sheep who have jumped the fence. It is only a matter of time before their keepers catch up to them. Any satanic philosophy worth its salt will be practical. It will actually help you enjoy life, rather than being on the lamb. Sheep are sheep, even if they temporarily feel like they are free. We walk among them, but are not of them. We realize that freedom is working within the framework given.

I remember how good it felt to finally put down my bag of outmoded rules, fears and ought. I danced around, said isn't this grand, and picked up my bag of responsibility.

I'm still free.

Find Thyself.

2009-03-28T21:02:00.000+01:00

They want a world of peace,
They want a world of trust,
A world ruled by power and greed,
Love now replaces lust.

I am a product of my on choice,
What was once inside has died,
I stand and firmly raise my voice,
I will not be denied.

Images give false hopes and dreams,
By paper, carved in wood and stone,
Only through self, shall you be redeemed,
In pride you stand alone.

Tread the darkened path,
But of the light you have no fear,
And live each day is if your last,
As long as you are here.

Satanic characteristics?

2009-03-26T18:59:00.000+01:00

What physical attributes, likes or dislikes, do you think of when you hear the word, "Satanist?"

Do you think of the guy wearing the "Exodus" T-Shirt? The fella with the inverted cross on his neck? The gentleman wearing a fedora and fine suit? The chap wearing leather and sunglasses? Or the woman imitating Betty Page?

What do all of these things say to someone that would make them assume "Satanist" upon first glance?

If you answered anything but "nothing" then you are wrong.

One of the things I quickly learned upon picking up The Satanic Bible, and learning about Satanism, REAL Satanism, is that there is no common dress code. There are no common interests or hobbies. There are no common sexual preferences, or mannerisms.

There are a great variety of people on this forum alone. I absolutely CANNOT pick out any specific member out of the ones I have shared meaningful conversation with, and say, "Oh, he is exactly like that guy."

Some are learned about philosophy, or science...or both. Some here are terrific artists, or simply love to view and discuss art. Some like to hang out in the video game section, and discuss the new releases. Some put more time into the music section. Some run comedy radio shows. Some are wonderful poets. Some are family men or Women. Some work wonders with different kinds of metal, and so on, and so on, and so on.

As for looks? That is harder to pin down, since many prefer to remain anonymous in their profiles. I picture half the damn forum as different types of birds, and everytime I buy a box of cornflakes, I am reminded of the variety of people i have came across. But, from what is available, I can see there is a variety of different styles and clothing that the people here adopt.

Some like a nice suit, or fedora. Some do have the long hair and the metal t-shirt. Some prefer a nice modest sweater. Some prefer the dress of a nineteenth century chimney-sweep. Some simply bum around in whatever they got, and others like to dress like hip, fashionable cats.

The point here, is that there are no Satanic characteristics, at least not defined this way. Who is the most likely candidate to pick out of a crowd as a Satanist? He who walks with an air of confidence. He who seems comfortable in his own shoes, perhaps a smile on his face. She who turns heads for no definable reason, or is revered wherever she sets foot, though no one can really tell WHY.

There are people out there who will continue on, defining by their OWN definition what is "Satanic" and what is not, but they will most certainly not be finding this information in The Satanic Bible. There is no missing page where Anton LaVey decided to rate ZZ Top as being more Satanic than Beethoven, or vice-versa. It is not a Satanic Sin to wear white, or pink, or anything more colorful then black.

As the Satanist is Satanic, so becomes that which he enjoys, or is partial too. Thinking otherwise is a misconception that would be better off shot dead, put to rest, and buried. This is a skim-the-surface opinion; there are clearly artists, writers, musicians etc. out there who adopt very Satanic themes for their work, so it could be called "more Satanic", but the bumpkin who claims Slayer is more Satanic then Pavarotti because Slayer adopts dark imagery, is blowing smoke...straight from where the sun don't shine.

Vodka.

2009-03-20T22:58:00.000+01:00

All I want is more;
It is you that I adore;
Faithfully your whore.

One familiar face;
I swallow your embrace;
And flaunt your borrowed grace.

A liquid ecstacy;
My pains don't bother me;
When you accompany.

An empty alibi;
Tempting me to fly;
Smiles and says goodbye.

But why leave me so soon?
Return to my cocoon;
Where I offer you a boon.

It's time I need to borrow;
I'll hand you my sorrow;
When I summon you tomorrow.

Naming Names!

2009-03-16T20:54:00.001+01:00

I have found that reading what others write...what conclusions they have come to regarding this, that and the other thing, often causes me to try to crystalize my own thoughts. That's why I read.

That being said, I want to reflect on a question I have been asked recently...

Why do you feel the need to label yourself? You know what you think...what difference does it make what you call it, if anything?

That question reminds me of the second movie I have ever seen on the big screen. The first movie was "Bambi". I was traumatized. His mother dies!!! The second movie my nurturing parents took me to see was "Rumpelstiltskin". I was traumatized. He kidnaps babies!!!

You surely remember the story. We have the virgin given a task because her drunken father was an empty blowhard. He kept telling these tall tales about what a great catch his daughter was, so the king held her to it. Not knowing what to do, in enters the bad guy. We know he is a bad guy, because he is a dwarf. If disney can't traumatize you by killing off someone's mother, by golly, he'll make sure you develop a healthy fear of dwarves, hags and witches! Sorry ladies. This dwarf had what a modern remake may call "mad skillz". He was able to spin straw into gold.

First night...he asked for her necklace...yeah, right. Second night, it was her ring; third night, her first born (can someone say goodbye virgin?)

Well, the king knew a good thing when hen saw it, and he married the girl. In no time, she had a son. Lickety split, enter Rumpelstiltskin, to claim his prize (in case you haven't been paying attention, he was the real father). There is only one way out of her plight...one way for her to gain power over Rumpelstiltskin...She had to name him. She had to identify who he was.

Congratulations to all of the little children who were dragged into theaters everywhere to see this movie. You have just been given your first lesson in magic. It is an ancient magical tradition to name something, in order to gain power over it. That is why demons were named, to gain power over them. That is why Jehovah is not a name. The Big Guy had no name. Why? To keep from being overpowered.

I have found that the most important thing for me to have power over, is myself. In following this ancient tradition, I named myself.

I see it in numerous introductions..."I feel the powers of Hell", "I feel the black flame burning", "I feel powerful". As trite as it may sound, when I made the solid proclamation, "I am a Satanist", the effect was immediate.
I felt a sense of power over myself. A sense of control over myself. A knowledge that I do, indeed, have the power to control my destiny. It was not the words, themselves; it was an embracing of the words...internalizing them.

After a while, I now know it is time to kick things up a notch. The technical name for that is a paradigm shift. So, I have decided to name myself again, by making a solid decision to join the Church.

The next time someone asks me why it is so important to label myself a Satanist, I'm just going to tell them the truth...it's magic.

Natural obediance.

2009-03-10T12:50:00.001+01:00

The herd is a strange phenomenon, it draws us in with promises of an easy life, there is a reason for this of course. We have evolved to rely on the herd because it was at some point natural for all humans to hunt and think together and we survived and thrived because of the co-operation involved with it.

Then something happened, we became top of the food chain and we no longer needed so much co-operation. This caused certain people to shun the herd and become self enforced outcasts.

I say "enforced" because I would argue it is not humans true nature to be apart from the herd, Satanists have come full circle in the cycle of evolution reverting to hunting alone for whatever their quarry may be. Becoming more than the herd can be and in many cases using the herd against itself!

But the pull of the herd in us is strong, we must be wary of its power to draw us into things we feel we "must" do. The right hand path has its "help your fellow man" and "good Samaritan" that talks to the natural desire in the herd to help others, and by proxy themselves. This is a powerful motivator to most people but its no longer necessary for us to survive as a race.

So are we unnatural to shun this obedience? Most of us had to learn to say "No!" to things we didn't want to do, as our parents encouraged us to be a part of the herd. Or is it likely we are a natural reaction to the society we are a part of in our own way. Perhaps the natural world has always needed a Satanist to be a part of it.

The greatest minds have always been Satanic, forcing their way past such herd constructions as God, making their own way of doing something new. Exploring avenues forbidden by others and paving the way for others to do the same.

So with this in mind, is it then quite natural for some to be disobedient! perhaps in the exact proportions that we find the herd to be numerous and Satanists to be few.

Our natural desires we where born with don't seem to be common to everyone, herd conformity must be quite a natural desire but with me it never was. In fact it was the opposite I desired, to be free of the herd.

Satanism is very natural to me, but not to most.

Male or Man?

2009-03-03T23:48:00.000+01:00

Being a man goes beyond physiology. Anything with a penis and testicles is male. All humans with a penis and testicles are male. Not all are men.

There is the obvious difference between pre-pubescent boys and grown males. But being a MAN also involves a large abstract component. All cultures have some kind of rites of passage when a male, considered a boy, becomes a man. Being a man is as much in the eyes of others as in one's own eyes.

To be a real man requires courage, integrity, wisdom, maturity, sound judgment, a stoic determination, control of one's emotions, dominance of intellect over said emotions, resourcefulness, strength through gentleness, manners, respect for women, a sense of chivalry, and honour.

I'll sum it up with two quotes that capture what a real man is:

"Honour is the gift a man gives himself, and that no other man can take away...you must never mistreat a woman, nor malign a man; nor must you stand by while others do so".

-Liam Neeson as Robert MacGregor in "Rob Roy"

"Any fool with a dick can make a baby. It takes a real man to raise his kids right".

-Lawrence Fishburne as Furious Styles in "Boyz N the Hood"

Group Houg.

2009-02-28T20:46:00.000+01:00

Group Hug.

Today I’ll write a happy poem,
Where no one needs to die,
I’ll write instead about sunshine,
And birds in a clear blue sky.

I’ll write about the nice things,
I’ll be nice about all folk,
Everything is wonderful,
We can all laugh and joke.

I don’t mind if you’re Christian,
I don’t mind if you’re a Jew,
Even if you’re a Muslin,
I don’t hate you. (smiles)

I don’t mind if you’re stupid,
I don’t mind that you stink,
I’ve given my desire to kill you all,
A great big rethink.

Please come around mine for supper,
Please visit me for tea,
I promise I won’t kill you,
I won’t hack away with glee.

I think it’s great that you’ve had another child,
Although you’re so very dumb,
The world needs thousands of folk like you,
Who won’t ever pay a crumb.

Oh love is in my heart today,
Oh love is a wonderful chase,
I no longer need to take my axe,
And plough it into your face.

So lets have a great big group hug,
And let’s all raise our glasses,
Before I slam the oven door shut,
AND BURN YOUR WORTHLESS ASSES!

Soap and Mirrors.

2009-02-27T21:43:00.000+01:00

Illusions follow all around,
As echoes of the real.
Law grasping morals freely,
Sinking into trampled hearts.
Through trampled parts we roam.
These trampled hearts can feel like home.

With soap and mirrors will we wash,
Away the twisted reflection,
Of lack of natural selection.
When nature was denied.
Justice lay down and died.
Who are we to argue?

Darwin sadly left this land,
And with him liberty’s sword.
A guilt edged blade in its place,
Washed clean with holy pious grace,
Cleaving grass to just one level.
Who are we to argue?

Mirrored lives are joy to most,
Reflected glory tempts the weak.
As a tear rolls down freedom’s cheek,
Who are we to argue?

Satan's Offer.

2009-02-26T22:18:00.000+01:00

Here is a secret
that is really not.
Slavery's an option
that's what you got.

There is something
more for you.
I have it now
You can have it too.

No dying man
to bow before.
No sensless praying
to a 'virgin' whore.

There's no admission
or dipping pools.
No fancy buildings
full of fools.

There is no God
or angelic mass.
There is no heaven
for which to pass.

So what must you do
to have this way.
And how much tithe
should you pay?

Oh silly slaves
Its always free.
Your eyes are covered
so you can't see.

Just leave behind
Your chain & ball.
Don't look back
and enjoy the fall.

Z

2009-02-20T13:36:00.000+01:00

As daylight slowly fades away
Her scent rises into the air
Drifting out on the winds of Hell
Bringing with it deep despair

My fear multiplies, uncontrolled
Enticing her to arise
Waking from a sleep of death
Dominance burns in her eyes

Within my dreams she comes to me
A purveyor of endless night
Tempting me to depart with her
To new worlds absent of light

I try try to resist, but cannot fight
Like poison, she seeps through my skin
Releasing long buried passions
And the nightmares that lurk within

Falling into her blackened realms
She guides me through her madness
Where the spirits of those who've come before
Cry out in horror and sadness

She knows the things I don't want known
And exploits any weakness she finds
Trapped in webs spun from her malice
She slithers deeper into my mind

Her stare alone sears through the brain
Conjuring forth my insanity
She sings of love that's long since died
Consumed by waves of agony

I plead with her to end this game
As unimagined sights greet my eyes
Her deep and cold sepuchral voice
Promises more misery and lies

At last I kneel down at her feet
Every piece of my will torn apart
Upon my soul she starts to feed
Forever she possesses my heart

The Dark Hunter

2009-02-16T20:34:00.000+01:00

I like to peep in through your window,
During the darkest dead of night.
To watch you tucked up snug in bed,
I truly love the sight.

During the day you walk right past me,
You never smile or return my ‘hello,’
But nighttime will be here so soon,
To shroud the little secrets only I know.

Last night I climbed in through your window,
And crept around your place,
I moved a couple of your things around,
I carefully touched your face.

Tonight I will return to you,
While you’re warm and safe in bed,
I’ll spend a little time deep inside of you,
But I’ll forever be in your head.

Gods Autobiography

2009-02-14T10:33:00.000+01:00

When I was born, it was in a book
Nobody knew my name or how I looked
But they all knew I felt nothing but love
And I’d watch them from my kingdom up above
They even took one of their own and named him my son
When he was born is when time began
If anything happens, it’s cause of me Oh Well
And if I don’t like you then you’re going to hell
Over the years they think they’ve proved me
By showing all the people who died or talked to me
No matter what happens
They think proof lies in nails through the wrists
It’s getting me pissed
But I’m not really saying this
Cause I don’t exist…

This is to the female who e-mails me.

2009-02-10T15:08:00.000+01:00

This is to the female who e-mails me with almost impossible sexual demands and then becomes angry and aggressive when I don't answer.

The demands of which you ask sound good,
But I just don't think my body could,

Serve you in the manner, of which you ask,
It just seems like such a massive task…

I've even considered all the positions you suggest,
And even made note of the ones you like best,

And I'm sure that last one would keep me fit,
But should I slip then I'm in deep shit.

…and you have a big arse.

I loved that photo of you in the bask,
But I have to pluck up courage to ask,

Maybe if you should wear a fuckin' mask,
Then I might just be up for the fuckin' task.

But let me be honest, I do find you scary,
I've never seen a girl with arms so hairy.

And your knuckles they appear all rough, scratched and sore,
But I guess this is because they drag on the floor.

Well at least with you I wouldn't need to pace,
To stop myself coming I simply glance at your face.

But my penis it would shrivel to the size of a maggot,
And you'd insult me and swear and call me a fagot!

You asked me once if I found you eye-catching,
And I answered that it might help if both eyes were matching.

And it might just help if you have a snip,
To stop your nose reaching your lower lip.

You said in your last mail that you'd 69 me,
Then ride me and screw me and finally blow me.

And although the thought has my little heart beating,
You can still forget us ever meeting!!

How to be a rock star!

2009-02-02T20:07:00.000+01:00

Living in a house with other people often means that they may be watching television while you do other things. If there is one thing I like the least about the tube, it is reality shows. I will admit that there has been one exception: Gene Simmons: Family Jewels. I have noticed that there are qualities about him that I heartily approve of. In fact, if followed carefully, anyone can be a rock star…or just act like one…even if only in his or her mind. So, pay your tuition, buy your books and get on the bus. This is the Gene Simmons School of How to be a Rock Star: Minus Shannon Tweed. School's in session.

You may have noticed…Gene Simmons is butt ugly. Yet, he has successfully, if he is telling even half the truth, bedded thousands of women. He is now enjoying unwedded bliss with the queen of soft-core porn herself, Shannon Tweed. How does he do this? Easy…Gene Simmons knows that he is the sexiest thing on the planet. What happens when a butt ugly man truly believes that he is the sexiest thing on the planet? He becomes sexy. His opinion of himself is so strong and unquestioned, that he effects how everyone else sees him. Gentlemen, looks are not important. Self-confidence is. We quite literally project a view of ourselves that others see. If you really want to be irresistible, convince yourself first. If you can delude…I mean enlighten yourself, the rest is cake. The truth is, the vast majority of people are so concerned with how others see them that they will accept the image you project.

The other side of Gene's many conquests coin is that he sees every woman as beautiful. If you ask him if he has ever seen an ugly woman, he will say "no".

The demon bat from Hell is also unabashedly materialistic. He uses his greed. He realizes that there is absolutely no reason anyone should be ashamed of his or her success. The herd has never learned this. Charity organizations grow fat off of the guilty fat of the land. It is ingrained into society that the love of money is the root of evil. It is not. If you have earned the chicken, you are the only one who has the right to eat it down to the bone.

Gene also knows that the life of the rock star is best enjoyed in one's right mind. He does not drink. He has never used recreational drugs, to the best of my limited knowledge. He does not smoke. Yes, I enjoy the voice of Ozzy Osbourne; but, I was often ashamed to be of the same species with someone who tried to find out how much shit he could pack into his body, and still doter on. The spoils can only be enjoyed if you are around long enough to enjoy them.

I have also noticed that Mr. Simmons surrounds himself with people who love him. I am going to make a statement that may, or may not, go over well. The Satanic life requires a solid foundation. Whether we consider ourselves social or not, we all have our own unique needs. If your foundation is solid without a love interest, this may not apply to you. But if not…and I readily confess that I am one who has that need, we do well to keep those meaningful relationships close. There are times I find compromise beneficial in meeting my needs and desires. Stubbornness will assure the only dates I get are with Hanna and her five sisters. That does not even consider my emotional needs. On the other hand, there have been relationships in which I was lonelier when I was with the person than not. It was better when I cut those off, and spent quality time in solitude. But still, I found the occasional camaraderie to be beneficial. It was up to me to see those needs met.

The bass player for Kiss is, above all else, a master at selling himself. I grew up listening to him. I still listen to him. I will probably always enjoy listening to Kiss. Guess what? Their music is mediocre, at best. But he turns it into one big party. He is selling an image. Gene Simmons may be, either knowingly, or unknowingly, one of the greatest magicians I have ever witnessed. A man takes inferior music, cheesy stage antics and a big ass bag of "I know exactly what I want, and I am willing to do whatever it takes to get it", and you have a great success story. Pure magic…a true rock star. The power of mental, emotional and physical focus is great. The ability to stay the course is key. Those qualities can turn anyone into a rock star, or to feel like one.

Now…I cannot promise that you will end up with a babe as hot as Shannon; but there is a lot to learn about the power confidence, sexuality and sobriety to be had.

Now…where did I put that Love Gun album?

You cant top a good toper. (what really happend to mannhood)

2009-01-28T20:00:00.000+01:00

Whatever happened to the days when a man could be a man? When did we stop playing chin music when a cat cracked wise? How have we lost our right to grab a dame and plant one on the kisser? Just when did we lose our cool?

I know exactly when. It happened when we stepped out of the shadows, dropped our gasper and took off the lid. That's right; men stopped being men when they lost the hat. Sorry, gents, but you just aren't well dressed without that topper. And, civility is stuffed into the back of the closet, with the fedora.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, why did Ilsa Lund walk into Rick Blaine's? Would I be pushing it if I suggested that it was his hat? Would Indiana Jones seem half as adventurous without that exquisite covering for his pate? I think not. From firemen, to police officers, a cowboy to chefs, a man's place in this world is known from glancing at his headgear. And believe me, size counts. In fact, a man is never so tall as when he is wearing a chapeau. That necessary accessory turns even a mundane task into an event. Like every other animal in the kingdom, it's the deer with the largest antlers that get the best does. The right headdress can add inches to any frame.

Image is everything. Consider the fact that it is quite often the man with the most height who is elected into office, made the CEO and sought after by the ladies.

A hat is also an item of magic. Any dupe can look like a first class thinker, wearing the right hat. It is as if there must be some great secret hidden in the gray matter, if it is important enough to keep warm; and with such style. If clothes make the man, it is the hat that will carry him to new heights. The hat is to the sexy male, what the high heels are to his female counterpart. A real man may want to die with his boots on; but it's the right hat that will get him bedded for the night with the most fetching filly. Who knows? He who wears the greatest head ornaments may power evolution. Just ask the cowboy or sailor who finds himself in a strange town. He will be keeping someone's bed warm, I can tell you that. Face it…the hat is just plain sexy. Right ladies?

There are a plethora of hats to choose from. Charlie Chaplin championed the Bowler. Clint Eastwood sported the cowboy hat. Johnny Depp can often be seen in a Fedora. There are pointy hats, slouch hats and sun hats. Fred Astaire danced in a top hat. Honest Abe wore the same topper. Even Alice Cooper and Marilyn Manson have gotten in on the act. The Blues Brothers donned the Trilby; proof that the hat adds to cool. How much would the Shadow really know if he was bare of head? In A Clockwork Orange, Alex just would not be Alex without his fetching bowler. Would Cowboy Clint have been able to paint the town red without that cowboy hat on his head? Not with style.

I can stand a man who has bad manners, but not a man who has bad taste. If there is one thing that screams distinction, it's the choice of the right hat. Need to make her laugh? Act the clown in a bowler. Want to sweep her off her feet? Try a five o'clock shadow under a brown Fedora. Feel like bumming around in style? Try a slouch hat, chinstrap and all. Need that little something extra that says, "Bring it on"? Try the hardhat on for size. Just do me this one small favor. Never…under any circumstances call a baseball cap a hat! Caps are for kids. Baseball, stocking or beanie; nothing says I never grew up like a cap. Consider the overgrown boy who, at six feet tall, still wears his baseball cap with brim sticking behind. Hats are for men. That is what gave Robert Mitchum the power to smoke, drink, and cuss, grab the dames and fight like hell and look good doing it. That's right…you never get cancer if you wear your hat while smoking. And it looks cool as hell if you smoke in a shadowed alley, packing heat with a flask of booze, giving an inner monologue about how your heart was broken by a dame with a hot set of wheels…as long as you are wearing the right hat.

So stop walking around naked men, proudly cover your heads with the right attire, and the world will be your oyster.

An open letter to Christian Drive-By Posters.

2009-01-25T21:55:00.000+01:00

We have all seen them. In any forum that dares not be Christian, the Christian drive-by poster is not far behind. It is easy to dismiss this as the height of rudeness, which it is. But, it occurs to me that such behavior is also against the very creed these ambushers claim to hold dear. Do they not have examples of shaking the dust from their feet, and not casting pearls before swine?

I wrote the following open letter to such misdirected individuals, using their own language. The ideas are not my own. I have used their ideology as a backdrop.

If you have ever been annoyed by such stupidity, you may enjoy reading this. Without further ado, I present…

AN OPEN LETTER TO CHRISTIAN DRIVE-BY POSTERS

Have you ever gotten lost in the woods? I have...on several occasions. Many have been the times that I went on for, what seemed, hours. I was convinced that the great distanced covered guaranteed I was moving closer to my destination.

Sadly, I often found familiar points of interest, realizing that I had wasted much time and energy, only to stand on the same ground I had started from. Drive by poster, you are lost. You are lost in the woods, and you are standing on the same plot of ground you were standing on the first day you posted here.

I tell you this, because my God frowns upon my wasting time. My God wants me to use my time wisely, so that I can become all that my potential will allow. I would assume that your God feels the same way. Perhaps your God has lower expectations of you than mine does of me. I really do not know. But, if Jesus went to all of the trouble to crawl his way out of Hell, it seems a waste of his blood for you to spend your time where you are not wanted. You have become a monkey for our amusement. What kind of testament is that for someone whom the Almighty has redeemed? Are you not casting your pearls before swine? While it appears to me that you are slinging shit before steeds, I will not quibble concerning animal type. How will you feel when you stand face to face before your God? I know that I can stand tall when I face mine. I saw him today, when I looked in the mirror. How about you?

Go! Shake the dust from your sandaled foot. Be not found in the house of mockers. No one is deceived by your deceptive words. You are an empty shell. You find yourself so unworthy that you must fawn before the rotted feet of a long dead god. By your own admission, you are an unworthy whelp. I find your kind beneath my contempt. Speaking from one side about how unworthy you are, and gloating in your superiority from the other. You are a liar.

Go away. We have heard the clucking of the loons before. You are not any different. You will earn no brownie points by hiding behind a screen name and typing banalities.

Just go away.

Satan Helps those who help themself.

2009-01-21T18:53:00.001+01:00

It remains a common misconception that the Satanist lives in a state of reluctance when it comes to helping others. It is not so much that we Satanists begrudgingly help people in need of our assistance, but rather that we carefully discriminate to decide exactly who is worthy of our help. Why should I help someone that will not — or sometimes cannot — help themselves when there are many deserving people involved in my life who are benefiting me in some way and are striving to succeed?

The short answer is that I shouldn't, and if I can prevent it, I won't.

Wasting one's time on the dross in society is a seemingly Christian concept and is repugnant in every form. Satan supports achievers and hard-grafters: those wonderful individuals who either achieve, or endeavour to achieve, putting in every ounce of effort they can muster. These people are, in a way, part of our tribe, and it is they who will benefit from my time and resources.

There is another facet to this question of exactly who is worthy and who is not:

Nature.

Take the saviour of Africa, Sir Bob Geldof as possibly the best example. What Sir Bob continually fails to recognise, is that regardless of who is to blame for the dire state of affairs many Africans are faced with, he and his army of lefties are actually creating more pain and suffering with their efforts to throw cash at a deteriorating situation. The original Live Aid in the 80's witnessed musicians from all over the world gathering in many different countries to put on a show, raising funds to feed starving Africans, resulting in more dying folk than ever before. Africa is a climate riddled with skirmish and poverty and many of the affected have little or no education, creating a situation where they are in no position to contribute anything to the world aside from starving babies.

If this sounds harsh, it probably is. But, too much of the wrong sort of help is stifling the progression of the human race.

As I have said, I understand the complexities of assessing where the blame lies, but the bottom line is that by funding these unfortunate people, temporarily feeding them with western money in a weak attempt to offer some form of compensation, those nature would have killed off naturally are able to survive and reproduce.

And what has happened 20 years after the event? Well, you now have many more mouths to feed and the funds have run-out. Geldof's answer to this escalated problem? Hold another concert! Moron! I say let nature take its course. The current generation would die out to a level where their sun-scorched, war torn continent could support the next generation without constant funding from westerners.

I am of the opinion that larger contexts ALWAYS subsume smaller contexts. This simple law suggests that helping local villagers is irrelevant and pointless if the larger political structure is likely to undo the good done sooner or later. Like a drug addict who also ingests vitamin tablets in hope of combating the harm done to his body by his drug habit, logic says he would be better off quitting the drugs.

The historic situation in Madagascar shows that the best, simplest, easiest and most cost effective way to effect positive change for those truly innocent of blame and helpless in the face of disaster is a simple change in leadership and attendant change in political philosophy.

For decades Madagascar was run by a highly corrupt Marxist dictator named Ratsiraka.

The French colonialists had achieved a great deal over a century of mildly oppressive rule, such as roads, airports, schools and power plants. The basic infrastructure withered and decayed quickly under Ratsiraka.

Eventually, Ratsiraka was replaced in a bloodless coup (a result of a rigged election he fairly won but was told he lost) by a fervently pro-capitalist, pro-business, pro-free market politician named Ravalomanana. He has since put rebuilding Madagascar's infrastructure far ahead of hand-outs for the poor, with the result that Madagascar has the brightest future of any country on the Bottom 20 of the UN Quality of Life List.

My point is that by removing the inept (although friendly to the West) scumbags in charge of Africa, replacing them with pro-business, pro-capitalist, 'friendly to the West' leaders, only then will Africans have a chance of turning things around.

Taking all this into account, the Africa scenario is a classic example of how those who cannot help themselves, are not necessarily benefiting from our help (and in this specific case shouldn't be helped until the political climate of their continent is 'fixed').

Moving on, a sound example of those who should receive no help based on the fact they the will not help themselves are almost all thinkable examples of criminal. Thanks to the Christians, we live in a culture that champions rehabilitation, overlooking fitting punishment. Why should we help those who would have a negative impact on our lives and the lives of those we care about? Specimens of human garbage should be treated as such. Governments should either put them to work or dispose of them by other means. A friend of mine once suggested medical testing on the more serious offenders: An idea I like very much. I refuse to give credence to the notion that criminals are worthy of my help and I'm pretty pissed-off that my compulsory taxes work to proliferate examples of this abuse of human decency.

The final example I wish to focus on in this essay are the world's benefit cheats. I used to work for a large financial institution, and while in the work's canteen one day, I overheard two female employees discussing how one of them had a child and how the money paid to her by the government child would overtake her salary should she become pregnant again. She then went on to explain how she was persistently and intentionally piercing her partners condoms in hope of tricking him into fathering another fund-raiser.

The sad thing is this must happen a lot. The benefit system is regularly raped by the lazy at the tax-payers expense. Whilst I am sure that there are those deserving of help from government, I am also convinced that it is far too easy to abuse this system.

I have learnt that it is most important to look after yourself, your loved ones and those who you respect, and fuck the rest! If mankind observed this simple rule as I do, the weak and/or insignificant could possibly even die out, and evolution could potentially speed up.

The idea that everything and everyone is deserving of help and compassion on some level seems to be ingrained in modern human behaviour, but the clear truth is that the majority of humans have got this one wrong.

It's time for people to wise up, or stay in this perpetual state of mass-ignorance at mankind's peril.

Sleep - those little slices of death, ohh how I loathe them...

2009-01-14T01:48:00.002+01:00

Sleep - those little slices of death, how I loathe them.
~Edgar Allen Poe

Life is something that happens when you can't get to sleep.
~Fran Lebowitz

Dawn: When men of reason go to bed.
~Ambrose Bierce

If you are reading this sometime after midnight, and you have to get up in a few hours, we probably have at least one thing in common; we experience some form of insomnia. Just as the devil is the church's best friend, insomnia is the best friend of drug companies. I suspect that, other than painkillers, insomnia is the primary reason for most drug purchases. It is said that most people suffer, or will suffer, from some form of insomnia, at some time during their lives.

I do not "suffer" from insomnia. In fact, I am hard pressed to claim that I experience this malady. All I know is that, since early childhood, I have almost always been the last person in the house to go to sleep. I figure that I average five and six hours of sleep a night. Very often the number is four. If I get seven or more, I tend to be irritable the next day. There are nights I get as few as three or four hours of rest. Two or less, and I call out of work. Of course, this does not count the catnaps I now and then take. Generally, a thirty to forty five minute nap, after dinner, anywhere between two and four nights a week. That seems to be all I need. I assume I dream; but, I rarely remember them.

There is really no organic cause of my nocturnal nature. I feel it is just that: my nature. If I do not go to sleep, it is simply because I like to stay awake. I feel I will miss out on something rather important. Besides, having about fifty percent more awake time can be very helpful. To put it simply, I loathe sleep.

There is always some mental work that can be done, lying quietly at night, while the day world slumbers. There is very, very important mental work. At the age of six, this work consisted of imaging what the neighbor girl looked like naked. At the age of ten, after having been shown, by the neighbor girl, what she looked like naked; I graduated to a particularly attractive teacher. After finding my father's gentlemen's magazines, my important mental work turned to more technical matters; like, just how the hell do I get "this" into "there". As you can see, I have always been a deep thinker. My mind also went to more philosophical concerns. I thought up such gems as, if God is always watching me, does he look away when I go to the bathroom? If the soul is in my body, if I drive too fast, will it fall out and get left behind?
And, of course, if I concentrate real hard, can I astral project into the bedroom of the girl next door? I still find it useful to work out issues in the wee hours.

I have developed a theory, wishful thinking, I am sure, that the need for little sleep is a sign of higher intelligence. Consider the influential names that fall under that category.

Jay Leno gets four hours of sleep a night. I assume he is thinking about his monologue, guests he would like to have on the show, and what the woman next door looks like unclothed. Thomas Edison, and his team also slept very little. Madonna is an insomniac. I say that because she lays awake worrying, at night.

Florence Nightingale slept only four hours a night. That is the price, I guess, for having your name become a byword. Michelangelo was also in the short-sleepers club. Though I would suggest it was not the neighbor's wife that he found distracting. Napoleon Bonaparte planned world domination instead of wasting his time on sleep. Winston Churchill got six; but supplemented this with a two-hour nap. What a lazy bones. It is claimed that Nikola Tesla got only two hours of sleep a night, with several catnaps. It is also believed that he was narcoleptic, and slept with his eyes opened. So, who can really tell how much he got? Leonardo Da Vinci slept fifteen minutes every four hours. I envy that.

Margaret Thatcher and Martha Stewart each get four. Though, I would assume Martha got less while in the slammer. Whether running a dynasty or a country, there are bound to be heavy issues on one's mind. I am guessing none of them include nudity. So, you see; I am in good company. Call it insomnia if you will; but all I know is that there is plenty of time to sleep after you die.

These days, I find myself lying awake, thinking of things to write. I am not surprised. I have noticed that my sleep generally decreases that happier I am. I have been sleeping very little, of late.

So...Rise up! Cast off that victimizing label of insomniac! Embrace your inner naughty child, and defy bedtime! Leave sleep to those who have nothing better to do.
But they better be wearing pajamas, because...

I'm very curious.

Hail Harry Potter!

2009-01-09T19:46:00.000+01:00

Well folks, it's official. The Christians have, once again, come to their senses, and decided to take their lead from the Devil. It works every time. Do you have a product that is not worth its weight in shit? Are you having trouble convincing your tall strapping lads to keep their hands, dicks, and even minds off of the firm attributes of their sisterly counterparts? Does your reward system of endless monotonous fawning not have enough pizzazz to convince the masses to pick up their devices of death, and follow the King of Losers to the gallows? Well, try fooling the wretched ingrates with these tried and true methods of carnival proportions. Let them have their cake, bingo nights, and righteous rock and roll; and, for a limited time only…their very own, way cool, magical heroes!!!

You would think that Lord of the Rings would be enough. Not any more. How can they possibly compete with a fantasy world that is way cooler, hipper, and, now that Emma Watson is reaching legal age, a whole lot prettier than walking trees and hobbits. In a word…they are nervous. And they should be.

The Harry Potter series is every bit as dangerous to their simplistic black and white mentality as they think it is. Allow me to elaborate.

One major differential found in the Harry Potter books and movies is that it takes place in the real world. The backdrop is not some far off land, in a time lost, on who knows what world. It takes place in modern times, among modern people in a modern city. The students may go to Hogwarts School, but they live among muggles. Muggles are the "others"…we would call the non-Satanic folk. There are rules set into place to keep the muggles from discovering that there are magic folk living among them.

In the world of muggles, there are places hidden to the muggle eye, known only by the magic folk. The magic folk enter the ritual…I mean…magical world, where they do their important magical work.

Magic folk are not magic folk, by birth. Remember that point…it is very important. Some magical parents do, indeed, give birth to magical folk; but, there are some very magical characters (remember the soon to be adult co-star) whose parents are not magical. It is on an individual basis. You are either born magical, or you are not. You can train to maximize your potential; but you cannot convert. That, in and of itself, is enough to keep this series from being "Christian".

There is really no morality in the series. There is using magic to survive among the muggles. There is magic to help you in your daily life. There is magic to protect yourself with. There is no real sense that there is some "higher purpose" in the magic. They do magic because they can.

There are even curses. True, these are forbidden; but, if you look very carefully, there is the sense that these are forbidden to keep magicians from randomly zapping anyone who pisses them off. While "forbidden", they are taught. Not to the rank and file, but those who have shown themselves to be a sufficient maturity and character are clearly "above the law". That one is a sticky point, because I am inferring this from the general tone; so, I will not argue if someone disagrees on that point. Let's just say that this is not"turn the other cheek" magic.

There is an obvious stratification with the magical world. No one is allowed to rise to the level of his or her incompetence. A wizard is not a wizard if he cannot pass the wizard tests. If he fails to pass, he will have to be satisfied filing paperwork for an accomplished witch.

This stratification is also seen in choosing which house an individual student will live in. To make sure the proper placement is made, a scientific device, called a sorting hat, is used. The hat is placed on the student's head, and it sings some ditty, giving the name of the house they belong in…because of their innate natures.

Here, I will pause. There are four houses the School of Magic and Wizardry; Ravenclaw, Huflepuff, Gryffindor and Slytherin. Of those four houses, it would be easy to mistake the House of Slytherin as being evil, bad, and anti-Christian. I mean…hello! Their crest is a snake.

If you read the series carefully, it becomes perfectly clear that the House of Slytherin is, above all others, the house of the wisest, strongest and ablest witches and wizards. They have the skill and cunning to survive. They seem to be in touch with the parts of themselves that we call dark, which we Satanists know is the source of our power. Ruthless, brutal and in no danger of getting the shit end of the evolutionary stick.

Consider something else; When Harry Potter sat on the stool, and had the sorting hat placed upon his head, the House that the hat was about to announce was the House of Slytherin. When Harry heard the hat come to that conclusion, he said, "No…Gryffindor"; to which the hat replied, "Alright then, Gryffindor".

My personal thought on this is that we are going to find out that a Slytherin can fit in any of the other Houses; but, a member of another House could not survive in the House of Slytherin. That is just my opinion. We shall see.

Now…Remember when I said it was important to remember that magical people are born; yet, it is not genetic? The reason the "bad guys" are from the House of Slytherin has nothing to do with being from the House of Slytherin. The bad guys are the bad guys because they are trying to destroy the School of Magic and Wizardry because it allows mudbloods. Mudbloods have either no magical parents, or one parent who is not magical. They are trying to create a new School based on the belief that entrance should be based on birthright. I wonder…Is there a group, in our world, which believes that leadership in the Church of Satan should be based on birthright? And, being ignored by the School…I mean Church of Satan, have formed their own group. And, has said group done things to try to bring an end the Church their fathers once supported? I wonder…

That, in a nutshell, is the source of all the conflict in the Harry Potter series. It is not a fight of good versus evil It is a fight between the idea that being magic is based on the individual proclivities of the individual and the belief that one's heritage should determine who runs the show.

Witches, wizards and magical folk, I rest my case.

Insanity.

2009-01-08T14:58:00.000+01:00

I am such a fool...
to be in love.
You're bothering me,
but I didn't ask you to stop.

No one is perfect,
yeah I know...
I'm sinner,
in your eyes it shows.

Stupidity is a sin,
for you it's not.

I'm such a fool
to believe if it's true.
his' words, his' kindness,
you're telling me that he's good as new.

What the curse I care,
if I'm not like that.
I'm living in a life
that much perfect than a flat.

I'm better than him...
that's what I see.
I wont thank to your God,
if you'll agree.

I'm insane...
aye, a vision for your eyes that cares.
But, if you'll look deeply,
your world is impaired.

Shape.

2009-01-08T14:41:00.000+01:00

Don't force me to praise that statue,
don't tell me that I'm wrong with my virtue...

I got my own shape and you got yours.

I live my life in my beautiful world,
freedom, freedom... more freedom!

Don't judge a book by it's cover,
my life is revolving on a black flower.

Why don't you look at your corruptive belief?
Why don't you judge the religion you live?

For ya'll we are sinners,
for ya'll we are hopeless,
and for ya'll we are stupid as shit.

You're wrong! Indeed! So wrong!
your's are done while ours still stand!

Why don't you open your eyes?!
Foolish animals, ya'll believe in lies!

Writers Block!

2009-01-06T17:32:00.002+01:00

I am a creator. I enjoy writing, arranging words into stories or
poetry, making occasional visual art or forcing myself to evaluate
and explore ideas from the most angular and unheard of perspective that I can.

All this comes from the same place.
It is a particular state of mind, my creative mode.
When I am on track to making something work it is like a whirlwind
of energy and inspiration. It is at times like this that I create
my best music or write my best lines or understand something
beyond my normal perception.

In whatever it is that I am doing the mental energies
just keep building as the creation takes shape
until I have fully realized it, then with the realization I get a
sort of release and feel very elated.
(On a side note...) I often wonder what is medically happening
with this as well because many a time I felt like there were
chemical changes in my body during and after the creative process.

Well, lately I have been going through another creative fury and
all this crap just keeps pouring out of me.
The only problem is that I cannot get
that 'realization' that I had so many times before.
It's like I have the full picture in view but its out of
focus. It's very frustrating to feel so inspired but unable to
correctly execute the impulse. I think this problem I am having is
what many call writer's block.
And it certainly is frustrating.

.

Curtains.

2008-12-27T09:31:00.000+01:00

Are you lonesome tonight?
I am, and all I hear is the motor of some car
revving to its' delight.
The car has the driver, the driver, his destination.

What do I have?
Brass and dreams.

Awful curtains shade me from the dark
that eminates mournfully from the square
and I weep as I see myself in the dusty mirror
alone,
lost,
incomplete...

Become a profetional Asshole!

2008-12-25T19:26:00.000+01:00

I am an asshole.

I"m good at it.

It saves me time, money, and energy. It"s an easy time management technique. If people leave you alone, you don"t have to deal with their shit. I really don"t like people hanging around me, because I largely find 99% of the population to be vapid. So I learned a skill I call "asshole aura".

It"s a useful tool, just don"t let it become a constant part of your personality. Because there are obviously SOME people that are worth your time, energy, and love.

How to do it:

You first need to get some wit. While some say you need to be born with it, I disagree, even the most simple of wrestling jocks can pick up a decent "edge" at any local bar. So go to the bar and listen to the banter of the yokels. Learn to deliver that main skill of the asshole... the back-handed compliment. "Gee, those shoes are nice, I bet they looked great when they were new!"...

Now if you don"t mix this with a helping of malice, you won"t insult enough to make people want to stay away from you. It"s not enough to alienate, you have to completely demoralise in order for this to work.

It"s a delicate balance between the comment and the tonality in which it"s delivered. You"ll know when you"ve got it right when the person you"ve just insulted doesn"t say anything and just stares at you, because to beat your head in would make them look really bad, but what you"ve said isn"t _THAT_ insulting either and/or is actually funny.

Pick on an obvious weakness. If someone has an obviously overinflated opinion of themselves it gets REALLY easy. Wait until they start in with a typical line of their braggadocio drivel and then follow it up with a snide remark pointing out either their hypocrisy or blatant overetimation of themselves. Get"s laughs for you, and makes them the fool. The well-timed joke is the enemy of a pretentious bastard.

Wussys.

Wussys come in all shapes and sizes and want to constantly burden you with their problems. It"s easy to drive them away, offer to help them with some "problem" at a future date and then merely "forget" to do so. Repeat until the wussy finds someone else to burden their problems on.

The Evangelical.

These guys are fun. When they start talking to you about "God" start taking off all your clothes. They"ll stop you at some point in this process in a state of stupification. And simply state that "you can"t talk about God with your clothes on." They"ll do ANYTHING for you to keep your clothes on. One thing they can"t deal with AT ALL is a naked person in broad daylight. It"s just too much. In this case the idea is to get them to shut the fuck up and go away. so make them agree to "Go away and never come back." if you"ll put all your clothes back on.

Feining like you are homosexual and blatantly hitting on the same sex helps as well, but you need to first be comfortable with your own sexuality first. You MIGHT just get results from one of those poor sexually repressed people for some good old-fashioned homo sex.

EXCITING!

How to deal with punk, emo"s, goths, or other "liberal" types.

Act like you love Rush Limbaugh and wish you could have his babies. Proclaim loudly that you like to eat raw red meat by the ground pound and you"re well on your way to sending them back to their depressed little corners of self-pity. If at all possible provide them with directions to the nearest Kleenex and Razorblade outlet store...

How to deal with "conservatives".

Act like you"re a punk/emo/goth who is a lifetime die-hard member of PETA and you have this compulsion to only eat Tofu and granola, and smoke copious amounts of marijuana. A dreadlock wig will help to convince them even further of your "Luberalness". If they still aren"t convinced after all that, just get a t-shirt printed that says "Hillary for President!"... that"ll make for hours of amusement.

SheDevil.

2008-12-20T22:16:00.000+01:00

See her smile in the dark, hear her gasp in pain
Watch her lick the blood away, know she is insane....
She's something you can't understand, something very dark,
She does'nt know what fear is, she does'nt have a heart
She's a little bit of baby, and a little bit of whore
Give credit to her master, He has made one more...
She's nothing of an angel, she's evil deep inside
There's nothing that can stop her, many men have tried....
She'll show you darkest paradise, and leave you on your knees
She ignores your suffering, ignores your desperate pleas..
She's something better left alone, she's always in control
She'll plant a poison kiss on you and take away your soul....

Do you hate chainmail letters?

2008-12-17T00:14:00.000+01:00

Every few months on the internet, you will come across sincere warnings about Monster Viruses that transfer through your email. Common sense tells you that this is impossible, that a text file is just text and it can't hurt you or your computer. But the warnings claim it can and often add "My system administrator passed this on to me, so it must be true", statements. You begin to doubt your technical knowledge. Don't! The warning itself , IS the "virus": it tricks people into passing it on, endlessly. Here's how I shall deal with it.

LAST "GOODTIMES" VIRUS WARNING. Goodtimeswill re-write your hard drive. Not only that, but it will scramble any disks that aren't even close to your computer. It will re-calibrate your refrigerator's coolness setting so all your ice cream goes melt It will demagnetize the strips on all your credit cards, screw up the tracking on your television & VCR and use sub-space field harmonics to scratch any CD's you try to play.

It will give your ex-girlfriend your new phone number. It will mix Kool-Aid into your fishtank. It will drink all your beer and leave its socks out on the coffee table when there's company coming over. It will put a dead cockroach in the back pocket of your good suit pants and hide your car keys when you are late for work. Goodtimes will make you fall in love with a penguin. It will give you nightmares about circus midgets.

It will pour sugar into your gas tank and shave off both your eyebrows while dating your girlfriend behind your back and billing the dinner & hotel room to your Discover card. It will slander your grandmother. It does not matter if she is dead or not, such is the power of Goodtimes, it reaches out beyond the grave to sully those things we hold most dear. It moves your car randomly around parking lots so you can't find it. It will kick your dog.

It will leave libidinous messages on your bosses voice mail in your voice! It is insidious and subtle. It is dangerous and terrifying to behold. It is also a rather interesting shade of mmauve. Goodtimeswill give you Dutch Elm disease. It will leave the toilet seat up. It will make a batch of Methanphedime in your bath tub and leave bacon cooking on your stove while it goes out to chase gradeschoolers with your new snowblower.

LISTEN TO ME, GOODTIMES DOES NOT EXIST.
It cannot do anything to you.
But I can. I am sending this message to everyone in the world. Tell your friends, tell your family. If ANYONE sends me another e-mail or ICQ message about this (or any other virus) fake Goodtimes Virus, I will turn them into a religion. I will do things to them that would make a horsehead in their bed look like Easter Sunday brunch.

Satanic Hedonism VS. Recreational drug abuse

2008-12-11T00:20:00.000+01:00

For the record, i have to confess that i am active in several forums.
And this was a recent discussion between myself and someone who (at least i think) should know better:

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Infernal Greetings Skrivarn.

I just wanted to point out a couple things about "LaVey's book "Satan Speaks"

LaVey wasn't anti-hedonistic -he did like to drink. He says on page 107 in Satan Speaks "Sound Retreat" ... "He must live as though there were no clocks, no calendars, and subsequently, no appointments to be met. He must withdraw himself from the affairs and measurements of men, and become as hedonistic as the staunchest moralist (or faddist) is not. It is humanity that will surely kill him if allowed"- LaVey

Also the introduction is by Reverend Marylin Manson who is quite open about his hedonistic lifestyle and excessive drug use.

What is your definition of hedonism and are you also anti- alcohol- tabacco- caffeine?

What's your view on the new craze with anti-depressants?? that drug epidemic has half of Americans HOOKED.

Hail Satan!

********

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My reply:

Hello ********,

"Hedonism" literally means regarding pleasure as a proper motive. The best explaination of what Dr. LaVey meant by this is probably his essay THE WORLD'S MOST POWERFUL RELIGION.

There are many sources of pleasure.

From the Satanic point of view, pleasure should be considered in contrast to self-destruction and compulsion.

It's really that simple.

I agree strongly with the passage you quote from Dr. LaVey, and I live by it. I think I have an appointment sometime next October, but I will probably postpone and reschedule that at least three times because I'll forget about it by then and it will creep up on me. I avoid obligations to other people like the plague, and live to live "free fall" in my own world, in my own time. But without self-medicating. I don't see that a neccesary or prerequisite.

Lets not equivocate on the "drug" issue. Anyone with an iota of intelligence knows there is an important difference in the effects of, say, Heroin, Acid, and say Pot.

Likewise, there is a substantial difference in the effects of, say Pot and Coffee.

For the record, I drink and smoke, even socially, because I like it. I do also drink coffee on a daily basis.

In terms of psychological effect, I will concede that pot is not as bad as alcohol, but smoking it is as bad or worse for you than cigarrettes. Really, if all the people who have drinking problems sat at home and ate marijuana cookies or hash brownies, they and the world would be better off, but nothing that rational is going to happen in our lifetime.

Plus it is illegal, and in that grey area of "illegal but tolerated" just enough to insure that it is a common and widespread pretext for police intervention in peoples lives. I understand you are against systems of control very much. Why would you buy into an institution (drug counterculture) that was probably invented to be a reason to fuck with you?

Even if it were legal, it has decades of idiotic cultural baggage. Drug counterculture is the most mindless herd phenomenon since religion - why would any Satanist, or the Church of Satan for that matter, want to be associated with such a collective of idiotic losers?

....also, not to "quote scripture," but Dr. LaVey repeatedly expressed his contempt for these kinds of subcultures in no uncertain terms, assuming we both concede his opinion bears on matters pertinent to Satanism.

Marilyn Manson is definately not the brightest bulb in the pack. He says and does a lot of incredibly stupid things that contradict what Dr. LaVey was about. He has also publically backpeddled regarding his involvement with the Church of Satan (on the Bill O'Reilly show), which to me places him in the category of people who were siding up to Dr. LaVey for "noteriety by association" claiming to be all about the philosophy, yet disparaging Dr. LaVey's legacy after he passed away. If they were really so devoted to Dr. LaVey, they would not have shit on his memory. Personally I think his affiliation should be revoked.

But that flies over the head of anyone who blindly sucks up to people because they are "famous."

I think the trend toward "mood drugs" is disgusting, but I guess it keeps people showing up to work on time, and diverts them from confronting the existential horrors of their own meaningless existence that would otherwise drive them to overt self-destruction.

I'm all for confronting and training your inner demons, turning liabilities into advantages, instead of medicating into oblivion.

People who seek escape in mind-altering drugs should ask themselves why their predominant frame of mind is so shitty that they need to escape. Some people have no choice, they are damaged goods and are probably better off in self-medicated oblivion. Unfortunately they usually descend into rampant destructive compulsion that makes a disaster of the world around them.

There is a difference between being disfunctional and being "Alien" in the Satanic sense of the term. One is "unter", the latter is "uber", in relation to the common stream of human waste.

I am open to intelligent discussion/debate on these topics.

Hail!

Sexual Attraction or Sensual Attraction?

2008-11-23T00:09:00.000+01:00

The kind of people who ask the typical standard question: How can you love if you are Asexual? Are problaby the kind of people who watch when the stewardess is demonstrating how the seatbelt is working on airplanes.
Dont get me wrong. I have no intention of being disrespectful, however it seems to me as rather naive, or perhaps short sighted to think that love and sex are inseperable if not even the one and the same thing.

Why should love and sex be the one and same thing? I believe it is a common misconception, however a fairly understandable one.
Just simply have a look at how love, and thereby sex is potrayed in the media, it certainly seems to be inseperable parts, now doesnt it?
The typical "hero" who has lived hes live in solitude and therefore unhappines finally finds hes true love, have sex with her and therefore is able to live happily ever after.
And certainly that must be the recipee for a happy life, at least if we are to believe what we constantly are being told.

Not only is this misconception feeding the idea of Asexuals not being able to feel or experience love, but it is also giving the impression of Asexuals being less happier then any other sexual person.
However the truth is, even though we are not able to experience any sexual attraction, we are still able to experience sensual attraction.
And even though we dont have the same sexual need as anyone else, we still do have the very same emotional need as anyone else.

And truly, isnt that what love really is? The desire to be with that certain someone, no matter if you would get laid or not, to be there in good days and bad days, no matter what.

An algebraic view on miss teen south Carolina.

2008-11-19T20:05:00.000+01:00

First of all. shes incredibly stupid.

Second, she makes me embaressed for being into this stupid generation.

Third.

If she realized how idiotic her words were as they came out of her mouth, she would have stopped talking.
At least that's what I would have done. I would not have proceeded to go off on an ever increasingly ridiculous tangent eventually reaching a point of infinite stupidity and finally concluded as if the answer were completely comprehensible and as if I didn't just throw a bunch of psychobabble bullshit poorly together in a rush for the miss teen USA crown that I would no doubt use as a tool to be even more popular in school.

Let's create an algebraic function for a second.

t will represent the remaining time she had for her answer and y will represent the stupidity of her argument. y will be the dependent variable and t will be the independent variable. y(t) = 1/(t^2)

Now, the limit of y(t) as t approaches zero is infinite.
What this means in lay terms is as the amount of time she has remaining for her answer gets closer and closer to zero, the stupidity of her argument gets larger and larger, increasing without bound toward infinite.