n E exponentiation ezine [1.0] ISSN 1555-693X http://www.anus.com/zine To live in this time is to recognize the law of inevitability: we consume resources we cannot renew, we make social structures we cannot sustain, and we live empty lives in worlds of either material or mystical or political products. To resurrect the eternal spirit of heroism is to accept the whole as one, obliterating the illusory divisions of subject/object and appearance/structure, and thus to embrace the cosmological tradition of great cultures both ancient and future: this is the goal of exponentiation ezine. CONTENTS I. News II. Culture III. Features IV. Literature =-=-=-=- News -=-=-=-= Government Reveals Five-Year Plan to Utopia February 2, 2005 American States Press Service WASHINGTON, DC (ASPS) - At a candlelight ceremony to remember the victims of September 11, President Bush announced that the United States will realize Sir Thomas Moore's Utopia within five years. "America will be a shining beacon to the world of personal liberty, freedom, individuality and comfort," he said. "We will conquer hate, despair and inequity, and will create a new Utopia." Speaking from the heavily-guarded podium in front of the gaping pit where the World Trade Center towers once stood, Bush pledged to end four years of infighting that have prevented the reconstruction of what he called "a symbol of our country, and what makes it great: our freedom." He delivered his forty-minute speech before going indoors after high winds began blowing garbage and crack cocaine paraphrenalia from the nearby Freedom Park. Bush continued, "Not everyone will immediately desire personal freedom and the liberation of women, minorities, the oppressed, the retarded and the insane, but if they want to live in some backward feudal state of idol-worship and primitive toilet conditions, we will crush them like the evil they are. Utopia has conquered such backward superstitions and paranoid, deluded religious fanaticism." Darla Hofheiser, president of the dissident group Wiccans for Abortion and Medical Marijuana, held a protest sign bearing the words NO FUTURE WITHOUT ABORTION, said she was disappointed in the president's speech. "If this is to be Utopia," she said, "Everyone must be represented, and -- how is that possible, when he won't allow abortion and medical marijuana? We have to agree to disagree." American Civil Liberties Union lawyer Roger Cardozas expressed a contrary sentiment. "The right wing will always justify itself in terms of freedom, but where is the freedom for a Mexican-American superstate within what is erroneously called Texas and New Mexico?" Cardozas then departed for a keynote speech to the Association of Mexican American Students, entitled "Aztlan - Our Right and Destiny." Further down the street, protestors from NAMBLA voiced a similar sentiment. "How is it that in this grand scheme, men who like to share their love with young boys and their peachlike buttocks are not included? Freedom means freedom for everybody," said NAMBLA protestor Jorge Rosenberg, who was joined by a crowd of every race, ethnicity, gender and sexual orientation in chanting "Freedom for everybody." In the promenade across the way, however, emotions ran high in a different direction. "I won't feel free until I know I live in a country ruled by Jesus Christ, Our Lord and Savior," said Theresa Baxter, founder of Methamphetamine Addicts for Christ. "He is everywhere, if you look for him - in the heart of every human being, in the kindness of strangers, and in the tiny people who run under the table when I'm cranked." Speaking from the White House, Attorney General John Ashcroft responded: "There are people out there who fear our Utopia, and we will take each one and using modern military hardware, send him back to his primitive gods in pieces, so that our democracy cannot be threatened by those who hate our freedom." He was promptly chastised by the National Organization for Women (NOW), who characterized his speech as "sexist" and "denying the right to women of being freedom fighters for the backward, primeval regime of their choice." On the street outside the press conference, Joe "Wipers" Washington-Perez was gathering half-eaten hot dogs from a trash can while proposition cars stopped at the light for a windshield cleaning with a greasy rag. "Freedom ain't free," he said. "Takes two hours to find a full pork hotdog in these dumpsters, and I'm caught between the horsehead nebula and the Yeast God." Speaking the dwindling crowd, as nightfall arrived and the city area outside White House security bastions became an unstable war zone between drug dealers, SWAT teams, skinhead gangs and rapists from every ethnic group and gender-orientation, Bush continued. "Once Utopia is established," he said. "We will live in peace and prosperity forever, unless evil is destined to thwart our progress." "We cannot tolerate evil," he continued. "If they insist on fighting us, it will touch off a war between Utopia and the empires of evil." After a momentary interruption as iconoclastic rally racers crashed into the crowd of Falun Gong protestors outside, Bush was asked for his contingency plans for that event. Looking startled, the president said quickly, "Well, it will bring about the apocalypse, and all the good people will be called home to God, of course." -=- Israeli scientist invents cure for death January 31, 2005 El-Shaddai News Services GAZA CITY, ISRAEL (ESNS) - The remarkable announcement was made today that yet again, modern science has triumphed over nature, and this time conquering an age-old fear: Israeli National University scientist Haim Vorenberg has invented a cure for death. The cure, administered through a machine in which the user sits, makes use of a new subatomic particle discovered by Vorenberg, the vader. "Vaders are the complement to free radical particles, which occur naturally in our flesh through the process of aging, as we become older and get closer to death, which reduces us to dust and ruins all we have done," he said in a thick German accent. "What our machine does is to replace free radicals with vaders, so forever we are free from the curse -- of death!" Vorenberg previously worked on missile design systems and was responsible for the remarkable Israeli "Tikkun Olam" missile, which during the first Iraq war shot down one Scud, four Piper Cubs and uncountable pigeons brainwashed in the suicidal death religion of Islam. His list of accomplishments is long, including honorable service in the US Army Intelligence division before the Tet Offensive, Director of Safety Regulations at Three Mile Island, and Environmental Regulator at Love Canal. "The machine is very fragile, very expensive," said Vorenberg. "It requires rare materials, like South African diamonds and white Russian gold," he said. Interviewed in the Vatican, Pope John Paul II expressed solidarity with Vorenberg. "This ingenious man of God has invented the ultimate fulfillment of man's dominion over nature," said the Pope. "Blessings upon him and his kin, who are blessed in the eye of God, who up till now alone has held back death." The machine was demonstrated on dissident Eli Al-Rafal, who shouted "Free Palestine!" before being strapped into the apparatus, at which point the heavy door lined in lead and gold was closed upon him. "Notice how we convey the blessing of Immortality on even our enemies," said Israeli government press officer Christian Horowitz. "Our God, who we share with Christians, is indeed merciful even to His worst enemies." After humming for several minutes, the machine began making cyclic static discharge sounds. Vorenberg quickly adjusted a dial on a console that looked suspiciously like one borrowed from a US-made F-16 fighter. "We are now aligning the positrons and neutrons and, ah, magic particles in his body," said Vorenberg. "Soon the free radicals will be gone, and he will be free from death forever." With an immense electric crackling roar, the machine fully energized and lit the room with an incomparable glow, leaving a faint odor of ozone and hair standing on end for the straight-haired among the observers. Vorenberg, his curly mop untouched, turned back the machine. "Success!" he said. "Another soul saved, and nature's vile death is removed, thus zee triumph of mankind is assured." When he opened the machine, however, Al-Rafal had vanished, leaving behind a single red rose. -=- Los Angeles Annexes South Korea February 4, 2005 Christian Thought Monitor LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA (CTMN) - Today Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger and Mayor Dick Riordan made a joint announced that Los Angeles, the nation's fastest growing city, had annexed South Korea. "In LA, we are proud to be a tolerant and diverse community, and as a result we keep growing," said Riordan. "I'd like to welcome our newest outer suburb, Seoul." Schwarzenegger weighed in by noting that California "has always prospered from the diversity and hard work of immigrants such as myself," and promised the South Korean suburb would be no different. "You can now participate in the Los Angeles Dream," he told them. "You will be able to have entertainment jobs, medical marijuana, and drive in rush-hour traffic to cultural events like Linkin Park and the Vagina Monologues." Sung Pak, leader of the California Korean-Americans Association, said, "Today is a brave new world for the Korean-American community, as we put our best foot forward to be the largest minority group in Los Angeles." He scanned the crowd for a minute, and then said, "That is, if our daughters do not continue to insist on dating white and Hispanic guys who dress and behave like gangsta rappers." South Korea, a nation of 48 million Koreans, has struggled for wealth and independence in the highly competitive South Asian region for many centuries, being tossed about between China and Japan like an inflatable love-doll. "We decided, at last, to go to the source of business knowledge in Asia: Southern California," said President Roh Moo-hyun. "Since over a third of Los Angeles is owned by Asian businesses, it is hard to say yet who is annexing whom." Riordan dismissed fears that the new suburb would be too different to integrate into LA's famously uniform escapist suburban culture. "Nonsense," he said. "Los Angeles supports many kinds of diversity, and we're sure South Korea will fit in just fine, as long as they don't mind gated communities, noise regulations and numbering their freeways according to our system." Longtime LA resident Sarah Snyder expressed her surprise. "Well, how about that," she said. "I guess the suburbs just keep expanding, so it's bound to happen one of these days," she said, having a cup of joe after her African-style pilates workout and positive thinking orientation session at the New Wiccan Buddhist Temple in downtown LA (next to the Scientology building and two doors down from a Tantric chiropractor). Snyder said she welcomed the Koreans to LA, and hoped that some of them would show up to make her congregation more diverse. Beaming with confidence, Schwarzenegger expressed faith in the process of assimilation. "People come here from all over, but pretty soon, they've got Zen gardens next to the Chicken McNuggets and a therapist session that evening, like everybody else," he said, noting that although plans to open a "Mann's Chinese" theatre in South Korea had met with rioting, there were no objections to installing the world-famous "In-N-Out" burger chain next to temples made seven millennia ago by ancient cultures. "It all just mixes," he said. "We are all immigrants here." Not all residents were as concerned with welcoming the newcomers. "Fucking Koreans," said Rufus Watanabe, who scrounges garbage cans at roughly Wilshire and Mulholland, "We kicked their asses in that war, even if the god damn politicians tied our hands. But if they bring me discount AZT, or at least a 40, I'll be the welcome wagon." -=- Organized Crime Calls it Quits, Becomes Credit Reporting Agency Russian-American News Service 20 January 2005 8:36 PM PST Hoboken, New Jersy (RANS) - The once-mighty American organized crime empire has called it quits, citing the increased bureaucracy required to maintain a clandestine operation, and has turned over a new leaf as a credit reporting agency. Boss Dymitry "Sonny" Kaganovitz summed it up in his characteristic style: "We lost some deductions with the last tax code, so now we're going for the fat and putting the protection racket on the back burner." According to Kaganovitz, while business in prostitution and heroin trafficking increases under Republican administrations, the continuing decline of America's economy to third-world levels has caused a plateau effect. "We're used to this from the old country," he said. "Big leaders, oil prices ain't good, so we gonna hit 'em where we're protected, and that's in credit reporting." Credit reporting agencies are regulated minimally under federal law, but are the primary source of information for lenders, renters and arranged-marriage services. They track individuals by their Social Security numbers, originally an identification reserved for government use only in the process of taxation, and keep a "credit rating" on each individual according to the number of debts owed on that account. "There's almost no accountability, and if there's a problem, it's up to the individual to contact us and pay us an hourly to fix it. Beats pimpin' on the margins, and there's only one level of government to bribe," said Kaganovitz. Associate Ivan "Crusher" Sternovitch agreed. "All we gotta do is put what businesses send to us inna the computer, and we got a whole employment service of solid citizens for that," he said. "With the national identification coming, and prolly linked through credit cards, we're just on the up and up." Mentioning a frustration with the intricacies of deducting machine gun parts and backstreet whore abortions, he cited the pure legality of the enterprise as a positive factor: "We've got the law on our side now," he said, "so if you whisper about us, we fucking sue you. Simple and legal. Can't beat it." While Sternovitch denies that mob profits from traditional outlets like gambling, protection services, drug running and child pornography are down, Federal Bureau of Investigation special detective Frank Rosales disagrees. "We're really putting the hurt on these guys," he said. "Last month, we intercepted a record twelve tons of marijuana, and we cleaned all the call girls from Central Park," he said, from the four thousand square foot, waterfront Victorian house in Connecticut he affords through "really watchin' my pennies and dimes." Although the federal government is proud of these figures, Bill Cartwright at the National Organization for Reform of Marijuana Laws, or NORML, disagrees. "Twelve tons? That's nothing," he said. "If it were legal to have here at the office, and it's not so we don't, we'd have at least that amount for staff meetings. They always get the crappy weed, too, all bricked-out with the crushed seeds that make bad smoke, like someone just left it out for them to get and call it a day," he said, munching Fritos as he maneuvered a digital car in a video game called "Grand Theft Auto III: Sodomy and Lust." Kaganovitz laughs off such criticism. "First and foremost," he said, "I'm a businessman, and I act on opportunity. We've got no regulation, no accountability, and all we gotta do is answer the phone when some idjit calls about a social, then give 'em the stuff we have in our computers." He inhaled deeply from a Cuban cigar. "Piece of cake, really." -=- Books: Looking Busy and Getting Ahead by Lawrence Turnrist, New York Daily Book Review Normally, I eschew the species of books that increasingly populates the mahogany at even the best uptown bookstores, the somnolent "self-help section." There is only so much one can tell those who cannot tell themselves, says Maya Angelou, and I'm inclined to agree with the greatest of African-American feminist poets on that one. The field of literature is diminshed already by those who insist on writing books about character and adventure long after such things are irrelevant; today, art is in the individual, and for me to like a book, it has to have a unique setting and direction, like Aleister Shabaz Otuku's "The Birds of Parody Avenue," an uplifting tale about Asian youth with African-American fathers learning to succeed in the competitive pencil design industry despite being addicted to MDMA, individualistic iconoclasts and delightfully bisexual. No self-help book will reach that height of ingenuity and uniqueness! However, "Looking Busy and Getting Ahead" is, above all else, a practical self-help guide. There are millions, just millions, of self-help books about succeeding at work, and they all have the same advice, like make contacts, communicate, and take responsibility for your work. This book however takes a more practical approach, because we all know that these days, jobs are just wasting time until you can go out at night (don't miss "Ladies Night" at the Ecclectic Flamingo on Tuesdays, boys - "women" should just stay home!). Chapters are organized by what you'll actually be doing during the day, such as Chapter Seven, "Ways to Stay Awake," which goes beyond just counting paperclips and stealing office supplies; it has useful exercises you can do with common office objects, tips for building electroshock sequencers to keep you on your toes, and tips for masturbating under a desk without giving the wrong coworkers a free show. Not only that, but in Chapter Ten, there is a handy guide to making up a language of your own, using common words in business phone calls, to arrange meetings with associates and paramours. In depth evasion gets big in Chapter Fourten, "Ten Thousand Things to Xerox," which tells you how to find meaningless documents that look important and require hours of photocopying, stapling and filing, with appropriate pauses between, of course. As an Appendix, there's a section on business laws, by state, regulating mandatory break time and phone rules. My favorite chapter was the second, which gets into the nitty-gritty of a filing system based on ancient Egyptian astrological signs, but there's good detail all around for today's busy modern employee. What I like best is that none of the methods mentioned in this book will disrupt business in any way, because they take advantage of the lack of productivity expected from a modern faceless drudge in an office full of non-productive people; of course, they won't enhance business either, but they'll protect your most important asset: being inoffensive and following the rules, as that means, eventually, you'll get promoted, and need volume two, "Looking Proactive and Getting Ahead." It isn't what you normally expect from this column, but try something new, and give it a read. -=-=-=-=-=- Culture =-=-=-=-=-= =- Music -= Blood Axis & Les Joyaux de la Princesse - La Folie Verte (Athanor, 2002) "I Am The Green Fairy My Robe Is The Color Of Despair I Have Nothing In Common With The Fairies Of The Past What I Need Is Blood, Red and hot The Palpitating Flesh Of My Victims Alone, I Will Kill France, The Present Is Dead, Vive the Future..." As shocking or confusing may it be for a Blood Axis fan to listen to Michael Moynihan introducing their latest album with the exact words "I Am The Green Fairy", this is quite indeed the case. The forbidden beverage of the damned romanticist artists of pre-war Paris, absinthe - the Green Madness, inspires Blood Axis for a fast trip, along with their French collaborators Les Joyaux De La Princesse, into the emerald abyss of a world wrapped up and drowning into decadence. Diverging from the Nietzchean, will-to-power aesthetic and musical explorations of their first album, The Gospel of Inhumanity, this particular album will suprise and bring forth a lot of questions to the listener. However, such is the virtue of great artists; their unexpectedness and unwillingless to conform shall always be the backbone of their success. The bitter drink of Absinthe, also called artemisia absinthium (apsinthion = undrinkable in Greek), is mainly wormwood, a poisonous herb that was mixed with wine and given to Olympic winners long ago to remind them of the biterness of defeat. Not to mention, of course, the 80% alchohol. Absinthe's effects are brutally intoxicating and hallucinogenic; many absintheurs described their experience in terms of opium or cocaine usage. As a result, this drink first brought to France by troops who fought in Algeria and used it as a pain-reliefer, was popularized in Paris during the years 1880-1914 and quickly become the favorite of avantgarde, bohemian, or disaffected artists that found in it a source of inspiration. Van Gogh's dazzling, trembling pictures were inspired in part by the liquor's effects, along with the blackened visions of Edgar Alan Poe, Verlain and many others. The album's first sounds are as peculiar as one would expect; Moynihan declaims the poem which opens this very article while a heavy echo effect causes the verses to clash with one another; a violin steps in to comment with a tragic melody, but it is played in a manner reminding of an drunk absintheur trying to put some notes together moments before passing out in a Parisian bar of ill repute. As this fades, a chaos of various sounds of singers in crescendo, war drums and orchestras all passed through reverb and echo filters emerges, but slowly the chaos is organized and the samples are lined up correctly so that the first industrial track of the album is produced. At this point, an experienced listener of neo-classical industrial music will recognize the dreamlike soundscapes of the album as the work of the French avantgardist in charge of L.J.D.L.P. While there is no mention over the (luxurious and exquisitely adorned with old absinthe advertisements and even government flyers showing alcoolique degenerres types) booklet over who is responsible for the music, the resemblance between this recording and "Die Weisse Rose" and "Croix De Feu" is striking, not only in the use of samples and keyboards, but in the general longing for 1900-40 music, ideas and ideologies (a characteristic of Blood Axis and the other bands in the neofolk/industrial scene). To portray in a poetic but also realistic way the influence of absinthe into the psychic world of its fanatical consumers, the collaboration chooses poems from artists of the time that provide an insight from a personal view to the delights and horrors of being addicted to the drink. Moynihan's voice is crucial to this effect, as he retains the vigorous and epic quality characteristic of all Blood Axis recordings, while its fierceness makes an interesting antithesis to the tragical, self-destructing tales of the poets. Moreover, popular music of the 1900s is used throughout the album, either performed as small piano interludes, or directly "borrowed" from LPs. There lies a defect of not only this disk, but of most in its category; the fact that a great deal of the music is being ripped off from other recordings may annoy some listeners, but we must understand that the artists here function as a radiophone of some kind; they exhibit the atmosphere and the "soundcolours" of the time, in the same way as a documentary or a radio show would. The best parts of the album are the long industrial/ambient tracks, in which the talent of both bands is unfurled. The dismal, noisy and crowling Absinthe (D' Apres Emile Duhem), the nightmarish Poison Vert, consist of repetitive sampled melody, noisy loops in the backround and long keyboard notes drowned into multiple layers of effects. The keyword describing this style is Ambience, in part because the concept is a hallucinogenic drink. After the singing of the tenor in the last song fades out, the initial question is left unanswered: What prompted these particular artists to undertake such a project, especially when it is associated with the fall rather than with the rise of spirit? Apart from the obvious fact that the artists are themselves are absintheurs, whatever opens new borders for human thought can be studied, not embraced but looked upon. Artists are necessarily not philosophers or politicians, but mostly storytellers; they depict elements of thought we may have not experienced by our own, and sometimes no judgement or aphorisms are needed from their side; what we shall gain from them is our own matter. It seems, one can sing warmongering praises to the Pan-Germanic spirit and at the same time hold a bottle of glowing opaline in his right hand... - Lycaon -=- Biosphere - Cirque (Touch, 2000) From Norwegian ambient artist Biosphere comes this follow-up to the heavily acclaimed 1997 album "Substrata." As in that release, a naturalistic theme pervades this work although this time it is based on a story of a man making an ill-fated venture into the Alaskan wilderness. With no lyrics or text, the story is more something to be musically alluded to than told in any concrete way. That being said, Biosphere's characteristic style works well with the subject material. It is a depiction of lone human elements journeying through a vast, desolate and gently chaotic world only to find harmony and transcendence within it. A surging pattern falls within a deceptively complex texture of fragmentary, subtly divergent melody. Thematically conflicting two and three note figures may come together and pull apart in repeating cycles as one asserts itself over the other to disorientating effect and then fades and echos into the other melodic idea. The use of found sounds from nature and modern technological life is a frequently used device in Biosphere pieces, and "Cirque" is no exception. They are the alienated traces of technological civilization existing within naturalistic landscapes of sound. While some things have stayed the same, other things are different than the last album. Keyboard lines have a definite rhythm as opposed to the liquid divisions of notes heard on "Substrata," and to some people's disappointment, there are actual beats. This criticism is relevant for some tracks. While the percussion can be tasteful, understated and even musically essential, other instances use more conventional drum and bass and house beats that would have better been left out because of their intrusiveness. Fortunately, this complaint is a minor and should not detract the listener from the excellent taste in melody, tone color and arrangement displayed here. If unpretentious, spirited ambient music that is actually musical is your thing, this release may appeal, as will "Shenzou," a reworking of ideas from Debussy pieces into Biosphere's characteristic ambient form. - Sothis -=- Tangerine Dream - Phaedra (Virgin, 1974) The 1974 album from the German electronic legends Tangerine Dream broke ground and still stands as an example of a controlled and visionary work, proving itself with each passing year to be an eternal art work of high importance. This is high art in every way, influential beyond words, bringing with it a whole slew of creations that had bands in the electronic fields playing catch up and following in line. "Phaedra" is a passionate sound stream from idealistic visionaries, which explores experimental realms with the new electronic sequencers that were new to the decade. Where "Atem" established the band as a visionary force willing to explore the new synthesizer and electronic musical tools that were emerging throughout the 1970s, "Phaedra" established the band as a perennial and everlasting musical force and logically picks up the soundscapes laid out by "Atem" and helps further develop what would become known as the classic Tangerine Dream sound. Four tracks lasting a total of 38 minutes comprise this album, which takes one on a celestial voyage through art and time. Recurring conceptual sound motifs weave their way into the blend of electronic sound mastery, along with harmonic innovation making this album a complete conceptual piece broken into four tracks, much like Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" or Gustav Holst's "The Planets" in those respects. The sounds of this album wander into the paradoxes of the surrealists, grasping their sense of absurdity and ability to evoke a dream state and Tangerine Dream extract these things with the focus of a Zen warrior. The production is clear and roomy, reminiscent of a crystal ballroom or an underwater aquarium. Listening to the sounds of the album is like dipping one's head into a cold water and listening to the dinging of chimes. The synth work creates a cosmic condition, a whole universe in which the music echoes and explores itself freely. The listener becomes like the astronaut floating in the void of space. At times during this album it is reminiscent of sonic interpretations of Stanley Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey." At times it feels like what it must be like to sit on the edge of a glacier as it starts to crack and slip into the ice, since a chilling mood chips away at the subconscious and then finally breaks away entirely into a world of its own, a dreamlike condition. "Phaedra" effectively suspends the listener gut wrenching state in which transcendental emotions arise. The album induces translucent trances where the primordial meets the cosmic, which is perhaps not too far from William Blake's visions when he stated "eternity knows not the production of time." That is the essential paradox of Tangerine Dream: a symphonic bliss that both emanates traditional tribal elements along with progressive musical elements and in doing so screams out that history is an organic system in which the past is the future and the future is the past; time is not a factor to these sounds, they are somehow otherworldly and transcendental. "Phaedra" is a piece of musical art that will withstand the test of time. When trends and music that is merely social entertainment fades into dust with the coming of the winds, Tangerine Dream's masterworks will stand strong in the vast abyss like the Sphinx out of the timeless desert sands. - phantasm -=- Allerseelen - Gotos=Kalanda (AOR, 1995) Few bands have showed originality in industrial music matching the Austrian masters of (in their own words) technosophic avantgarde, Allerseelen. Headed by the charismatic Kadmon, an occultist researcher (whose zine, Aorta/Ahnstern, covers pagan Europe and religion) and experimentalist musician, Allerseelen broken through with an album that has initiated them into the elite company of neoclassical/traditionalist/ethnocultural industrial bands. "Technosophic," imbuing techno(logy) with sophia (wisdom) by using the inner soul (Aller - Seelen), making ends meet, tradition and technology, the achievements of the present age and the ideology of the past: in this album it is manifestated thematically by the writings of Karl Maria Wiligut, an Austrian poet, mystic and runes initiate of the second world war era. It is a collection of twelve (as many as the tracks of the album) symbolic, almost codified poems dedicated to the twelve months of the year, an apotheosis of nature's eternal and cyclical form. No wonder the pagan symbol of the black twelve-rayed sun adorns the cover. Consequently, the Austrians gradually underline the passing of the seasons in the mood of their music and convey the spiritual and mainly, mystical value of the poems. A demanding challenge, indeed, as the reader could observe the similarities of the case with Stravinsky's "Rite of the Spring" and apparently the precedent under which the artist's work could be judged. Contrasting the typical industrial formula of structuring music in layers of noise loops or melodies replacing each other randomly for the sake of rhythymic variation, Allerseelen maintain either a steady but compound and intricate drum beat that is reminiscent of trance music, or more simplistic patterns of traditional techno when the rhythym reverts to "austere", typical Indo-European ritual or marchlike cadences. Under it a series of events take place, either providing the musical element of the tracks in the form of ambient keyboard melodies, sampled strings or with Kadmon's characteristic bass and voice, creating impressionistic soundscapes of aggresive, psychedelic, trancelike sounds coming from a variety of samples of natural sounds (frogs croaking, thunders striking and the like), human voices, distorted loops of orchestra instruments or even metal/hardcore guitars utilized as noise sources rather than structure. Harsh production focusing on high frequencies enhances the anti-commercial quality of the album and further expands the occult and, often, militant feeling. Allerseelen's main characteristic is the true folk (and apparently, Germanic) character that heavily marks the spirit of the work and its themes, not a stagnant imitation of certain melodies or use of instruments but the transfiguration of the folkish soul to the present age and its representation to the modern, alienated public. Kadmon uses for such a goal simplistic and harsh melodies of an adolescent, dionysian character that sometimes range only a semitone back and forth, while the violent noisy backround pins down and makes the listener subjective to the message, yet awakens and activates in the way all non-decadedent and prolific art should affect its subject. The best (among equals) part of the album lies in the winter - beginning and end - sections; it is also easy to observe that Kadmon keeps his coldest/harshest material for the equivalent sections, while the spring/summer ones have a more blooming, youthful, abrupt feeling. As a whole, the work is representative of the German traditional romanticist spirit; rather than adapting the rational, progressive approach of classicism (in terms of structure) Allerseelen instead choose to stress the boundaries of expression; not in the usual subjective, random manner of "avant-garde" but with the strict, disciplined and focused dedication to small parts of music that are completed by all means of aesthetic and psychological development. They are minimalist in a classical, adventurous and non-stagnant way. This album may not be the least-affronting introduction to the style of which Allerseelen are leaders, but it is their artistic peak and defines it as the continuation of the spirit that pionners of electronic music like Kraftwerk and Tangerine Dream have introduced. - Lycaon -=- Regan, High Priestess - Sellisternia (High Priestess Productions, 2002) Dropping into the unsteady fusion between modern electronic music and remnants of dark ancient cultures, this release from High Priestess Productions is musically powerful when it escapes the confusion of wanting to be both ritual music and pop at the same time. Generalizing about these songs is not accurate, as they range between degrees of the manifold styles comprising their complexion, but the basic elements are a collision between Aphex Twin and Dead Can Dance, with 1940s lounge music hiding in the wings. Showcased most elegantly is vocalist Regan's singing, which is alternatingly smoothly ascendant and breathily timbral, creating a rough edge which bites into the smoother synthesizer sounds used as the melodic basis of the music. Percussion of a digital nature provides understructure in the way a techno band might use it, with layers of accent within the same tempo structure zooming into and out of view as each song moves through its sections. Sequenced digital instruments fit tightly to this framework or almost completely deny it, roughly echoing the two major motifs of this band. One is the earthy and sensual, beat-fixed driving pop music that alleviates any sense of pretense to the record, and the other is the Dead Can Dance portion of its primal build, which is wafting cloudbursts of slowly changing notes which sustain a somber but gaily mysterious mood. Where this band is strongest is in writing the hook-laden keyboard riffs that propel its more energetic works, and in weaving together the darker melodic constructions that give it some space for tantalizing obscurity; its weakness relates entirely to its division between pop and something perhaps more ambitious, as the drumbeats are too busy and altogether too present to avoid interrupting the music. Often, some shortcuts are taken that conform to existing styles of songwriting; while these aren't incompetent, they aren't necessary either, and here is why: the second half of this album is where the band shows an unbroken stamina and latent creativity, writing songs in the style of lounge acts from the first half of the last century, completed cryptically with sultry but aggressive female vocals. These songs break from the verse-chorus mold entirely at times, and use both rhythmic and textural interludes to create a vacuum ahead of the arrival of each section, so that the listener is kept suspended from anything finite as a full-on pop band would deliver. Sometimes even the insistent percussion slacks off a bit, and keyboard phrases get sparser, as if given a new sense of meaning and cause in song. These are the works from this band that are openly approaching excellence, and suggest a hybrid style that invokes the mystery of both recent and far past, as Eastern scales and dissonant vocals bend around lush yet realistic work. "Sellisternia" is a first effort, and shows some struggle over defining sound, but as the second half of the album illustrates, when its wide-ranging parts synthesize a sublime power emerges. - vijay prozak -=- Hekate - Sonnentanz (Well of Urd, 1999) Hekate is a German neo-folk project masterminded by Axel Heinrich Menz and Achim Weiler and backed by a generous staffing of musicians. Hekate set themselves apart from a genre often distinguished by mediocrity dressed up as "epic" moodscapes. Eschewing academic pretensions for heartfelt musicality and tasteful "filler" parts, this album merits a listen on artistic grounds alone. "To Break A Heart" lets synth, flute and acoustic guitar set the mood for a spoken poetry recital. A seemingly personal grief is transformed when the militant melody and snare cadence come in to transfrom the feeling into a mixture of national lament and warrior-like determination. "Findhorn" is a haunting ambient piece. Eerie, simple melodies harmonize and grow off each other from the two note phrase at the beginning, to the flanged-out vocal line subtly making its presence known. Percussion keeps a tasteful distance but is effective in adding an ominous element. "Fatherland" is probably the most overtly nationalistic tune on here. Each stanza of vocal melody suspends itself into space and leads back into itself for a reiteration of an increasingly desperate tone. On the last stanza it concludes with a stable cadence, but suddenly the song breaks into a triumphant celtic folk romp. The unique tension reminds me of hearing someone lost in a state of sad recollection of their world and reaching a profound conclusion of its signifigance. In essence, it is the confronting of loss and confusion to find something in it joyful and transcendent. "Danse de l'obscurite" may be the best song on the album. Male and female vocals trade parts while an underlying melody is given periodic room for development between singing. Inventive chord progressions are simple but give a nice harmonic backing to the compelling melodic interplay. Strangely enough, college-town REM comes to mind hearing this. This is one of the rarer Hekate releases, but it is worth the search. "Sonnentanz" is an absorbing drama with a knack for hooking the listener in with inspired, melodic songwriting. - Sothis -=- Sol Invictus - Lex Talionis (Tursa, 1989) It is not easy to ascertain what in the aesthetic of early industrial music triggered the neo-folk movement; how could the aggresive, anti-moral and nihilist nature of that music appeal to the same artists who appreciate gentle and modest traditional music? Sol Invictus answer that question as not only adepts but for the most part innovators of the neo-folk style. Sol Invictus mastermind Tony Wakeford already had a history in the underground London scene before forming his own band; anarchist punk band Crisis and neo-folk pioneers, Death in June, formed his basic ideogical and thematic principles: a dissident, furious opposition to the modern world and its values on the one side and the embrace of the wisdom of tradition and tribalism on the other. The title of his first album with Sol Invictus serves as a declaration, as it invokes the title of Baron Julius Evola's cornerstone book on traditionalism and re-introduction to the archetypal spiritual and societal forms of the Indo-European people. The third Sol Invictus album defined the genre and caused the explosion of numerous similar bands and a whole new aesthetic for the industrial scene beyond doubt. The cover of the 1989 "Lex Talionis" album would disturb the uninitiated: four figures of men with a large phallus and a club in their right hands placed anti-diametrically so that limbs and clubs form a swastika. The meaning can be easily derived, since the phallus and the club symbolize the eternal archetypal forms of power and their conjunction forms the symbol of the Sun, the symbol in common among Indo-European people worldwide who retain the ancient pagan tradition of Sun worship, from the Roman Empire (Sol Invictus) to the Norsemen and the Hindu Indo-Aryans. The symbolism is a rough reminder of the ancient ways and principles of our tribe, however foreign and repulsive to the modernized, decadent people of humanitarian society (a society morally enslaved by a foreign, desert religion and a political system that devours its best elements, dissolving the most fundamental instict, that of self-preservation). The music of Sol Invictus attempts to materialise in sound all these aspects, the grief and pain for the loss of the pagan spirit, the hate for the massacres that followed the Christian domination of Europe, the longing for the old times. Wakeford's former involvement with industrial is still obvious, especially in the begining of the album, while the basis of Sol Invictus is the acoustic guitar and voice, fortunately accompanied through the album by other musicians who offer a variety of instruments such as cello and piano to build instrumentation on which ideas can unfold. Sol Invictus choose simple foms of songs to allow lyrical messages to be expressed clearly, not to make an impression of technical virtuosity. However, integrity and passion characterise this band. Combining the warm, introvertive quality of the acoustic instruments and the agressive, distorted sounds and samples, the band succeds into creating unusual intensity. The album starts with a dark, minimalist piece on a piano that soon gives its place to the title track. A ghastly noise loop with a vibrato effect continually increasing in volume sets its, soon to be followed by melodic bass, piano and a low pitched war drum. "The world is full of Gods and Beasts, some to serve and some to feast," "And even forests once lush and green, have the stench of murder and children's screams," Wakeford comments on the eternal power struggle in nature, the conquering of the European lands by Christians, and finally fortells the bleak future of them. "But bird of prey in your eyes is where our future lies" - the tragic destiny of fighting each other throughout all history at the delight of their enemies ("No more wars amongst brothers...," he says later) in the darkest song of the album. "Black Easter" in contrast is an Dionysian, almost orgiastic call to the pagan spirit; the noises, the melodic guitars, the cellos, the samples, all reach a ritualistic frenzy in which Ian Read (of Fire and Ice) triumphantly cries the Nietzchean aphorism; "God is Dead!" The other songs of the album have a more rationalistic, calm approach in which Sol Invictus release their more melodic, melancholic material. From ballads to slow pieces with an ambient flow like "Tooth and Claw," "Abbatoirs of Love" to aggresive, epic songs like "Hero's Day," this album justifies its impact on the neo-folk scene of the 1990s. "Lex Talionis" is more than music alone; it is a statement of an intent toward ideological awakening. Sol Invictus revive the heroic ethos of the European spirit, wake up long forgotten memories of pagan imagery and religion, mourn the decline of its values and finally foresee the rising of the phoenix from the ashes. Those than saw in it just a collection of romantic, "gothic" tunes made to fill out the repertoire of "dark" nightclubs must have been badly dissapointed. - Lycaon -=- Kraftwerk - Paris 1981 (Undead Silence Records, 2003) This recording from the beginnings of their elusive middle period, in which they first mimicked bisexual British electropop and then became dysfunctional over the issue of technology in their music, reveals Kraftwerk caught in internal conflict and electing for a course of quality tinged with popular appeal; however, this appeal is degenerative to the core of the music, and thus for those who depend on such things it does not have enough novelty, and for those who seek content independent of aesthetic, it is too humbled. It shows us muses without Viagra attempting to reconcile their success with their ambitions, and in the confusion, holding ground and waiting out the changes in the world of music that appeared around them; once one becomes famous, it is impossible to see the world as one did as an anonymous struggling, because suddenly one is titled and everyone either filters what they tell you or only markets themselves. You cannot walk the same streets, have the same discoveries, or even browse without calling attention to yourself, thus you are cut off from the raw feed of data that tells you what occurs in the world of music, and dependent upon contacts and (ew) record labels for information. This recording is bouncy and vocals have become contorted to give added emphasis and stylized drama to the lyrical presentation, like a Hollywood musical. One can sense a pandering to the crowd, but also a mastery of it, and a sense of a strong desire to make a normal version of what the British bands had for the most part both successfully promoted to wide audiences and retained its essential character. Kraftwerk have changed their character here: showmanship is not their forte; that is the logical and robotic math-pop that is both mechanistic and brilliantly soulful in its composition and the insights it has on the core of our human qualities in the situations of which it writes, brilliantly, without propaganda or moralizing or really ego. The result is a distortion of music that is so well-staged it is horrible to say an error of aesthetic judgment brings it down, as this band hams it up just a little bit too much. Instrumentalism is near-flawless as usual and selection of songs is good, moving through the classics to newer material, but its over-emphasized energy and stylized percussion and production gives it the feel of an American stadium concert. Maybe they should have sent the robots instead. Regardless, the songs are brilliant and in the strain of a band pushing for clarity in vision, one can sense history. - vijay prozak =- Food -= NORSE SPICED CIDER This is a variation on a traditional beverage to keep drinkers warm during the small ice age that is a Nordic winter. For a garnish, add fresh or dried mint to each mug. 1 gallon apple juice 2 cups white vinegar 3 cups honey 2 tbsp spearmint 2 tbsp ground cloves 1 tsp ground ginger 1 tbsp ground cinnamon 1 lemon, cubed included rind Lightly boil apple juice while adding honey until all is dissolved. Cool for five minutes, then add vinegar and spices. Simmer for ten minutes and serve hot. For the alcoholic version of this drink, use real cider instead of apple juice. - Hieronymous Botch -=- SLAYER CURRY An Italicized version of an Indian red curry, this recipe was designed for those hungry moments after a Slayer concert; not surprisingly, in spice and heartiness it also resembles the pounding speed/death metal of early Slayer (coincidentally, "Hell Awaits" provides a perfect background timer for the preparation process). It's easy to prepare once you've done it before, and can serve as the perfect conduit for any number of vegetables or meats. INGREDIENTS Sauce: 1 stick butter 1 head garlic 1 large white onion 1 tsp red pepper flakes 1 large green apple 1/4 cup white vinegar 1/2 cup whole milk, yogurt, sour cream or cream 2 tbsp brown sugar Payload: This is whatever you want to curry, and it is a flexible category. Our sample payload here is designed to give you a quick and easy recipe that feeds people on a minimal budget. 2 lbs frozen peas and carrots 16 oz chickpeas, canned 2 large tomatoes, chopped Spices: Prepare a mixture of 2-4 tbsp according to these proportions. It is easiest to use powdered spices, which you can acquire at your local import store or Whole Foods grocery by weight at minimal cost. 5% cloves 2% nutmeg 2% cardamom 12% fenugreek 7% turmeric 7% chili powder 15% paprika 15% black pepper 5% cayenne pepper 20% corriander 10% cumin Stages I. Oils II. Spices III. Cook/Rice IV. Sauce You will first prepare the oils, then add ingredients and mix in spice mixture. While that is cooking, you will prepare rice and finalize the sauce, then serve. Total time should be under 1/2 hour. I. Oils Heat 1 stick butter in small saucepan at medium simmer; it will begin bubbling, and a layer of residue will form at the top and bottom of the pan (it is best to keep the pan still, and not stir). Turn off heat, and when butter has partially cooled, scrape the residue off the top and pour the oil into your large saucepan; discard the milky residue at the bottom of the oil. In large saucepan, heat oil to simmer and add chopped garlic and onion, sprinkling red pepper over it. Cover pan and let simmer for five minutes. This will create the essential flavor base of the recipe. II. Spices Mix spices according to the formula outlined above. Depending on your tastes, you can balance the amount of pepper with corriander and cumin, with more of the latter giving the recipe a sweeter and broader taste in contrast to the sharpness of pepper and turmeric. III. Cook/Rice Add vegetables and chickpeas, sifting the prepared spice mixture over them, and then add vinegar. If necessary, add water, but keep to a minimum to avoid a watery sauce. You will cook this mixture for roughly fifteen minutes, uncovered, depending on what's in your payload and how frozen it is. It makes sense at this point to start your water boiling in a separate saucepan for rice; when water is at a boil, uncover saucepan, add rice, and turn heat to medium low, then cover. If you have mixed 3:2 water to rice ratio, it will cook off in ten minutes and leave you with dry and slightly chewy rice. IV. Sauce Reduce heat to low medium; add brown sugar and cubed, cored green apple. When mixture looks cooked to satisfaction, stir in milk/yogurt/cream and remove from heat; serve. This recipe will feed 2-4 hungry Slayer fans, and probably six of anyone else. Dedicated to Mom, for years of cooking instruction! - vijay prozak =- Books -= The Sorrows of Young Werther, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. 144 pages, Penguin Books, New York (1989). Picked up on a whim whilst perusing dusty shelves of dog-eared, forgotten and oft-maligned second-hand books, I came to Werther totally oblivious to its historical impact in the genre of Romantic literature. I figured it might give me a small doorway into a better understanding of Goethe's writing style and thought before tackling his deeper works. I ended up flying through this book in a few whirlwind hours - it was utterly captivating. The resonance that echoed in the hearts of those who read this book upon its initial publication in the late eighteenth century was widespread and overwhelming; a rash of suicides (which were never truly linked to the subject matter of the book) followed in its wake as it crossed national and cultural boundaries. The book is equal parts a cathartically autobiographical recounting of certain events in the author's life, and the incorporation of the tale of an individual and the events which prompted him to commit suicide, a story that had become widely known at the time: it follows the (modern-day) cliched story of a young man (Werther) who, in his written correspondence with a close friend, relates his sudden evocative infatuation and developing love for a woman (Lotte), one who is unfortunately promised to another man. A friendship between them arises nonetheless, and due to the hopelessness of Werther ever realizing his desired outcome of their deepening companionship, he eventually flees the town; unable to sufficiently distract his heart's yearning for long, he returns, albeit to a dual joy and despair - ecstasy at her returned presence in his life, coupled with his renewed dejection at his powerlessness to change the fate which kept her outside of his embrace. Suicide becomes his only hope of release from the self-destructive cycle. This scenario has been played out innumerable times, both in literature and real-life; the differences which allow Goethe's tale to stand out from his predecessors and imitators are significant. Much depth of philosophical interest can be found within Werther's narrative of the lengthy arguments carried on between himself and the other characters concerning the epistemological, religious and metaphysical issues of the day; the other difference lies in the format of the writing itself - it utilizes the character of a fictional "editor" who has posthumously compiled the letters sent by Werther to his friend into what constitutes the main body of text for the book, with some follow-up commentary describing what happened to Werther once the letters cease their recitation of his life events. Ostensibly, this would create the impression of nothing more than a lengthy newspaper article, but the way in which Goethe manipulates the text brushes such irrelevant categorizations aside, and draws you into the sentimentalized reality that gnaws at Werther's soul. It is a beautifully written work (the author was only twenty four years old at the time of writing), one which set a large precedent, not only for the literary genre it spawned, but also for the way in which the form of the novel was approached by future authors. An enchanting read, and an insightful glimpse into Romantic literature and thought, I recommend this novel highly for a view into how something as simple as the form of a novel can be treated in the hands of a master. - blaphbee -=- The Butcher Boy, Patrick McCabe. 240 pages, Bantam Doubleday Dell, New York (1992). Recommended to me by a friend with no prior introduction to the plot given, The Butcher Boy left me with a mixed bag of reactions. I took the plunge and started into the story: Francis Brady, only son of his remote, alcoholic father and neurotically unhinged mother, dealing with the trials he faced while growing up in a rural town in Ireland around the time of the Cuban missile crisis, as narrated by himself much later in the future. It centers around perception, specifically how a young boy with no father figure to learn from copes with the pretense of his peers, the dynamics of friendship, and growing up in a social world, a world Brady largely ignores as unnecessary. Many people seem to make a great fuss over the apparent onset of psychosis in the main character, but I never noticed it until someone pointed it out, that the thoughts and patterns that emerged from Brady's mind were typically taken as encompassing the conventional definition of "crazy." To me, they seemed more like the thoughts and reflections of someone who lived in a world of memories and fantasy - memories which meant more than worthless social play-acting, fantasies which fired the intellect and let the imagination soar - who used these methods to cope with a town which had branded him as an outsider, but one whom they pitied, impotently, all the same. The plotline of the story itself is rather simple, and executed in a very adept, if easily predictable fashion. Brady's behaviour is related in a detached manner by the narrator; no moral judgments or over-emotional sentimentalizing colour the events where one would expect them to be present; the only emotion that occurs is when Brady experiences something "beautiful." The text is written strangely - a great deal of slang is incorporated into sentences which do not distinguish between characters speaking, acting or thinking. It took a couple of pages to catch up, but once one falls into its rhythm the book becomes quite easy to read, and it fits the identity which is conjured of Brady relating these stories to the reader through a haze of cigarette smoke. The ending was seen coming for miles. This book gave an illuminating look into the mind of a young boy who behaved and acted the way he did because certain things mattered more to him than what everyone else valued in life; there could be no moralization of his actions, as they fit into his system of valuation in an integral manner. Trivial things like death didn't mean much to him, but the friendship he so desired from his friend Joe meant the world - he was prepared to give anything to lead the simple life they shared when they were younger. Brady's mental space is atypical for certain, but this is in no way an anomaly of his possession alone; look no further than the values which rule the town for insight on how Brady ended up where he did. When that is understood, Brady's thoughts become quite understandable, and the story becomes something more than a punctuationally-challenged vehicle for provoking moralizing shock in a reader. - blaphbee -=- Underworld, Don DeLillo. 827 pages, Simon & Schuster, New York (1997). It's fortunate that DeLillo gives a nod or two to Melville, deep in this labyrinthine text, with a white whale reference, because really, I blame this whole genre on Melville: the religious unification of all disciplines of information into a belief system tied around a symbol, perhaps even a white whale meaning the purity of personal dominion over reality. After that came James Joyce, who really nailed the technique, and following the brief interlude of actual writers in the heroic sense of the word "artist," we had Nabokov and Pynchon. The latter produced his epic "Gravity's Rainbow," which tied together every type of learning known to man in a spiritual metaphor which got hazier as the pages went on and the author inhaled more of that Northern California hybrid. DeLillo's book is very much in the tradition of "Gravity's Rainbow," even down to a lap-compacting page count, winding together personal stories in the full-blown neurosis that only a fin de ciecle civilization can provide, and tying them to large, emotional events such as baseball and nuclear warfare. As such, the book isn't "about" anything; it's about everything, in the theme that while politics occupy the powers that be, there is an entire underworld of life in opposition to these empires of death, as told through the lives connected to two people who had brief, meaningless, vindictive sex back in the 1960s. Are you excited yet? Neither am I. Although it's a well-written book, in parts, and as a whole, it conveys a good deal of learning on many topics, mostly it's fluff designed to hide the author's opinions "artfully" between a raft of metaphors related to its main symbol. Naturally, it being a product of our modern time, it can have no other ground of theme than the elites versus the masses, and per the postmodern dictum, it looks behind the text of all events for subtext and thus finds conspiracy an easy friend. It's saturated in racial inequity, drugs, authority figures confusing penises with power, unfaithful partnerings and the lives of Italians, Jews and Irish in the New York ghettoes. So far, very straightforward, which is why one wonders how it took 827 pages to convey what slides very neatly forth from 300. Where DeLillo triumphs is in the deep-reading sense of the postmodern genre; he gets into every detail, and has text to match, bringing out a richness in vocabulary that is normally unseen, and like an acidhead bending his metaphors to the solos on forgotten Led Zeppelin albums. That the contortions of the text seem at all logical is a tribute to his artistry, and he includes every large-headline event related to his thesis with a relish that sometimes drowns the content in its own lack of relevance. As with any good postmodern text, metaphor is free, freer than free jazz, and no topic or diction or style can constrain the elements to which he reaches. Back in 1997, the Internet was new, so there's some awkward mention of that at the end. There's some fine text here, and that's why one reads it, although I heartily recommend skimming much of the pointless dialogue and tangential stories which reveal nothing an experienced reader couldn't already guess. If you want to plot this book's course emotionally, turn to "Ulysses" and "Gravity's Rainbow," both of which feature the downtrodden everyman fragmenting his ego and "transcending" his will to power, eventually becoming submissively at peace with a world which is still as diseased as his own neurotic mind - and, come to think of it, his author's neurotic prose. As such, the philosophical content of this novel is really friggin' forgettable, and we're left thinking DeLillo would have been better off hammering some of his themes from "White Noise." Like the white whale, every aspiration in this book that isn't submissive brings its characters to somnolent decay, and so there's really no hope in it, nor any iteration of themes outside counterculture versions of the dominant idea of this past millennium. Still, if you don't mind skimming five pages for every one you read, there's some phenomenal prose in here. - vijay prozak -=- Mason & Dixon, Thomas Pynchon. 773 pages, Henry Holt & Company, New York (1997). Pynchon is truly a great writer, when he's on, because he cuts past the illusion of a modern time to point out that most people are, underneath the web of justifications and power structures that justify and thus "fulfill" a life in this era, miserable and searching for something which is not recognized in public. Addressing hidden mortality: good. Also good is his extensive use of occult and Eastern and transcendentalist knowledge to suggest where an alternative might lie, as a way of saying "look within, not without." Also good, as are his inventive sentences and specialized research manifesting itself in an uncommon richness of vocabulary. Good, good. Where he falters is by writing to an audience that has traditionally supported him, and in doing so, restraining himself from fully indicting the emptiness because he has already selected a certain perspective within it and embraced its psychology. Thus, much as Joyce met a fate of futility and sublimated mental instability, Pynchon is locked in a cage of his own creation, pleasing the crowd of cosmopolitan, hip, leftist readers but failing to simply spit out what he means as if he did, he'd come into conflict with his audience. The other grim side effect: endless pages of clever and cute puns and conventions and "in depth" explorations of small metaphors linked in suite to his overall motif, proving him witty and cultured and in possession of the right opinions to socialize in upper Manhattan's rough-looking village crowd, but neutralizing any point he was going to make with the burden of a giant tome that, while amusing page to page, gets lost in its own cleverness and thus dissipates its point. Mason & Dixon, being among the later works of this author, is a step up from the cartoon/sitcom-like Vineland, but does not reach the heights of Gravity's Rainbow, which was helped mainly by (a) its topic matter, the prediction of death and our attempts to evade it through grand political schemes disguising business as usual, and (b) the time in which it was written, when there was a clear "evil" that wasn't a country (say, the Soviet Union) or a belief system, but the condition by which modern politics held us all hostage to death-fear and uncertainty. It also falls short of his least competent but most enduringly popular work, "The Crying of Lot 49," which directly attacked the loss of mystery and meaning in modern life, and therefore speaks most directly to his readers. Written in the metaphorical experience of the famous journey across America undertaken by British explorers Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon, the book contrasts their individual spiritual outlooks with the task before them, which is to survey the land so that it can be sold and conquered and politicized by a bureaucratic system that even antagonizes them as they attempt to do this. It's an insightful metaphorical setup, and as Pynchon writes in the style of his once-instructor Vladimir Nabokov in constructing an unreal book around a hidden central symbol, it affords him room to tie in the elements of his thesis, namely the certainty of death and the ambiguity of life, the human spirit as affected by pacifism and anger in contrast, and other delvings into the varied paths of a philosophical labyrinth. However, to see this, the reader must assume a populist-utilitarian viewpoint, which places this book beyond the tolerance of most of those who would understand it fully. It effectively makes his point, however, that in fear of an Absolute death humankind has gridded and divided up the earth into cause and effect, subject and object, owned and owner, and thus is spreading destruction wherever it goes without facing its own mortality. In this, Pynchon is savant, because such a thing needs to be said, and at that level of abstraction, before the cancer of humanity entirely consumes its environment and its own culture and people, leaving nothing but wasteland, as elegeically portrayed in certain parts of this novel. The characters are cariacatures; while they have complexity, they lack depth, in part because they are like all things in this novel almost pure allegory, and pure symbol. The rest is Pynchon the man exerting his strong personality upon us, and we get glimpses of an everyman character who has the wit of an archacademic but none of the spirit to go further. With that expression, the novel is weakened, and seems more like propaganda couched in the elaborate symbols and social references, like marijuana smoking or hilarious sexuality or the repugnance of slavery, and thus preaches to the converted and fails to articulate the far side of the issue he raises, namely how to get over this abyss without giving in, making token nods to eastern philosophy and continuing our paths as good hipster liberals just trying to earn a living, get laid and have a good Saturday night. Although the journey he makes through the characters of Mason and Dixon is a profound one, the sidetracking of playing his audience makes it a long and ultimately tedious one; if you get through this book, there is little reward that cannot be had from thinking on the concepts raised in chapters one and two. In that spirit, a great author passes from relevance to a neat pigeonhole, dividing himself from the rest of philosophy much as his characters slice up America. - vijay prozak -=-=-=-=-=-=- Features =-=-=-=-=-=-= "On the concept of God" I neither will nor can deny that this is partly a religious writing; however, it differates greatly from what we label as "religion" or "spirituality" in modern society. I attempt to capture some universal truths about the cosmos and thus aim for its totality as scope of this writing. As one aspect of this quintessential sphere is irreversibly bound to another, interconnected and flowing through each other, I will both aim for both spirituality and intellectuality, although without dividing this thought into dualism. Categorization and generalization is the foundation of intellectual realization, but I don't construct abstract terms of convenience to suit my ideology or convictions; I seek reality as it is in itself: Hegel's "Wie es eigentlich geweisen," to use a philosophical language of higher culture. Hence, generalization is to say something about a set of events, or phenomenas, without having to dwell into the irregularities of deviance. Categorization is simply a way to arrange our thoughts in these regards. It can be argued that my inductions are colored by myself as an individual, but this as such should not hinder men in interpreting their surroundings based on knowledge on the world as it steps forth, understandably not influenced by any predetermined social constructs based on emotionalism and generated convictions after being exposed to dualist dogmatism. Let us first approach the concept of God, the notion of an absolute being as the source and maintainer of totality, the universe as a whole. We know that everything that has a physical manifestation also has a causal origin, that is, a cause other than itself from which it necessarily springs. God as such is explained to be the source of everything, but is at its essence an uncausal being. From this follows, that God cannot be a manifested entity, and rather exists as a potential for perfection, that is unreachable at the essence of reality. It is a natural law that perfection in one direction negates perfection in the other: you cannot be the perfect man and the perfect woman at the same time, you cannot be warm and cold at the same time, and you cannot be truly benign and truly malignant at the same time, as different creatures would be subjective in these regards. As a consequence of this realization, it dawns that the Divine cannot be personified without being limited, and thus not divine. Not personified, not manifested. For this reason the Judeo-Christian concept of Jehovah, an allegedly all good, all powerful entity must be faulty, and his struggle with Satan bordering on the ridiculous for this omnipotent creature. Yet we still have the notion of this divine being, on an abstract, spiritual level, as a potential unreachable for a limited creature with a will. A will is the direction of a matter, the basis of totality embrace all aspects of being that can be reached, and must thus be without will in itself. As for the basis of having knowledge of a will outside of your own intellect, it would suffice to say that your intellectualism is only a small part of your existence, what defines the self. One might say that rationality is but an island floating on top of a sea of instincts, external prospects, and pre determined destiny, and as such, one cannot doubt the reality of a world outside one's own senses. Since external prospects such as mechanical damage, experiences, chemicals and the like effect your brain and thus your mind, there can be no doubt as to their actual existence independently of your mind. Onward to the world of representation that takes form as time, space and matter, conceived by the senses and interpreted by them, yet existing independently from them. The matter can be seen as a manifestation of totality; let me attempt to categorize these aspects in a basic manner. The totality as such is divided into living material and dead material, the first standing out as it has a will, on the most primitive and foundational a will simply for life, and without this will to life, the material would be dead. Also flowing through in interconnection with these aspects are the absolute, Brahman or Tuisto of Indo-European tradition, that was approached above, and we have thus a categorized quadrualism to deal with. As a given creature dies, his living material returns to dead matter, and his will, his direction returns to the all potential. All that is living takes this course, and all that is dead and undirected, namely matter and the absolute, will again take new form as a living entity. This metaphysical understanding come as a supplement and a furtherment of the lessons taught in physics, in that energy can neither be created nor vanish, only take different forms, and it should be quite obvious for any properly schooled person that this knowledge based on reason also can be found in various Indo-European religions, and that philosophy as such is related to this ancient lore. All ages have a level of wisdom, and all ages are close to spiritual understanding and close to God in these regards. Furthermore, there are two basic forces that move the represented world in terms of space and matter, those being expansion and contraction. The being of the universe is still in a state of expansion after the big bang, and it's a strong theoretical possibility that once this working power has ceased to propel the matter away from each other, the pull of gravity will work as a catalyst for bringing the matter back together again. As such, one must take into account of there being a third state of being the universe can descend into, that is namely total stasis, there being a perfect harmony between the forces of expansion and contraction. This state would in practical terms only be possible at two given stages, namely when the universe has expanded to it's full potential, and the pull of gravity comes into play to counterbalance the expansionist force perfectly. In such an event, one might say that the universe, the absolute, has reached its most abstract level, the matter is spread out in vast distances, and the direction of the matter, the will, is at its most limited level. The Indo-European concept of Brahman or Tuisto can be best used to describe this stage, for the absolute has no physical totality, only potential for being, stardust floating across the vast seas of space. More so, living material would long have ceased to be, as it's conceivable that the atoms themselves would be spread out to thin for life to take form, in addition to there being no warming sun to ignite the spark of life in the first place. To clarify, this state of complete expansion before the pull backwards, would move God (previously explained) to its most abstract level on our table shown here: The state of Brahman: Dead material (y) – Living material (n) – Will (n) – The all potential (y) Irrevocably, however, the basic forces of the universe would again come into play. Contraction, that is, the gravity of each object and every matter would start working on each other, pulling the matter back together. The process would accelerate, until all the matter in the universe was gathered at one point, a sphere of absolute totality. Needless to say, this would again lead to a return of the big bang, when all the matter is hurled out in different directions. When the force of gravity in this stage is in harmony, stillness with expansion, before the plunge, we are at yet another stage. The absolute would be at its most total physical manifestation, that is to say, a manifested entity at one given location, containing all the aspects of the matter unlimited by space and time. Space outside this sphere would be void, and time would be irrelevant as nothing came to pass. Life as we know it would be impossible, as all such life would have direction within the matter. The matter here would be whole, or "Heil," with no potential nor need for deviance. I would label this stage as the state of Ymir, to use yet another concept from Indo-European mythology. The absolute would be manifested, but for it to become life, to become directed, it would have to spread out. For the will is manifested in all it's totality, but cannot become directed before being hurled out in the cycle of time and space again. Thus, as the gods of Norse mythology created life through the body of Ymir, the possibility of existence and development comes through the terrible power of expansion that yet again disrupts the manifested totality. The state of Ymir: Dead material (y) - Living material (n) - Will (y) – The all potential (n) Let us now delve deeper into the concept of time. Time can per definition only be a valid tool when events take place in cosmos. Deprived of this, time becomes irrelevant, but in between the two stages of harmony, namely Brahman and Ymir, Potential and matter, time comes into play. Time develops is a single, progressing line, what is done cannot be undone, and one cannot move in any direction but forward. Time is also the prerequisite for life, without time, one would have no movement at all. It's an interesting knowledge that the passing of time can be bent by speed, curved so to speak, however, this will be explored later. I will on the other hand approach the subject of a mathematically pre determined universe. Past, present and future are bound together with the strongest seals of cosmos, without it, the universe would have had to entered stages of Nirvana. Events in the past effect the present, and that again will effect the future, all has it's casualty. Thus it is a given, that once the linear time has been launched, the universe is mathematically predetermined, conceivable only for a mind of the greatest magnitude, the universe itself that embrace it. Destiny, it seems, is in us all, and as such, in the span of the lifetime of a universe, we shall go through ages both of grandeur and the greatest shame. An age of greatness is reached when the collective will, society or the tribe, works towards a higher end, whatever that end might be. An age of decay comes when the pleasure and comfort of the individual is put before anything else, as such individualism negates a collective direction except the seeking of pleasure, and thus, little can be achieved. Different culture groups have had varying ways to tackle the realization of a destiny once they have developed sufficiently to grasp it. Eastern cultures have tended to stagnate into fatalism, and passively accept whatever ills and joys that come over them. Western cultures, at least during the last millennia, have attempted to tear from this realization by introducing free will, as if man was in complete control of his surroundings and the past before him. While such a mentality leads to a more active approach to the world, it completely defies the laws of nature that we are bound to, as we attempt to assert our will and dominance over it regardless of the consequences outside our own constructed, moral world. In all simplicity, this free will has lead to the wishy wishy fantasy world that a society is successful that produces the greatest amount of happy individuals, that needless to say, all wills for happiness. These individuals together have a limited base of resources, and to pursue such happiness each moment would lead to a neglect of the concept of necessarily ills to reach a higher end. Creatures would thus dance, feed and multiply merely like the grasshopper, not realizing that winter is approaching, and winter is coming fast. The wise ant, however, prepares and is thus capable of existing even in the harshest climates. Likewise, a bread, cheese and some wine is all that it takes to make a small group of friends happy, but if you share it with a thousand uncontributing outsiders this little joy is split up into irrelevancy. Indo-European groups of the past had a third approach to this philosophical problem, namely a heroic spirit and an accept of fate as it is. Such as the ant doesn't know wether or not he, or in a greater view the hive will endure winter, he works hard nonetheless, and in the same way, the Germanic warrior faced the previously unbeatable Roman legions on the battlefield. The course of history was made by men and women of such courage. For the feeble mind, such predeterminism would discourage the deployment of constructive action, and lead to only the endorsement of comfort in the longing for better times. Know this, that if the path of sloth is chosen, it becomes your destiny, if cowardice takes hold, it becomes your faith. On the other hand, when the longing for betterment becomes great enough, creatures of consenting will shall come together and form new ages, a resurrection from the ashes of the ancient times. For the cycles of microcosmos go faster than the macrocosmos, the universe as a whole. Two thousand years of Christian hegemony, the furtherment of the individual into lesser thought, lesser blood and lesser being, stands on the brink of a cataclysm. Even now, we consume 20% more of the resources than the earth can replenish each year, and the world population is expanding in an almost linear graph year by year. Roughly around 1940, there were 2,5 billion people on this planet. By 1990, these were doubled, as we had 5 billion humans to feed, consume and rape our mother. As this is written, we are closing in on having seven billion people. Even the most anti-alarmist professors acknowledge that this planet as a maximum can hold 12 billion people, if they only eat rice and have as many belongings as an average peasant at the Chinese countryside. Clearly, the first world is consuming much more than that, and combined with the explosion of the population in the third world, this day and age will be brought to its knees. But out from the ashes of our failure, something new shall arise, something stronger, something that has flowed through the waves of folly that have washed over us the past 2000 years. Where Christ brought us equality, we shall have inequality, where Christ brought us mercy, we shall be merciless, where Christ gave us quantity over quality, we will see that only the strong and intelligent survive the hard times that are over us. A new society must be built, where renewable energy sources fuel technology only used for higher aims. An agricultural existence will be the fate of the common man, where small communities come together to defend their interests, grow their crops and rule themselves as they see fit. Those of the highest genetic quality will either become warriors or the ruling thinkers. Warriors, naturally, are to defend the establishment against insurgents, maintain order, and perhaps even hunt down the remnants of the Judeo-Christian internationalist anticulture, that in their bitterness would tear at the very fabric of the social structure. The thinkers on the other hand, would be only the select few with largely superior intellects, living separated lives while guiding the masses on a greater scale than petty politics, and working towards goals of bettering the human race and furthering technology towards altruistic goals, such as space travel and eventually space colonization. Electric power would only be available to this caste, as only decay and unnecessary luxury would be the result if the short sighted mob took hold of this. Membership of this high ranking order would have to be earned, and even though their sons and daughters would be favored genetically in such regards, they would have to prove their worth before ascending in rank. We now find ourselves at the stage of motion, when the universe moves from one stage to another, and as the quadrualism of the universe is expressed to it's full extent, the possibilities are many and the potential endless. As we ascend in spirituality, our understanding of cosmos, the totality will increase. Spirituality here is not the faulty belief of a personified, dualist God, an unmoving mover behind the stage, but a realization what the universe is, and what it can become. Still, divinity is a concept to explore, let me elaborate this a little. If I were to travel thousands of years years back in time, and bring along a helicopter, a TV, and an assault rifle, the primitive tribes would surely think of me as a god. For to the lesser mind, any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, and for the lesser creature, a higher form of life is terrible to behold. Imagine how an ape views a human wielding a rifle, or how a dog views a human wielding a whip. Mankind as a whole is at a stage of growing toward something greater to ourselves, when we are able to breed fourth humanoids with vastly superior intellects, and vastly superior bodies, they will become the new gods for us. Not some abstract punisher looming behind the clouds, but a god in flesh and spirit, just as the olds gods were. Odin, Thor, Hercules and Apollon were all human prototypes of something greater than ourselves, and we can make them walk this earth once more. It is in the individuals interest to see this done, for through the blood we are passed on, and only a higher form of man can escape the warm embrace of our earth mother into the vast emptiness of space. Immortality can only be reached if we evolve, if our blood somehow endure tests unimaginable today. Finding ourselves capable of utilizing the resources of space, we would have billions of years before the end came in form of a collapse, and it is then conceivable that there can be found ways to avoid it. When a star collapses inward, it often forms a black hole, a field of concentrated gravity that all matter is drawn to. Such phenomena would Irrevocably lead to the contraction of space, given there are enough and arguably powerful enough black holes. However, theories have been conceived that this matter again can be distributed in space by utilizing white holes, or wormholes, where the represented world is curved and distances as such is of little concern. Imagine a piece of paper, travel from point A to point B would necessarily have to be done in a linear pattern, at least in conventional wisdom. But if the paper is curved, point A and B would be merged, and the matter the black hole attract to itself could be poured into a new location. As such, the universe might be given eternal life beyond its cycle of creation and the undoing of creation. Only by utilizing our direction, our will, this can be done, a will not to become everything, as in the contracted sphere before the big bang, but a will to be what we are. "Thou shall," those cursed words that has haunted us since the fall of our civilization, shall be answered with, "I will." For the path of Jehovah is to deny life, to long for one's direction to become equal to and thus similar with totality and yet again be thrown into the circular pattern of existence. Our Nirvana would be to balance the worlds perfectly and unrelentlessly, to thus exist forever. - GarmGormius -=- "Clashing Steel: The Myth of Conan the Barbarian" Clashing skulls, crushed bones and shimmering crimson blood on cold steel, truly a spectacle to be beheld by eyes ravished with the fires of battle's passion. It's the fiery battle-ridden epic of Conan the Barbarian that mirrors these spectacles, much as the eyes that are ravished by the gleam of battles flare. It is an arcane and immortal tale, which forges its themes in a Hyperborean world; it is a feral habitat fit to temper Conan with the values of Nietzsche's overman and of Zen's spiritual focus and discipline. Many a tale has been told that coincides with the principles of the overman and of Zen, but few of them crash down on it so perfectly as Conan the Barbarian. Conan is the self actualized man, the vehical in which, much like Nietzsches Zarathustra, promotes the values and the ideals of the Ubermensch, the new man. The quest of Conan mimics that of classic western myth it is laced with battles and it exemplifies the individuals journey into the realm of self-actualization and self mastery and it does so with the nod towards Nietzsche and bow towards the Samurai. Conan began as a series of short pulp fiction stories created by Robert E. Howard during the 1940s that writer/director John Milius converted into a movie concept in the early 1980s. It is specifically Conan's journey taken in the film by Milius that will be focused on in regards to its Nietzschean and Zen themes. Sometimes it would appear when viewing Conan the Barbarian as though Nietzsche sat down with a Zen philosopher and etched out the script to a film. Utilizing both the themes of the will to power and combining it with a Zen sense of honor and discipline, Milius' Conan is one of unparallel will, honor, and strength and is of disciplined, spiritual supremacy like that of the a Samurai warrior. The movie opens with a black screen inscribed with the ponderous words, "what does not kill me, makes me stronger," a paraphrase of one of Nietzsche's great mantras. Truly that small but heavy phrase is the backbone to Milius' version of Conan, as that which tests Conan to the brink of death only makes him stronger and more disciplined. This hero's tale follows in the vein of the epic heroic structures of grand tales such as Gilgamesh, the Odyssey, and other fantastic hero journeys. Conan is the tale of one mans journey for redemption, one mans journey into becoming the overman, using what Nietzsche called "the will to power." This is the tale of an iron will forged in a blistering flame, freely from the hands of God; this is the tale of a man birthed and nurtured by the earth and swept into the enigma of the cosmos; this is the tale of a man whose personality and character are forged like a sword in the fire and cooled into unbreakable strength by an unbending desire into the journey for self supremacy. While Conan was a child of nine his town and people were slain by the Snake Cult led by Thulsa Doom, a spiritual leader in search for the answer to the riddle of steel. It is Thulsa Doom who represents the spirit of the mob and the spirit of the Abrahamic religions which promote the herd mentality philosophers like Nietzsche fought against. He is the spiritual sage who realizes the void of existence and attempts to blind others of that reality, feeling that man can not obtain value in a valueless world withtout the illusion of a grand, all powerful god figure. Thus is the nature of Thulsa Doom and it is Conan with his journey into self actualization who will prove the spirit of the ubermensch can overcome the herd and establish grand value in a world and universe feral and cold. Doom then represents passive nihilism and Conan represents the anthesis in active nihilism. When the Snake Cult sacked Conan's village, Conan witnessed his mother and father driven down before him in pools of blood by the hands of Thulsa Doom. This moment marked the first step into Conans journey as it was his summons to action, the begining of his great quest for redemption in which his will and courage would be forged. This concept is also illustrated by Joseph Campbell's traditional hero path as it was the moment that marked Conan's summons to action and began his journey into the abyss. The abyss marked by Nietzsche's words, "when one stares into the abyss the abyss surely also stares into them," is the void in which one can either be consumed or where one can rise to the task and establish ideals and dreams in a tangible way. Conan is the man who's journey actualizes his dreams and ideals and thus revamps the pagan sense of spirit and honor. This is a quest as old as the earth itself and as eternal as the night sky; from it there is something for us all to learn and for us all to extract, somthing pagan, something immortal. As Conan's eyes witnessed his peoples life soak into the snow, the marble of his eyes reflected back the birth of his will, his will for revenge; it was the birth of his will to power and the start of his journey. From this summons came a series of tests that would help to forge his being into a Nietzschean hero for he was alone with nobody to help him and he had to overcome the struggle within; his alienation would help birth his will and would help him create a new moral code away from the standard and the bourgeois. The first grand test came as Conan was enslaved by the Snake Cult and sold to the Mongol warriors who led him to the wheel of pain, a mammoth structure with no purpose other than to serve as a form of laborous torture. For ten years Conan pushed at that wheel until he grew into a man all the while child after child, man after man, dropped from the wheel from exaustion and fatigue, but Conan mustered the strength and will to overcome the conditions and rose to success. When he achieved the state of physical manhood he was like an innocent child in spirit, born fresh to the world, inquiring of what it had to offer and teach him. The wheel had acted like a mother towards Conan's spirit, it was his teacher and one of his great tests in the Hyperborean world. The willingess of Conan to surive the ordeal of the wheel of pain echoed to the world that he had the nature of a champion and his courage helped him accomplish great tasks. He had the spirit of a Samurai and the strength of the Ubermensch. Conan the Barbarian is a story that takes a step back in time and dives into the pagan sense of being and consistantly furthers itself from the Judeo-Christian moralism that has filled the world. Conan is a man endowed with the spirit and soul of a pagan warrior; he is a demigod, a man who attains the strength to mold his ideals into reality. Pity is not a concept known to Conan, neither is weakness. Conan never gives up on an idea, he never slips from his goals, and he follows through his quests with great prudence and dignity. Never is he afraid to try a new means to obtain his goal and never does he exhibit fear and weakness. He is a man driven by a fire unseen by the common eye; he is a man propelled by the fuel that ebbed the essence of creation. The story of Conan does not soften the blows or turn the quest for redemption into a martyrs pity ridden journey. Conan the Barbarian is ebbed with valor, honor and the strength to succeed. This is evident in Conan's ability to rise to the test of each trial he faces without fear and witout complaint. Never does Conan moralize an action, or pity a cause, for he always rises to the occassion with strength and ferver all the while staying true to his code of honor. A new and higher morality is embraced by the spirit of Conan and it is a spirit and code that orbits first and foremost around action. Conan is a man of few words and is instead a man with many modes of action. The redemption of Conan is pursued in full glory and is not left to the action of gods to decide the outcome, it is left to the hand and breast of Conan. This revelation is realized in the film as Conan called to Crom during a final battle and said, "battle pleases you Crom, so grant me one request. Grant me revenge. And if you do not listen, then to hell with you!"[2] Conan refuses to yield to the fates and instead carves his own destiny. God or no God, Conan sees that destiny must be siezed by his hand and should not be left to the suppositions of a God figure fufilling those dreams and ideals. Conan breaks from the common morals and codes of living which embrace passivity and yield to a godhead to heal and take care of all dreams and ideals. Instead Conan sees that active disipline helps man forge his destiny and obtain his goals and to be passive in action and towards one's ideals rarly allows ones goals and dreams to see fruition. Whereas the Judeo-Christian codes yield to faith and the intervetion of a supreme being to yield results the pagan essence of Conan the Barbarian is one of self-actualization and self-determination, free from the constraints of an instinsic metabeing who is active in controling this world. This pagan concept is also a foundation of Nietzsche's self-created ubermensch and is also apparant in Zen's spiritual self-actualization. Conan holds no abosolute moral dogma, but instead acts doing what is necessary to obtain the goals and ideals he has set. For example Conan will not moralize the act of killing, he sees no intrinsic evil in the action and to kill is somthing that is a part of life, but Conan goes about killing only when necessary and when warranted; he would not go around killing men, women and childeren blindly; this shows he is a man with a code of honor, the code of a warrior, as opposed to a code of absolute morals; in Conan there is no moralizing of the action. This is the aspect of the new morality as espoused in the philosophic texts of Nietzsche and it was also the code of the Samurai warrior. Another aspect that seperates Conan from the herd mentality is his vieying for redemption without pity or moralizing. He goes forth in full stride to obtain redemption for the killing of his family and village when he was a young boy. Whereas the Judeo-Christain act of revenge is stooped in bitterness and self-rightousness, the revenge saught by Conan is cloaked with honor and self-control. He has not twisted himself into a pitiful wretch of anger and resentment, but instead has transfigured the pains and strifes into an armor of inner strength which he brandishes with pride. Conan strives to create and self-actualize, whereas the Judeo-Christian revenge seeker strives for equalization and is commonly fueled by pity, morals and bitterness, quite often towards one who does not fall into line with their belief; the inquisition and the Crusades serve as twoexamples amongst many. Many tests were presented to Conan which probed his might and helped forge his desire and will. They helped carry him beyond good and evil. The fighting pit introduced Conan to his ability to overcome strife in a heartbeat, as it was an arena where the most ponderous and strongest slaves fought to the death. Conan's first journey into the pit saw him with the spirit of a child; he carried with him a spirit like Enkidu of Gilgamesh, innocent, feral and awaiting experience so as to be molded. Conan took the journey from pure innocence to heroism. In the pit Conan grew stronger and he crushed his opponent, and in that moment Conan knew that which did not kill him surely would make him stronger; Conan had in those moments learned to tune his will, he learned to fight and win, he learned to master the tests of a hero. He went on to kill many men and he learned to do it very well, so well that the Mongol warriors who held him as a slave embraced him. They taught him the art of Kendo and the spirit of Zen; they taught him sword fighting, and they taught him how to attune his will through discipline, and served as his teachers on his quest. The warriors served a purpose suited to express the Niezschean and Zen values of the story as they believed in honor, duty, individual strength and the power of the will to overcome all adversity in order to obtain a sense of higher being, free from the hand of a supernatural being. Man is left free to mold his destiny. Upon absorbing the skills that the masters had to teach him Conan enters the feral world for the first time, breaking the chains of his slavery and entering the abyss. Conan entered the abyss of the earth and was chased by wolves in a primordial, prehistoric and lawless land; he had crossed the threshold of the hero and had entered a state of nihilism where the world was void and his will was what would allow him to become king to make his own values. Weaponless and defenseless against the barren landscape around him all Conan could do was run into the night until he was able to find a shelter; that shelter came when he fell into a cave embedded in a rock in the middle of the desert. What Conan found in the cave would be what would take him through his trials and tests and it would be like a brother to him on his quest. Conan found a dead warrior sitting on a throne and in his hand he was holding a rusted sword, a sword that Conan grasped and from which he chiseled the rust. It became an extension of his inner self and was wielded by his side as his most faitful companion. That sword represented Conan's manhood and Conan's strength, it was the one thing he could trust, and it was infused with his strength and will. Steel was his first and greatest helper on his quest. Flesh, like steel, can be molded and tempered into strength; thus is the nature of Conan. He is the blacksmith of his soul and of his will, always tempering himself in the fires of strife so as to forge the ultimate self, which embodies his ideals and dreams and goes beyond good and evil. Conan had crossed the abyss and stared it streight in the face. He realized that the world would have to be commanded by his will and could not be left to the will of others, or even worse, the will of a false god. Many trials and test saw their way to Conan, and each one served to temper a new element of his personality and character and they help him distance himself from the herd. Conan's trials cut right down into the depths of his soul; they challenge him mentally, physically and spiritually. It's the will of Conan's spirit that is tested on his quest for Thulsa Doom and it's Conan's strength of body and mind that helps him to get there. There is much sorcery that meets Conan on his journey and it is this sorcery that serves to represent the ways of the old order and lesser spiritualisms that must be overcome in a new area and the new area of man would be the ones to rush out the weak spiritualism and embrace instead the strong and perinneal mysticism abound in the feral landscapes of the earth and within the vast abyss of the night sky. Conan is the new man rushing in these new concepts and higher principles. He is strong and in his ability to overcome the sorcery and manipulation that he finds in the world around him he learns to better harmonize himself with nature and he learns to better attune his will so that he may obtain his goals for redemption and for a higher self. Conan tunes his mind and his spirit in order to become just like the overman that Nietzsche talked about in his philosophic texts. The quests in Conan's adventure serve to show his transformation from child to man to overman. The journeys of Conan are not done fully with sole independence, as he dwells in solace and he is alientated from the normal man, but he does engage with higher spirits like his own and they help his quest; these principles embody a Samurai sense of community. Upon first coming out of the cave with his new sword, Conan quickly encounters companions who assist him on his journey. These companions do not stay with him through all aspects of his journey, particularly the climax, but they offer him aid that helps him conquer his foes and accomplish his goals. The ability for the companions to come and go allows the deeper themes of the Conan legacy to seep though. This is a man of self-reliance, he self-actualizes and has the ability to handle his own, but he accpets help when given and he takes it when it helps his goal, but there comes a time where he must part company to continue to strive for the goal and this marks Conan's Zen disipline and his ability to alienate himself so as to mediate and self-actualize like the Nietzschean overman. The companions Conan meets with are two thieves, Valeria and Sabotai and from them he learns many things. From Valeria he learns the art and values of companionship and from Sabotai he learns of the loyalty in close friendship and what it means to have an ally. Eventually Conan breaks from their companionship for a time for he must seek his own spiritual quest in much the same way Sidhartha did in Hermen Hesses novel of the same name. This point of companion parting came when Conan and his companions had received gold from King Osric for promising to find his daughter for him. Valeria wanted to take the money and split but Conan had a deeper more spiritual mission to fulfill, that of avenging his boyhood and coming into contact with Thulsa Doom, the leader of the Snake Cult. Conan took the path of the hero and stayed true towards what his higher goals were, this is somthing very present in classical myth. In the sense of how Conan engages in friendships he exhibts his personality that vies for efficiency, sincerity and minimalism. Conan surrounds himself with a few close allies who remain deeply loyal to him and his cause, they would ride with him into the bowels of hell and he would do the same for them. This ability exhibits a prinicple of the higher man to decree his own values and live by them with honor and integrety. Conan has a sense of duty and obligation, but it is a duty he set forth for himself, not one that was forced upon him by a supernatural abstraction. There is an ability in Conan to blend both idealism and physicality, as he is rooted in the material world yet is able to embrace the mystery of the cosmos and create concepts and dreams. The character of Conan is very much like a romantic in that light, as he is passionate about existence and the things that fill it but he is also able to be passionate about his conceptions and his abstractions. He is not consumed by adherence to a false or weak dogma and he does not give in to being consumed by the abstractions of a supernatural godhead as the Snake Cult has. This spiritual and more conceptual side of Conan is exhibited in the Zen aspects of the Conan film. Conan is very much like a samurai, bonded to the world and he has deep sense of spiritualism, a transcendental spiritualism that, and this is key, self-actualizes and materializes as opposed to dematerializes into an abstraction that never sees fruition. Conan's spiritualism is linked to his body and it is linked to his passions, ideals and dreams in which he seeks to see them forced upon the world to create change. The Snake Cult on the other hand deals in nothing but lofty abstractions that do not see fruition in the material world. They are willing to see the material world as an illusion and will create principles based upon the illusion and this is exemplified by Thulsa Dooms calling to a maiden high on a cliff to come to him and she obeys, falling to her death for nothing. Conan roots his values, spiritualism and ideas within the physical world and sees value in decreeing his own value. The Snake Cult are slaves to abstraction and abstracted ideas that hold no merit in the physical cosmos. Thus Conan embraces a pagan idealism which self-actualizes and embraces the physical world and creates its romanticism around it, whereas the Snake Cult represents those who have created a lofty ideal and serve to represent the Christian form of passive idealism. Finally, Conan is unfocused on obtaining the good will of a non-existent diety though applying a code of morals, or a standard of living, much like that of the pious Snake Cult who are latched to the ideas of an allmighty godhead. In Conan the Barbarian there is a sense of a father figure in Thulsa Doom that is recognized throughout the film. This father figure is something that pops up often in classic myth. It was Thulsa Doom who killed Conan's parents and it was Doom that Conan sought revenge upon. It was also Doom, however, who fathered the will of Conan, for if he did not slaughter Conan's village and Conan's parents there would be no quest for Conan and no current goal for him to strive for. The pain and strife is what created meaning, not pleasure, this is somthing that is also embedded in the philsophy of Zen. It was also Doom who sent Conan to the wheel of pain and sold him as a slave to the Mongol warriors and it was the wheel that had acted like a mother to Conan. A sense of the spiritual father figure liters Conan's adventures and it is a vehicle to push forward the themes of obtaining atonement and redemption. Eventually Conan would stare his father figure Thulsa Doom in the face and overcome him and the restraints he imposed, thus making the full break from man into overman. There is a moment in the film where Conan is faced with the father figure atonement of a traditional hero's journey. The father figure, Thulsa Doom, had captured Conan and brought him on his knees bleeding before him. Conan vocalizes to Doom, "you killed my parents," in which Doom replys that the action was a phase of his youth. Doom then goes on to explain how he has fathered Conan by sending him to the wheel thus instilling in him the fire for revenge that has driven him over the years. Thulsa Doom tells Conan what he has discovered to be the riddle of steel, he says to Conan, "what is steel compared to the hand that wields it? It's nothing. Flesh is power, flesh is strength."[1] In that moment it is recognized that Conan is strength of flesh and he is what Doom can never be; Conan is beyond Thulsa Doom, for Doom relies on magic and Conan relies on his will and the strength of his own hand. Doom then crucifies Conan in the desert, symbolically representing the enlightening death/rebirth apparent in classic myth. Conan is sent to the gates of death out in the desert but he is rescued by his old companions and brought back into the world of the living. When he is resurrected he arises as a full man of pure will and power, and he has recieved a sense of psychological atonement for addressing Doom in person. The only thing left to do for Conan is to fulfill his quest for redemption and then only would he have crossed fully into the realm of the overman. After Conan's revivification he bashes forth to accomplish his goals and ends up doing more than he had set out to do when he began his journey. After being revived by his companions Conan sets out to the lair of Doom and his followers and rescues the King's daughter. Time and time again Conan managed to thwart Doom and his minions and this proved to show the heroics of Conan; he never stopped, he never gave in, he was pure will and he was driven by his passion, his spirit and his mind and he overcame adversity at all odds. Even when it was magic being tossed at him, Conan found a way to out strength it. Adaptation is one of Conan's greatest virtues and it is a virtue of the overman. Along the path to retrieving the princess Conan lost Valeria and he experienced loss once more, but he converted it into more will and desire to obtain his goal for revenge against Thulsa Doom; these are the many tests of the traditional hero and Conan met them aptly. Conan took down Doom's challenges one by one. When Doom came to collect the princess Conan outwitted him and set traps; when Doom lost his best men to Conan and was defeated, he attempted to kill the princess from afar with an arrow, but he once again failed as Conan managed to thwart him. This is, again, the spirit of the overman, it is determination, skill in many areas of life and the ability to adapt to the situation quickly and efficently. After being defeated Doom retreats to his followers who still collect en masse and Conan follows him to his palace. When Doom is giving a speech to all his followers up on the balcony of his tower, Conan approaches him out of the shadows so as to represent his coming out of the darkness, his prevailing over the threshold and the stranglehold Doom has held on his soul. Doom sees Conan and knows his time is coming to an end and says to Conan, "my son come to me, join me and we can rule the world!" The eyes of Conan reflect the fire of the torches in this moment so as to symbolize his passion and desire. Conan knew not to be manipulated by Thulsa Doom's hypnotic words and eyes, he was seeing at that moment though his heart, and these things saw the truth clearly, thus allowing Conan to lift his sword from his side to lop off the head of Thulsa Doom, thus vanquishing himself from the father figure and marking his return from the threshold of the hero journey. In this moment Conan overcame his last and greatest obstacle, he became the true overman. Conan had come out of the quest's abyss a whole man, the overman, a heroic man and he not only had vanquished himself he had also vanquished the souls of the followers who had become captivated by Doom; this was his gift to the people which he gave upon his return from the threshold. Each follower one by one extinguished their torch and wandered into the black horizon, free from the cult, free to self-actualize and embrace the void. Conan was a hero to the people and put an end to the Snake Cult for good by throwing a grail of fire into the temple, allowing it to burn to ashes. The new man, the overman, towered above the flaming tower supreme in will and spirit. This climax of Conan the Barbarian served as Conan's greatest test, as it was the overcoming of the father figure and the releasing of the people into the abyss, away from the false security offered by the Snake Cult. Over and over again the character of Conan proves the strength of his heart and will are able to overcome all odds and all challenges thrown at him, even when he should lose he conquers. Conan's journey taught him the will to survive, the will to succeed, and the will to power. He learned the value of the opening mantra, that which does not kill him only makes him stronger. He learned to overcome the superstitions of the common man and he arose to the spirit he created for himself. At the end of his journey in Conan the Barbarian, Conan learns that it is he who is the answer to the riddle of steel, it his he who is strength and forger of his destiny. Conan learned the arts of Zen, strength, and thought from the Mongol warriors and he learned the art of his will from his journey and from his quest for redemption from the psychological father figure that was Thulsa Doom. Conan was a silent intellectual, pondering but never getting into tangles over his thoughts, instead he took action upon them. He is an archetype of strength and discipline, he is the overman. Truly, rare a story these days so perfectly embodies the principles and philosophies of the overman and of Zen, but Conan the Barbarian does, andit does so with the flare of the battles flame. - Phantasm Works Cited [1] Conan the Barbarian. Dir. John Milius. Perf. Arnold Scwarzenegger, James Earl Jones, Max Von Sydow, and Sandahl Bergman. Universal, 1982. [2] Smith, David C. "A Critical Appreciation of John Milius's Conan The Barbarian" The Barbarian Keep Oct 28 2004 http://www.barbariankeep.com/ctbds.html -=- "What Dualism?" Dualism - or a metaphysic that divides reality into two distinct, often oppositional states - has recently been subjected to an astonishing array of criticism within contemporary intellectual circles. The popular embrace of relativism and subjectivism as applied to cultural studies, the paradigm shift away from Aristotelian logic and towards "fuzzy" multiple-truth value logics, and the widespread death of Romanticism in the arts have all played their part in developing a new taboo against binarism and related modes of philosophical understanding. Yet not all dualisms are created equal, and it would be foolish indeed to categorically denounce all such systems of thought offhand. In the present essay I aim to consider three different perspectives on dualism - the Kantian, the Christian, the Nietzschean, and the "Pagan" (traditional Indo-European) - and in so doing offer my thoughts regarding the intricacies of each and their place within an emerging ontology of man's relationship to natural reality. The modern revolution against dualism can be traced directly back to Nietzsche's philosophy of value. Nietzsche attacked Christianity's division of reality into the earthly and the divine; more than this he attacked the assignment of positive value to the divine and negative value to the earthy, a valuation that he saw as representative of weakness, resentment, and cowardice. His criticisms however were not limited to theology, and Nietzsche is only slightly less famous for his denunciations of Schopenhauer, Socrates, and Kant on similar grounds. It is Nietzsche's treatment of Kant that interests us here, in which the claim is made that Kant's critical theory is, in essence, merely a watered down version of Christianity's spiritual dualism. Nietzsche's account of Kant is enticing and, as is often the case with Nietzsche, astonishingly poetic, but it is also highly flawed. Whereas Christianity draws a distinction between the symbolic-spiritual (divine) and the literal-physical (earthly), Kant's distinction is oriented towards an altogether different set, namely the objective-external (metahuman) and the subjective-internal (human). The difference is subtle but crucial. Christian dualism posits two external realities - the physical and the metaphysical - in which the latter is to be equated with truth and the former with a distortion of truth (or at most a pale echo of truth). Kant posits only one external reality, identified as objective and non-human, which he contrasts with an internal reality, identified as the subjective human realm of thought and perception. The difference is not between physical and metaphysical, natural and supernatural, real and ideal.which is what Nietzsche railed against.but between reality as it is and reality as it is perceived. At the heart of Kant's thought is the conviction that reality as conceptualized by the human mind cannot be equated with the true nature of existence. His distinction between the thing in itself and its appearance does not denigrate earthly existence or do idealists any favors. It simply asserts that the mind imposes form and structure onto sensory data and thus constructs what man perceives as external reality (which, as Kant correctly recognized, is not "external" at all, but rather an internal subjective structure masquerading as an objective one). In different language, it might be said that human beings never interact with existence directly, but only navigate reality by way of a mitigating symbolic realm consisting of mentalist abstractions. The notion that the mind is more than a reflective mirror and in fact participates in actively coloring what it beholds strikes me as an almost intuitively obvious conclusion. When Nietzsche wrote, "The 'true world' and the 'apparent world' - that means: the mendaciously invented world and reality," he revealed quite plainly the problem inherent in his own thought. The "mendaciously invented world" - what is this but an incorrect perception, in Kant's language an inaccurate appearance? If it is admitted that human beings are capable of perceiving "reality" incorrectly, then surely the distinction between perceiver and perceived, from which the bulk of Kant's critical theory is derived, must also be valid. Nietzsche's position is, characteristically, too anthropocentric for its own good, and I do not share his faith that our human powers of observation are so finely tuned as to be wholly accurate, or that the problem of differentiating between objective reality and the perception of that reality is invalid; I also hold to my conviction that there is a difference between being-in-the world and being-the-world, the significance of which I cannot stress enough. To be in the world is to have a limited comprehension of the greater existence to which one is bound. To be the world is to posses a one.to-one, total comprehension of said existence.s raw essence and all interaction within it. The latter gives humanity far to much credit. We are error-prone and have proven it countless times throughout our brief history on this earth. At the same time however I find myself unsatisfied by Kant's assertion that perceived existence is not merely incomplete, but fundamentally arbitrary and necessarily incorrect. It is probably a sound statement that "True Knowledge," which is to say knowledge uninfluenced by the active structure of the human mind, can never be attained and is futile to pursue, but perhaps there is some kind of representational understanding that communicates an approximate, but never complete, portrait of external reality. This might explain what is meant when people refer to the "kernel of truth" sitting at the heart of otherwise improbable or skewed concepts. Darwin alone should serve as proof that not all our knowledge regarding the external world is purely arbitrary. How else does one explain a theory such as Evolution? To be sure, the language used to describe evolutionary processes and the conceptual framework upon which the perceived structure of genetic mutation sits must be severely colored by the mind of Darwin and the subsequent interpretations of scientists and laymen, but only a fool would deny that the theory of evolution describes, however distantly, something that is occurring consistently, externally, and as far as we can feasibly determine, independent of human interference or observation. Such a view no doubt emerges from precisely the kind of dogmatic empiricism that Kant sought to transcend and that Schopenhauer sought to deny. Yet it is exceedingly difficult to escape the feeling that external reality must resemble, if only in a distant fashion, the mentalist representations we use to navigate it - even the immaterialist Berkely had to find some way of dealing with reality's consistency and relative stability; in any case, there is no obvious reason why one should give serious consideration to the notion that this is not so, all (mandatory) respects paid to Descartes and his tricky evil demon. If I am critical of Nietzsche's rendition of the Kantian dilemma as a non-issue than I am even more displeased by modern man's persistent refusal to lay trust in common sense, observation, and intuition. *** But what of my assertion that Christianity is responsible for western man's conception of the divine? That paganism conceived of gods is clear. That most of Europe's formative races conceived of reality in dualistic (though not absolutist or moralist) terms is also evident.[1] Pagan dualism however, like Kantian theory, was not describing a relationship between the divine-unseen-spiritual and the human-apparent-physical, but rather a relationship between the external-material-metahuman and the internal-immaterial-human. In pre-Judaic religions, nature and the divine were not divided into separate realities. Every deity, god, and mythological tale was representative of forces within nature, or of nature itself.[2] Because pagan spirituality did not consider nature to be a human domain, but rather an externalized superhuman domain, the resting place of truth was not in something symbolic and abstract, but in something material and external. When heathen peoples spoke of the unseen, they were not referring to an unknowable abstraction (such as the Hebrew Yahweh), but rather to a perceived essence, the existence of which was still deduced by the observation of natural physical phenomenon (such as wind for instance, the presence of which is felt and the manifestations of which observed, but the "essence" of which is elusive). The supernatural was not a valid concept to the pagan mind, and as such the gods were not metaphysical, but only metahuman. The realm of symbols was the realm of representations, which existed purely as human interpretation and speculation in the form of mythology, while the realm of nature was the realm of the "divine" - of truth, of spirituality. It was only with the coming of Judaism that the gods were split from nature, turned into something abstract and symbolic, and given divine existence in their own right. Suddenly truth was not only metahuman, but metaphysical as well; the gods were above both man and earth. Symbols had become truths in and of themselves. From such an assessment it is clear that Christian spiritual dualism is in actuality a degeneration of Indo-European trilogism, an anti-natural construction comprising the kingdom of man (internal, subjective), the kingdom of nature (external, false, sinful), and the kingdom of god (super-external, immaterial-symbolic, absolute truth). That Christianity lumps internal human existence together with external earthly existence, thus transferring its "dualism" away from the internal/external to the physical/meta-physical, can only be regarded as a hideously large intellectual blunder. In Christianity the divine is little more than a composite of traits from the internal world of human ideation and the external world of natural existence. I regard this as highly dangerous, because in its elevation of symbols to truths it has removed any chance for empiricism to ground our abstracted knowledge. It is also rather arrogant; it has created a dominion for truth that is both symbolic/abstracted and external/absolute, therefore unfoundedly gracing the human world with the transcendent rightness of the metahuman world. Finally a tentative genealogy of dualism begins to appear: the early Indo-European tribes utilized dualism as a framework through which to understand man's place in the scheme of nature, and had no conception of the metaphysical; Christianity, mingled with European custom and thought, introduced the concept of the divine and shifted the duality away from man and nature and onto nature and meta-nature; Kant rescued something of the dualism of the ancient Germanics; Nietzsche, violently reacting against both Christianity and the perceived influence of said religion on Kant, dismissed the latter perhaps too hastily. The modern philosopher - especially if he subscribes to a "nihilistic" mode of understanding - must give serious thought to the evolution of dualism and its place in contemporary thought. Some form of dualism will be present in any philosophical discourse, and it is not clear that a "non-dualistic" reality is even remotely comprehensible. If nothing else the structure of our cognition, which is thoroughly rooted in binary-oppositionalism, seems to guarantee that we will not be evolving beyond the need to understand reality dualistically anytime soon. The question is: what dualism? What system is best suited to our current selves, our strange mix of "modern ideas" (to use a Nietzschean turn of phrase) and our integral culture? I remain optimistic that the answers are forthcoming. 1. Though for the Kelts this dualism was almost lazily established in a manner that allowed for constant interaction and traveling between its two perceived worlds. The blending of real, historical peoples and places with mythological, superhuman narrative is commonplace in Keltic literature. There is a tale in which, for instance, the Tuatha De Danann are struggling with tax laws. 2. This should be obvious upon even a cursory reading of European mythological cycles. That these Gods (Thor, Manannan, Odin, Lugh, etc.) also exhibit human characteristics should not be read too literally; rather this is the expected outcome of a people attempting to understand that which is greater than them by giving natural forces human faces and personalities. There are of course instances of mythological characters who are idealized representations of human archetypes - such as Cuhulain - but these are less common than tales revolving around nature deities and, when taken holistically, usually depict man's struggle with natural forces in some fashion or another. Although the gods are surely representative of a complex matrix of ideas, they are all bound in some fashion or another to the Indo-European's mystical conception of nature. - Jordan -=- Biography of Malcolm X The infamous Malcolm X, best known for his involvement with militant black nationalism, first gained notoriety as the most vocal minister in the "Nation Of Islam," a fundamentalist Islamic cult which emphasized the importance of black self reliance and separatism (racial separation from other racial groups such as Caucasians and Mongoloids). Malcolm X's rise to infamy can be best attributed to a change in his outlook on race relations - from his time before jail and his time after as a NOI member - which would forever change the course of his existence from a life of petty crime and racial ambiguity to America's most outspoken black Nationalist leader in the 50s and 60s. We must punctuate how Malcolm's philosophy on racism and "white" culture developed over time, from extreme hatred towards white society to a less destructive outlook on racialism focusing on the equality-yet separation-of the races. It helps us to understand Malcolm's contribution to both black racialism and the human rights movement when the evolution, impact and appropriateness of his work is examined in detail. Born on may 19, 1925 in Omaha, Nebraska as Malcolm Little, Malcolm became quickly aware of the racial inequality that befell his kinfolk, although any reason for it would elude a boy of his age. His father Earl Little (supposedly murdered by KKK members or members of the "Black Legion" [a]) was a preacher and follower of Marcus Garvey, a vocal black leader who understood that Africans could never truly be "free" in America living side-by-side with the white population. Malcolm's mother, Louis Little, was a homemaker of partial white ancestry. While in Elementary school Malcolm recalls how he was encouraged to become a carpenter instead of a Lawyer by his teacher Mr. Ostrowiski, because the latter profession wasn't acceptable for a "Nigger", as follows "You've got to be realistic about being a nigger. A lawyer - that's no realistic goal for a nigger." ( Haley 38 ) This came to a shock for Malcolm since he was one of the top three students in his class and was well liked by his classmates, and even the teacher. Malcolm's ignorance of the race issue would only be corrected in adulthood after a "racial awakening." While still a teenager Malcolm left his residence to live with his half-sister Ella in Boston. The move not only brought young Malcolm to a more significant social setting, providing him with job opportunities and interaction with other blacks, but it also introduced him to the street life, one in which drugs, theft, prostitution, illegal gambling and other crimes were a way to survive for the downtrodden. An obvious example of Malcolm's clueless attitude towards the issue of race was a hair style he and other blacks of that era adopted called a "Conk" which involved putting lye into the hair to make it straight, thus looking more "White". Malcom describes his disappointment with altering his natural hair when he was younger, just to make it appear "white" - "How ridiculous I was! Stupid enough to stand there simply lost in admiration of my new hair looking 'white' reflected in the mirror in Shorty's room. I vowed I'd never again be without a conk, and I never was for many years." (Haley 56) Prior to his change in attitude, Malcolm's desire to emulate the white racial hairtype was a relatively "hip" behavior within black youth circles. Here race was an unimportant subject when the apex of daily life was confined to the decadence associated with the streets. On January 12th of 1946 Malcolm, his friend Malcolm "Shorty" Jarvis and their female accomplices were taken into custody after burglarizing a residence in a failed attempt to organize a small crime ring. Malcolm was sentenced to 10 years in prison where his spiritual journey into religion and race would begin. During his incarceration Malcolm was approached by his younger brother Reginald with the philosophies taught to him and the rest of their family by Elija Muhammad, leader of the black nationalistic cult the "Nation Of Islam". After a long talk with his brother about the teachings of Muhammad, Malcolm began to reflect on what was told to him. He makes it clear how having been brought up to speed on black racial issues left him with something to think about - "When Reginald left, he left me rocking with some of the first serious thoughts I had ever had in my life: The white man was fast losing his power to oppress and exploit the dark world; that the dark world was starting to rise to rule the world as it had been before; that the white mans world was on the way down, it was on the way out". (Haley 164) While in jail Malcolm was introduced to books and for the first time he was exposed to a variety of different texts concerning philosophy, world history, religion and ancient African history. Malcolm learned about his ancestors and his African heritage, all of which had been kept out of grasp until then. Malcolm became highly interested in exploring his heritage after various talks with his brother Reginald, most importantly when Regi relates to Malcolm how history had been distorted by "The White Devils." As Malcolm explains "The teachings of Mr. Muhammad stressed how history had been 'whited' - when white men had written history books, the black man simply had been left out." (Haley 177) After more visits from his brother Reginald, his sister Hilda (who also converted to Islam) and finally Mr. Muhammad himself through letters, Malcolm would focus deeply on the black nationalistic philosophies regarded by the NOI and Elija Muhammad. Malcolm served only seven years in jail and was released to the outside world a more developed man than the punk kid aimlessly riding the extreme highs of life. Not only did the experience make Malcolm "self educated" from the number of books he thoroughly read and studied (he at one point copied an entire dictionary from A to Z in his own handwriting), but his entire outlook on racial issues changed. Gone were the days when a young and confused Malcolm was dubbed "Satan" by fellow inmates for his seething hatred of religion, especially Christianity. Malcolm was now deeply involved with fundamentalist "black" Islam which saw Christianity as the driving force behind the "White man" - "....The slavemaster injected his Christian religion into this 'Negro'. This 'Negro' was taught to worship an alien God having the same blond hair, blue eyes and pale skin as the slavemaster." (Haley 166) After being released from prison in 1952 Malcolm spent 12 years under the tutelage of Elija Muhammad. As a minister in Elija's "Nation Of Islam", Malcolm spoke on behalf of the NOI's objectives to separate whites and blacks among and establish a pure black nation. He would become the most hated and controversial black representative in his time. Malcolm spoke at rallies, universities and other public events around the world and venomously tore apart the oppression of white society, it's history of conquering and enslaving of non-white people and the eventual downfall it would face. Malcolm was no less disgusted with blacks seeking a peaceful coexistence with white society and labeled them as "Integration-Happy Negroes" or "Uncle Toms". In one debate, Malcolm asked a black Professor on the side of integration "Do you know what white racists call black PHDs?" and after an unsatisfactory response, retorts loudly with "Nigger!" (Haley 290) During his rise to prominence through the NOI, Malcolm attained the last name of "X" (used also by other black Muslims) which he states was to symbolize his forgotten African family name. Note that switching from "Little" to "X" was further evidence of Malcolm's views on separatism and black racial pride. "....I received from Chicago my 'X.' The Muslim's 'X' symbolized the true African family name that he never could know. For me, 'X' replaced the white slavemaster name of 'Little' which some blue eyed devil named 'Little' had imposed upon my paternal forebears." (Haley 203) Malcolm X was instrumental in opening many temples around the country for NOI members. He often became the minister of these temples, helping them establish a foothold in the community and inducting new members into the organization. During one of his ventures Malcolm met a female disciple of the Nation named Betty Sanders and the two soon developed a relationship. In 1958 Malcolm and Betty married, producing six children throughout their time together, all of them were girls - Attilah (b. 1958 ), Quilah (b. 1960), llyasah (b. 1962), Amiliah (b. 1964) and twin daughters born after Malcolm's death in 1965, Malaak and Malikah. (a) By this time, however, tensions within the NOI began to intensify. Malcolm discovered that Elija Muhhamad was having extramarital affairs with several of the NOI's female members, and even sired their children. Though X knew that this was a blaspheme against the NOI and Islamic doctrines he agreed to keep quite in order to save face and out of respect for his teacher. In 1963, after the assassination of John F Kennedy, then President of the United States, Malcolm stated in one of his public speeches that the death of JFK was a case of the "Chickens coming home to roost" - essentially, karma - in that JFK.s policy of violence had caught up with him. A public outcry followed as a consequence and Malcolm was "silenced" for six months from speaking on behalf of the NOI. Although the punishment was accepted, it was the begining of the end for Malcolm and his involvement with the NOI. A year later Malcolm broke from the NOI and established the Muslim Mosque, Inc. continuing where he left off. Also of note was the initial stages of his autobiography which was a collaboration between himself and writer Alex Haley (the famous book was written from a period between 1964 and 1965). (a) (b) (Haley) Wishing to fulfill his duties as a Muslim, Malcolm would Pilgrimage, or "Hajj" to Mecca after arriving in the middle east by plane. Malcolm brought his backswept view of white culture with him, unaware that his anti-white philosophy would soon be in test, as he explains - "That morning was when I first began to reappraise the 'white man'....In America, 'White Man' meant specific attitudes and actions towards the black man and all other non-white men. But in the Muslim world, I had seen that men with white complexions were more genuinely brotherly than anyone else had ever been." (Haley 340) Malcolm also acknowledges "That morning was the start of a radical alteration in my whole outlook on 'white' men". (Haley 340) During his Hajj, Malcolm found that the White man was no longer a "devil," "murderer" or "subhuman" and should not be chastised as an entire group for the exploition of nonwhite populations by some whites. Back in the states, Malcolm confessed that whites could also be brotherly - "In the past, yes, I have made sweeping indictments of all white people. I never will be guilty of that again - as I know now that some white people are truly sincere, and are capable of being brotherly toward a black man". (Haley 369) One of the clearest indications of Malcolm's "awakening"- his newfound acceptance of the white man as a brother and ally instead of an enemy - can be pointed to in this passage - "It was in the holy world that my attitude was changed, by what I experienced there, by what I witnessed there in terms of brotherhood - not just brotherhood for me but between all men, of all nationalities and complexions who were there." (Haley 369) Though Malcolm's views on white society changed dramatically from the time he was with Elija Muhammad to his Hajj to Mecca, he was still very much in support of black self reliance and separatism (first widely preached by Marcus Garvey), though much more tolerant of whites and working with them to bring about change. At this point in his life Malcolm believed that whites and blacks could live "side by side," coexisting in a way that was separate from each other but very much united - "We will completely respect our white co-workers....We will meanwhile be working among our own kind, in our own black communities - showing and teaching the black man in only ways that black men can - That the black man has got to help himself. Working separately, the sincere white people and the sincere black people actually will be working together." (Haley 384) Malcolm rallied a sizable group of supporters with his new take on the race issue, and his statements were given no less attention by subjects of the NOI. By this time Malcolm had already severed his ties with the Nation Of Islam and Elija Muhammad, which now considered him a threat to their movement. Insiders of the NOI warned that an attempt to knock off Malcolm and his family was imminent. Malcolm took the threats seriously enough to take his body guards with him whenever feasible. Without warning on February 15th, 1965 Malcolm's home in Elmhurst New York was fire bombed but he, his wife Betty and their four children escaped unharmed. It was clear at this point that whoever was behind the attempts to finish him off was steadfast and eager to get the job done quickly - without special care to keep his family away from the line of fire. On February 21, 1965 while Malcolm spoke at Manhattan's Audubon Ballroom a man from the audience began yelling "Get your hand outta my pocket! Don't be messin' with my pockets!" and rushed the stage with two other men brandishing firearms who then shot down Malcolm, unimpeded. At 39 years old, the revolutionary black leader Malcolm X was dead. The three men were later identified as Talmadge Hayer, Norman 3X Butler, and Thomas 15X Johnson - all members of the NOI. The three NOI members were charged with first degree murder in March of 1966. (B) Malcolm X's dreams for a better world where the races were equal but separate were shattered, but his message is eternal. Though his views are lauded by many persons without the slightest clue of the racial issue as a whole, Malcolm X continues to inspire, even those few White nationalists and separatists who find his better qualities and wisdom a sane example for the entire human community. - Wilhelm Works Cited Haley, Alex. "The Autobiography Of Malcolm X", 1964. Ballatine Books. (http://tinyurl.com/5hqgw) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malcolm_X (a) http://www.africawithin.com/malcolmx/malcolm_bio.htm (b) -=- "Internet Trolling as Postmodern Infoterrorism" Almost a joke among most people now, discussion via computers was once limited to a relatively select group of those who could make it into universities or tech firms, or acquire the technical knowledge to call up bulletin board systems, and thus gain access to the simple software required to maintain conversation. Any number of parallels can be drawn, from the founding of civilization to the degeneration of musical genres, for what happened: in 1996, AOL opened the gates to mainstream America, and soon computer mediated communication was as neurotic and spiteful as PTA meetings in "real life." From that point on, the futility of any kind of meaningful discourse increased in direct relation to the breadth of the audience. You cannot talk about a philosophy of life if the vast majority of users think that "All I know is what I like, and therefore, you can't tell me that's wrong" is a viable counterargument. Nor can you overcome the little social groups that cluster like flies on every topic area, reverting discussion from the abstract subject at hand to such mundane details as personalities and allegiances. In short, expressing oneself and trying to network with others is no longer achieved via discussion in its many forms, including Web forums, USENET, and IRC. This dumbing down of discussion, such that it can no longer have a topic and must instead focus on the lowest common denominator interests of its audience, removes the split between speaker and audience, and the result is chaotic screaming where those who are most persistent are assumed to represent the de facto beliefs of the group as a whole, and thus quickly establishing calcified hierarchies devoted to anything but the topic at hand. In turn, this drives anyone sensible insane, as their best thoughts are ignored in favor of personal attacks and trivial snappy comebacks. Communication is replaced with a broken form of socialization that allows those who fail in life to seem important via electronic avatars, or symbolic representations of self as an external construct in the consensual consciousness of the group. When it became apparent that this was the case, the golden age of Internet trolling began. Recognizing the futility of communication, these outsiders began to instead attack the non-communication, but, realizing that logical argument would be immediately dismissed, took discourse to a new level by instead of describing what they believed, demonstrating it through the negative reactions of others. Trolls had previously existed in an offhand manner, usually when a member of a community got fed up with another and decided to assume a fake name and draw that person into some argument so trivial that everyone else got just as fed up with that member. However, once the foolishness was no longer the minority of traffic but its mainstay, trolls realized not just an emotional reaction, but a logicality behind their method. Somewhat predictably, reactions to trolls are mostly negative. Much as dissident writers and thinkers through history have been ostracized and forced to live in poverty, trolls get no public recognition from anyone with a stake in the status quo. If one has a vested interest in what is, trolls are the enemy, as their inclination is to tear down what is and thus, by the factor of exclusivity to any dominate system, replace it. Consequently, mainstream definitions of "Internet troll" fit the following pattern: An Internet "troll" is a person who delights in sowing discord on the Internet. To them, other Internet users are not quite human but are a kind of digital abstraction. As a result, they feel no sorrow whatsoever for the pain they inflict. Trolls are utterly impervious to criticism (constructive or otherwise). You cannot negotiate with them; you cannot cause them to feel shame or compassion; you cannot reason with them. They cannot be made to feel remorse. For some reason, trolls do not feel they are bound by the rules of courtesy or social responsibility. - http://members.aol.com/intwg/trolls.htm An internet troll is a person who sends duplicitous messages hoping to get angry responses, or a message sent by such a person. Proposed motivations for trolling - Anonymous attention-seeking: The troll seeks to dominate the thread by inciting anger, and effectively hijacking the topic at hand; Cry for help: Many so-called trolls, in their postings, indicate disturbing situations regarding family, relationships, substances, and school--although it is impossible to know whether this is just simply part of the troll. Some believe that trolling is an aggressive, confrontational way by which trolls seek a sort of tough love guidance in an anonymous forum. - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Internet_troll There are two main types of trolls: 1. people who are psychologically disturbed, and seek to feel good by making other list members feel bad. This is a sort of "psycho troll", whose deception involves deceiving themselves as well as others. 2. people who pretend to be someone that they are not - they create personae that you think are real, but they know is fictitious. - http://www.teamtechnology.co.uk/troll.htm What fails with such definitions is that they do not address the motivations for trolling, only its effects on a discourse that is assumed to be worthwhile, and thus is incapable of seeing its own emptiness, much as dissident falls on deaf ears when there are no blatantly obvious (twenty-story tall monsters, invading Visigoths, race riots, climate change) signs of society's failure. A better definition of trolling takes into account both the intent of trolls, and the effect of their actions one generation of discourse after the trolls make their appearance. To do this requires we for a moment set aside any moral judgment of what trolls do, and stop trying to consequently ascribe to some personality failing their actions, but assess them instead as serious participants in the discussion who have turned to unorthodox methods to express what could not be done via conventional means. Trolling, as a tactic, is a method of drawing one's opponents into paradox by either making them confront the hollowness of their attitudes, or by revealing their own personal flaws and lack of mental discipline to avoid provoking comments, thus lashing out and shattering their carefully-constructed self-image. To be effective, an internet avatar must appear to be in control and to represent something other than the mundane bickering, but when punctured by a troll, the internet avatar is unmasked as a repository of human frailty and frustration, and thus its authenticity as an authority on the topic of the group is depleted. In short, trolling is wielding the futility of computer mediated communication against those who maintain it but, through careful social manipulation, avoid appearing to be continuators of that morass, but are able to fool many people into believing their public position that they are opposed to it. Since this dual layer between appearance and reality exists, and in fact is the source of much of the social power from which internet talking heads derive their perceived authority, blurring that distinction invalidates the very premise of authenticity as exists in computer mediated discourse. That the status quo of such discussions is based on upholding this illusion means that trolls disrupt the layer of appearance, in which internet avatars pretend to be on topic when they are at a level below the ostensible maintaing a social and not logical order, and restore a topicality to the discussion by aggregating the social impulse away from the actual content of the discussion. In postmodern theory, it is posited that all discourse has both a "text," or the nominal meaning of the tokens being exchanged, and a "subtext," or an unstated shared psychological meaning to the discourse conveyed mainly by context, including social factors. Viewed in this light, computer mediated communication can be seen as a victim of its own lack of differentiation between avatars and conversation; soon the needs of the avatars dominate the topic, and thus even if what is being discussed is "on topic," its context is one of the manipulation of personalities and self-image. Trolls by forcing this to identify itself group the subtextual factors apart from the text, and by virtue of what they do not target, create an identifiable stratification of conversation into social and textual factors. For this reason, we can see computer mediated discussion as an appearance which contradicts reality: those who appear to be on topic are using the topic to transact something entirely unrelated, and those who appear to be off-topic are often reassociating the topic with its meaning. The probable cause of this duality is that, in a Platonic sense, there is no distinction between object and its manifestation in the computer world. Where in public discourse the individual is clearly separate from the text, in computer mediated discourse the individual is expressed entirely within the text, giving rise to the subtext of the individual. The forced linearization of dual "real world" factors, such as personality and social need, with abstract textual factors, such as the topic at hand or the underlying philosophies expressed, therefore induces a form of advanced concept entropy which leads to discourse being replaced with personality factors. Trolls approach this as a solvent, and divide the two again, revealing most of the discussion as the socialization that it is, and separating real content as unworthy of assault. Metaphorically, this is similar to the political situation in the world today, which can be seen as an outpouring of the same psychology of duality seen in computer discussion, as brought about by a technological world in which we are each numbers on a triplicate form, phone numbers or email addresses. Those who accept the standard of civility that allows us to discuss a topic without discussing it, and thus let the status quo of relentless profit at the expense of nature and culture and the individual continue, are by the nature of having accepted the subtext as text unable to realize where their criticism of it must start, should it start. Those who embark on thinking outside of the standard of civility are correspondingly categorized as outsiders, since their beliefs are not only critical of the status quo, but entirely deny its validity. Currently, such dissidents, who tend to use dramatic means of introducing confusion that forces society to respond with increasingly rigid and impractical reactions, are categorized as terrorists, but we might as well call them trolls, or borrow language of a former time and refer to them as revolutionaries, or even, Minutemen. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Literature =-=-=-=-=-=-=-= "Bone Dry" I fear the coming heavy sound of Crashing Bones falling down as I Tiptoe around with this Clowns frown that Only grows for mocking laughter. And as I dance on tightrope air I stare below and shout aloud in Slow and small pathetic words that Even though I fear and fend This Clown of Bones will fall. - Jordan -=- "An Oddity" Over the course of many hundreds of years, I have never witnessed a spectacle such as the growth of the Northern peoples. As many now as there are fish in the ocean, their nature is a strange one, to be sure. I have watched them silently from afar while they embrace each other so lovingly, with a tenderness I have not seen in many cultures, all the while fighting terrible struggles which yield nothing save horrific ends for their land and folk; they tear down the forest around them to build unnatural structures for their ever-growing numbers, whilst giving devotion and prayer to the gods that made the natural world they so carelessly rape and pillage. A curious creature, humanity. Still... There is something about them that draws me back to them night after night. In spite of what She has taught me about the dangers of their kind, that their love can never be our love, that they can never rival the love She has in Her heart for me, I see something within them that tells me differently. A potential... a possibility that love could blossom between someone such as myself, and someone of their kind. I had previously been far too afraid of them to ever approach one; I loathe the thought of rejection with a fearful shudder – but I cannot believe that there is nothing of which She is not certain! My own eyes tell me differently! - I had to know. It was with this heretical thought that I dared all... I attempted to prove to myself that these thoughts were not those of the mad. Under cover of moon-absent darkness, I had stolen towards those structural abominations they name "halls" to seek one of their number. I had seen some of them who had made passing advances to some of my kin; a sight totally at odds with what She has instilled in me. These encounters I had witnessed emboldened my resolve to seek out someone of their kind in order to discover whether or not my reason and emotions had not led me astray. Theirs is a beautiful people; their features were fine to the eye, their language was almost musical to my ears (many a time had I been serenaded to a blissful slumber listening to them converse), there was precious little about them, excluding what I have already noted concerning their self-conflicted nature, that did not appeal to me. I have often wondered if one of their souls was not by luckless mistake trapped within my breast. My first attempts were largely unsatisfying... I felt not a trickle of the emotion that seemed to play across their faces when I would watch them engage in the compassion and warmth of their coupling. I had begun to wonder if She was not in fact right after all, and that I should rethink my foolhardy course – but my feelings were too strong to be swayed by these initial failures. I knew there was someone of their people who could return the strength of my emotions, the power of the love in my heart. It felt eternal, something that I alone was unable to cherish fully; I needed what I saw in humanity to appease the longing within me as though it were my first and last breath. It would complete me, I felt. Tonight, I think - tonight I will feel what love truly is. I will not rest until this torrent in my breast is finally undammed and allowed to burst forth in ecstasy. As I make my way to their "hall," I find I cannot quell the bounce in my step, nor the trembling in my hands. My heart is torn between dashing towards the enchanting promise of their embrace, and running away blindly to Her side, to sob my forgiveness upon Her feet. My curiousity will not be so easily subdued however. I have to know. I enter softly, not wishing to wake them. For some reason, I feel the experience would be ...profaned... by their awareness. I know not what they might have been taught about me and mine, and prejudices, bearing the breadth and depth of my own in mind (and what it took to overcome them), run deep. Love should not consummate itself by allowing physical appearance to be the sole judge of its worth. The first human I reach out to leaves me with the same dissatisfaction I had felt previously, but I am not dismayed. It seems they felt nothing, either. Maybe I am seeking the wrong individuals. Maybe my love is something that transcends the majority of theirs, and I must find an equal among them. Yes, that is it! I have been too thoughtless in my approach, I really should..... My breath catches in my throat. A human, much larger than the rest that occupy the "hall," and infinitely more beautiful, seizes my attention on the far side of the enclosure. My heart feels as though it will leap from my chest, but my limbs are paralyzed with awe. Shaking, I make my way to the human's side, looking at it fondly in its slumber. This truly is an equal, I think. It would surely return the emotions I have boiling within me. I lean close, tears running from my eyes in joy as I breathe softly across its ear and lay my hand on its arm... ...Words cannot express what passed between us. It was glorious. Yet, it was too much for me. The emotions unleashed from our embrace I could not contain. To finally physically touch love was magical, but it is not within me to contain the power that we shared by our mutual contact. I ran from that place, clutching myself tightly to quiet the surging maelstrom of emotion that poured from the depths of my soul towards the skies in an effort to find release; the feelings were beyond anything I had expected. I knew it would be many moons until I gathered the will to attempt such a thing again. What I have taken from the experience is more than I can fathom at this moment, but what it took from me is far greater than anything I imagined possible. But to know that it is out there, that these emotions I have roiling inside of me have a way in which to see themselves illuminated by the light of reality, and not fantasy... It gives me ...hope.... I wish She could feel this... * * * The next morning, the King of the Danes awoke, expecting fresh carnage to be visited upon his hall and kinsmen. He went straightaway to the place where his men slept, and was not comforted by the grisly sight which awaited him in the bed of one of those who had journeyed from across the sea. The largest of the Geats, the battle-hardened son of Edgetheow, proclaimed to the shaken king, "Fear no more, my Lord Hrothgar. See you that cursed, man-hating limb I have affixed to the ceiling? I assure you that by that trophy, Grendel shall paint the halls of Heorot with your kinsmen's blood no more." - blaphbee -=- "Life" sun burning death dare i disgrace life with lie? seek be sought death dare i disguise fear with life? when i walk, it follows raining when i fall, it is always laughing life felt like an age fallen, angel i perish in my filth death when the mind is clear the bottom line beyond the bottom line - what is faith - there is the future and the darkness, cold, void, instantiate: expansion of what is life into what is death honorable, cold: graced by pines and in wintertime silent - steve renke -=- "Agni" Flames lept up into his face. Then darkness. When the light came back Jacques was staring at my face. "The inevitable," I began. Another handful of paper, cardboard and twigs went onto the fire. I was grateful for the interruption of windy central Texas night. The orange, lit from within, gradually crept over each piece of paper or corrugated cardboard, until the material made the transition from mass to excited plasma, waves of gas sweeping over the collapsing structure in what we animal beings know only as fire. Far enough behind the old drilling equipment plant, which had been rusting in bankruptcy for two decades, no one would have cared even if we were using nuclear fusion. "No," he said. "The fulfillment." And thus begins our story. Apathos was one of those well-intentioned projects that started with a case of Budweiser that came to us because Ron's mom, in her everlasting goodness, gave him a gas card with which one could also charge important fuels like corn chips and alcohol. The guy who worked at the corner store on the far side of town was new to the country, pale skin and a whispering accent from someplace east, and he didn't even blink when we'd come in and sign the chit in her name. Bill Haley lives north of town, and he became our bassist, because his parents had gone off one day and come home on the front grille of a tanker truck, so insurance checks flowed in and the neighbors had long ago learned to disregard the loud noise and marijuana stench of his garage. I guess we made a pretty half-ass effort of putting up discount carpet, in clashing shades of orange and green and violet, across the old walls rotted by moisture, not the least of which came from Bill when he was drunk enough not to care where his piss went. Jon Mattews was our drummer, because Jon was the only drummer anyone knew in town, so he had for some years showed up at every band practice he could, knowing from experience that most end after a few weeks at the hands of an irreconciliable argument. We called it Apathos after Kurt Cobain's old band, and there's no denying that Nirvana was a big influence, but so was everything else that had been big on radio since 1969, when Jim's older brother Nick started listening to rock music and buying records that Jim would turn on to after the divorce, when Nick was only a name on postcards from some big city called Sacramento. The Doors, SRV, Led Zeppelin, even the candy-ass radio hits, it all went into the pot and out came a stew colored by dense guitars. That was Jim for you - he went into his room one day with all the equipment he could borrow, and came out with this guitar sound you couldn't beat. Most distortion is bass, and some crazy people use all highs, but his was mostly mids with a good low crunch, and it seemed the noise that sprinkled over it like confectioner's sugar on donuts was high-pitched static that harmonized at the whim of some undiscovered gods. I was vocalist for six weeks, but Ron only lasted a week as second guitar. It got us past the first irreconciliable argument, which was the name, and the next five too, so by the time I was replaced, we had our sound down and had decided we were going for the big time. We were going to write hits that conquered radio like Attilla the Hun. Jim had shed the shop tshirts and was wearing open-neck leather shirts, and even Jon was telling people he was "full-time in Apathos now, oh you haven't heard?" It was roaring great. When it happened, I was finishing my own take on that wail that Cobain used to do, trailing out into the chaos like a truck passing on the freeway at midnight. "Mark," said Bill. Then I noticed Jim standing behind him, and Jon sitting off to the side. Our tech, Indian Joe, who's from India and ended up in this little town by sheer bad luck, was playing the drums and we had the tape going, so the whole thing got recorded. Here's how it goes. First voice on tape is Bill, saying my name. Then he stops and makes a little noise like a half-hiccup; you can't hear it, but Jim stepped forward at that point and said, "Well. You're doing great, but, um, me and the boys have been thinking, you know, if we're going to make it on radio, we need someone with some flair, something that can really propel us to the top--" You can hear me on tape at this point, sounding chalky like I swallowed my tongue. I hate the way it sounds, but listen anyway. "Yeah, good point there, maybe I can hit the higher ranges more--" "That's not what we mean" - Bill again. "We're looking for somebody who can really work a crowd, you know, can do the press shots and all, hook in some girls..." He could've straight out said I was ugly. I don't think I am, and one ex-girlfriend agrees with me, but I'm not Jim Morrison, if you take my drift. I look like the guy who might fix your car, rewire your basement electricity, or take the virus off your computer. Girls don't stop eating their ice cream when I go by, but I do OK, normally. "Uh, okay, Bill," I didn't sound as stiff at this point. A little glum, sure. Wouldn't you? And then they brought in Jacques. You could tell because all the little coughs and stuff drop out. I don't know if they thought I would've fought him, because even I know my odds would be slim. Jacques is big, like six plus feet, and has long dark hair and the most testosterone of any guy from the east end of town. The wannabe gangbangers who smoke weed in little cigars behind the old drugstore don't even make eye contact. I could see right away why they picked him. "Mark." I said, and there's a little pause while we shook hands, and then I handed him the mike. I don't need to tell you that I felt like TV dinner leftovers at that moment, but I kept my head up enough to go to the back and turn over the bucket we kept by the door and sit on it. Some cigarette butts and roaches fell out - oh well. I remember being lightheaded like you are when you step up to a fistfight. Jacques lived up to his foreign-film name. He didn't walk to the mike, but he strode up to it and whisked it up in a single motion. He sang just like Kurt, too, but he was deeper, and when he changed intervals more than a fifth, his voice started to vibrate inside like loose equipment on a northbound train, and it gave it this full, rich sound. I was still pretty bummed, but I wasn't going to argue with this. He was watching me part of the time too, but I didn't really say much of anything. My own plan was forming already in my mind, and it was really simple, namely to go out to my brother's place and finally buy that old Les Paul he kept around in the rec room from him. I knew the chords. Jon and I burned a cigarette after practice. "Dude, they were just telling me it was the right thing to do, so I went along," he said, through blue smoke. "Looks right to me," I said, and he looked surprised. "Guy's a great vocalist." His eyes got narrow, but there wasn't meanness in it. I thought he guessed my plan, but I wasn't going to help him feel out the details. Instead, I said, "If these songs keep coming along, we'll need a studio soon." "Isn't a problem. My uncle George has one out in Austin, and we can get time there." I showed up next practice with that chip-flecked sunburst Les Paul, which Jim told me very solemnly was actually a fake, and he hoped I hadn't paid more than a hundred for it. Truth of the story was I showed up and my brother was dead drunk, and started talking numbers and fell asleep, so then Marsha - she's his girlfriend, because he's still married to Laura but she's in LA - just handed it to me and told me it was better he stopped screwing around with those pipe dreams anyhow. Dennis at the guitar shop hooked me up with a tune-up after I bought some strings, and I was set. Only thing hard was not getting the strings to buzz when I changed, since it was all power chords anyway. We went through the first four without a problem, and then Jacques said that maybe one note in that bassline was out, and Bill told him he didn't think so, and Jim said it didn't matter and Jon asked me what I thought, and I said the bassline was too busy and then Jim said we were taking a break. I was out of cigarettes, and turned to go to the store, when this arm stopped me. Jacques handed me one of his and gestured a hand to behind the house. "So you think this is going to go anywhere?" he said. Almost coughing, I said, "It could. We've gotta fix some things." He smoked, then turned his mouth aside, and said, Yes. "They'll listen to you." When we were back in the smog of the garage, cigarettes and sweat and piss around like a landscape, Jacques told Bill what to do with his bassline. Two notes - all that is needed. Bill looked at Jim, and then looked back and said OK. The song ripped after that. By the end of the week, two more practices, we had five songs. The first two were pretty weak, so the next practice Jacques and Jon worked out a new rhythm, and then bent one of the riffs backward so it flowed into the good riff from the other song, and Jacques did these drowning vocals that sounded really killer. When we left that night, we were sure that was it. It's amazing how much energy is stored in a sheet of paper. Once the claw of flame gets up inside it, it just crumbles around the orange ball, and throws off this block of heat that will just seize you for a minute thinking, That was one (1) sheet of paper? But then you think back, all the years of sunshine and rain and dirt that went into the tree, and all the diesel smoke and sweat and pastrami sandwiches for the loggers, and you can see how the paper is just all that wound up, waiting for something to let it. When the heat is at the same frequency of whatever makes up paper, then it harmonizes, and the thing just about explodes. I love fire. "Gets hot in Texas," said Jim when we were fixing that damn amp for the fifth time. It overheats, and a small short starts, which creates this siren-song of distortion over the guitar and it gets louder until you can't hear the chord changes. All the heat inside has nowhere to go, so the circuitry gets nice and warm and it smells ozoney, and we have to quit. So we light cigarettes in unison and go out to car so Bill can puff his pipe in peace. Then Jacques has to do a warm-up vocal test, again, and so we all wait, and then it's near dark anyway so we rush through the six songs and call it a night. But here we were, still there. "It's enough for a demo," said Jon. "Let's get it out and get an agent." "Not so fast," said Jim. "We've only got six, and we don't even know how to do the credits for them." "Screw the credits," said Jon. "It's our band. This is our shot." "I dunno, guys," said Bill slowly. "Grunge really isn't as big at it was. All that funky loud stuff is big now. If you want, I can put one in like this" -- he was slapping strings, a burpy stabbing -- "and then we might get a really big shot. Cause it seems to me best grunge can get now is regional." "Now you are silly," said Jacques. "If the music is good? They buy. And see, I have put in new lyrics, it is more like Alice in Chains now, maybe Stone Temple Pilots." "You don't want to faggot it up too much there, Jacques," said Jim. Eagle brows rose to a ridge and he stopped. "I mean, unless we need to." Jon went back to his kit. "It's a demo," he said. "He's right," said Bill. "Just the first step." "Well screw that," said Jim. "It's our one shot." Jacques muttered something near me that I couldn't hear, so I tuned strings. "Cut out that noise," said Bill. "We're having a discussion here." Jim looked right at him. "About what? Fixing what don't need fixing?" We did right the next week at the Mucky Duck. Some band from Arizona was going to come in and play Zydeco, but their van broke down in New Mexico and they called from some pay phone five hours before sound check. The soundguy flipped out, but the Old Man was a steady hand and he came over to where I was with some girls I knew, just drinking his discount pitchers of last night's beer. "You guys ready?" he said, and it took me a moment before I knew what he was talking about, and I said, yeah. We really came together for that, and I don't just mean the show. Jacques and Jon went off to the copy shop and came back with some cool looking posters, with some guy who looked like Jacques on fire in front of a nuclear missile. Bill combed his hair, and Jim had on the leather shirt. We played all six and then since no one kicked us out, played them again. I got a peck on the cheek from Suz, and the local rag wrote us up the week later, but they got it wrong and said we were a Zydeco band. Practice was like coming back to reality. I put the guitar up and went over to the drum rack. Bill and Jim were talking, and Jacques went to get some water. I went out, and when I came back, Jim was saying, "Yeah, some blues leads, and a little funk, that's more what's on radio now." "All okay?" said Jacques, taking the microphone and looking at us in sequence, and that's how I remember him. There wasn't much on his face. He was all inside. "Let's do 'String Thing' from the top," said Jon, and poised. "No, we're doing 'Catch This,' cause we gotta try out a new bassline," said Jim. "And I need you to double the middle break, since I got a lead." We were halfway through when Jacques signalled cut. "I don't think this is working," he said. It did sound like cats fighting in a garbage can, to me, since there was nothing wrong with the song. In fact it was a fine song. "As it is, it's better than anything anyone in town has," I said. "Yeah, let's get it down, and record it, we can work out the details later," said Jon. "Details?" said Bill. "This is our song. Our shot at big radio. You sweat the details." "Don't think just cause you got that gig you got cause to tell us what's better than anyone," said Jim, to me. "Don't want to be better in this town. Because this town -- sucks." "Are you sure we need a second guitar?" said Bill, and then Jon turned away and everyone mumbled a bit. I put my guitar up and left. Outside Jacques was finishing a cigarette, and where it would normally go into the can piled with grey, he pitched it instead in a flat arc toward the house. "Practice is over," he said. We finally got that one done the next week, and then that weekend, we were going to record. Jon had got on the phone and talked to George out in Austin and he said, OK, come on down, so we did. Ron's mom let us take her van, and he came along to keep us in line, he said. "How long?" Jacques was reading over his sheets, mouthing each word carefully and re-reading. "Like I said last time, not much longer," said Bill. "You better not need those sheets when we're there." "Jesus, forget it, they have music stands," said Jim. "It's a full studio." From then on out it was the hum of the van and sirens that passed us, heading north to bust the kids who loaded U-Hauls full of furniture and dope and tried to turn a three timer profit up in Chicago. I was on my third cigarette outside the studio when Bill came up to me with Jon. "Hey. We were thinking, uh, you know those middle two tunes, well, we want to take them higher sort of, add some jazz drums and a bassline, and I wanna know, are you with us?" "No," I said. "For the last time, we can't fiddle with them now." But it was no use. We got back inside and Jacques had finished his vocals; he did them in one take, with a couple overdubs that George said weren't really necessary. Jon had cut the basic drums the night before, but wasn't satisfied, so George said if we bought the beer we could have overtime. Guitars were next, after bass, but then Jim and Bill got in a fight over the change-up in the middle. Jacques looked at me and so I went over to George and said I wanted to do my guitars, and he nodded, and we went off. I got them done in two takes, only because I flubbed one part of the middle section on one song we'd been arguing about back at that rent-by-week motel. It was Sunday and while I didn't miss church, I could use some peace and quiet. "You did good," George said. "Most guys take a few more." It sounded like the nicest words ever, because no one else in that band thought I could play guitar worth a nickel. The chaos came in when we put it all together. Jim added his middle break, and Bill had put two new basslines on each song, it seemed. Nothing matched up. George futzed with it on the computer, but then he told Bill they needed to drop a bassline because it didn't fit the new song for guitar, and he told me I had to go back and redo the middle part of that track. I took up my guitar and cut it out as said, except for the last bit, where I couldn't get my pinky finger to move right on the changeup. "Just drop him out of the mix," said Jim. "We don't have time." "If he's gone, why don't you just redo yours?" said Bill. "It'll fit that bass." I could find Jon, and Jacques was packing up his paper. "Over," he said. "Practice." Finally George cleared his throat a third time. "Guys," he said. "It's midnight. In the morning I've got a guy who did slide guitar with Willie Nelson coming in, and he's paying." Bill was muttering about money. Jim said shut up. Bill told him to shut up. George threw us all out, and we went back to town with the mix as it was. Jon said it sucked, and we never saw him at practice again, and Bill and Jim argued over who had the rights to the songs, so they gave me the tape. Jacques was totally silent, except when Jim almost threw his papers out the window. "Those," he said. "Are mine." No one was going to tell him otherwise. It was about a week later me and Jacques were drinking some wine his mother had from the old country. I knew it was special to him, so I didn't just gulp it. Then we got some wood and made a fire. It was a good party, the two of us, since that Saturday night it was chilly and nothing was going on in town. The Mucky Duck had gone bankrupt, and the new bar had linoleum floors that no one liked to dance on, so they'd all gone to the river to fish and drink. Jim had met this girl from Phoenix and was spending the night at her parents' place, where apparently, they read the Bible a lot. Fires live just like we do. They start, and while there's something to burn, they're there, throwing light and heat back in our faces. When there's no more wood, they turn to embers that glow from the inside out, and after that, they go straight black, and tick down until they're as cold as the night. Jacques and I were watching the flames slow their dance, the height decreasing, when he said, "It is done," and began pitching the papers in, one by one. I watched, and thought about how much heat is stored in a sheet of paper, then got out the newspaper article the local rag did on us when we won the local radio contest. It went quickly. "That was good," said Jacques, a little silly with the wine. He threw in a poster, then more sheets, and a guitar pick. I didn't have anything else but one of the dollar bills the Old Man gave us and so I held it up, and Jacques nodded. It went in, and then he found an old dusty box that had been lying around in the weeds and rain, and threw it in. As the blaze crept up before the fall, I dug out the tape. Jacques nodded. I pitched that in too, and we left before the burnt plastic smoke could make us sick with cancer. - Hieronymous Botch -=- "City Dawn" city dawn sky is burning streets are poured with liquid flesh stretching white in the loss of light. sun spills swelling warmth over the hills, into the town. catching the broken glass. on the beach the flesh burns, sunk into the sand and rancid, trailing large clouds of thick smoke into the morning, splitting the sun leaving its light dusty and old, like tired eyes as parties end. sunlight rancid over the flesh lines the courtyards and streets and rots in the cracks of the roads and the walls and the floors it burns long after the wood after the burning of the machines aging the sky, making decay of the morning it burns too fast for souls to escape incinerated inside flesh and screams are the smoke darkening the minds of the hearers, eroding from their minds: the promise of a new day. - steve renke -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- exponentiation =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Issue 1.0 / February 4, 2005 Published Quarterly by the Center for Nihilism and Nihilist Studies http://www.nihil.org/ With assistance from The American Nihilist Underground Society http://www.anus.com/ Managing Editor: Blaphbee Culture and Features Editor: Phantasm Copy Editor: Vijay Prozak Writers: Lycaon Sothis Steve Renke GarmGormius Jordan Wilhelm "When a place gets crowded enough to require IDs, social collapse is not far away. It is time to go elsewhere. The best thing about space travel is that it made it possible to go elsewhere." -- R.A. Heinlein, Time Enough For Love [EOF]