ALBUM REVIEW: DESCARTES A KANT – VICTIMS OF LOVE PROPAGANDA

Descartes a kant: victims of love propaganda

Descartes a Kant
Victims of Love Propaganda
(Cleopatra Records)

From Guadalajara, Mexico by way of LA’s Cleopatra Records, come a sonic and visual art gang to be reckoned with. Until not long ago, if you’d asked me who my favorite Mexican musical group were, I would have smiled and answered: “Ampersan, hands down. The greatest group I know of in Mexico playing today.” Well, most days I learn something, and if you’re like me, the more you learn the more you’re reminded of the vacuum of absolute ignorance you are trying to fill. Discovering Descartes a Kant was a darkly illuminating experience like being pulled free of a shipwreck by being tossed a lifeline into a vortex.

Love and propaganda are nothing to play around with, nor approach lightly if safety is of any concern. I’m personally opposed to warning labels on album covers myself (primarily for aesthetic purposes) but consider this my implicit advisory in regards to Victims of Love Propaganda.

At the fore of the band of busquers are 3 women – Sandrushka (vocals/guitar), Defne (vocals/guitar/violin) and Ana (bass/synth) -and backed by male members Memo (bass/synth), Androv (synth/piano) and Jorge (drums/samples).

The album opens with “You a*****ked my heart” distorted megaphone blasts a monologue about love and addiction (as if they were separate entities, no, as they are). “you a*****ked my heart, you a*****ked my heart, you a*****ked my heart, I RESENT YOU FOR THAT!”

“Motion Picture Dream Boy” is a perfect exemplum of the theatrical nature of the Gran Guignol influenced group from Guadalajara. Promotional video directed by Gamaliel de Santiago Ruvalcaba, a well-known Mexican horror film maker perfectly realizes the visual and conceptual element of the Kantians.

Reflecting on obsession, addiction and other manifestations of what passes for love in the age of propaganda “our delusions” DaK explain, “will keep us alive.” And in lieu of love, is there much more we could really ask for?

“Until The Day We Die”: there’s something literally unsettling in the frequencies alone. Of course, it’s been no secret since the late 1800’s that certain sonic differences in frequency can actual produce literal alterations in our brains frequencies resulting in some instances in altered mood or other states. The melody paints a mise en scene from some dark carnival troupe.

Speaking of calliope’s the dark cabaret vibe is introduced quite strongly in this track, just one of the “elements” shifted and reordered like a Burroughs/Gysin cut-up Perhaps the more imaginative in the audience could conceive of some possible vagabond tribe of faux road entertainers advancing this technology by way of their traveling show’s calliope, though not even I would speculate as to what purposes such might find behind.

“Mother I’m in trouble,” the harried chorus appeals frantically “my marriage is a mess, my marriage is a mess. He wants control, me I want control. Him, he wants control, me I want control.” I picture the first track as that first slight, the initial hairline fracture that eventually leads on to the final break. “Serotonine,” is a stand out track on an album that stands out in whole as well as in its individuals parts. There’s a definite evocation of Sonic Youth and Breeders style classic art-noise rock though the fully fleshed integrity of the group’s palpable and original style manages to hearken to the past while still being wholly original and new.

I’ll admit that there are times it feels like the band is singing directly to me, for example in “Serotonine”: “You’re a narcissistic Pseudointellectual, it’s a complementary narcissism we adore, you think that you’re the special one, you’re not, you’re my design.”

Breakup and loss of love are symbolized beautifully in song through the metaphor of a crime scene. “Someone says it’s growing old, someone says it’s dying, someone’s calling 911 someone says I’m dying” the warning calls before the moment of no return, the emotional crime for which no clemency can be offered. That proverbial last straw that teaches you how much you can take if you didn’t know it the day before. terminally cold. The “multiple stabbings” referenced in the song were most likely in the back and inflicted by both parties if this break up is like many others. The urgent cry for someone to call 911, to “reconstruct the crime scene” is a potent metaphor for that 20/20 hindsight that so often appears clearly after the final straw has been broken in any romantic entanglement. “You are just another drop of blood in this crime scene.”

Reeking of the assembly line suicide swan song of industrialized society, in the age of “the victims of love propaganda” at the base of this album is a storyline of humanity breaking up with its humaneness. Or at least so it appears to this reviewer. Like Frank Zappa, these gals ain’t just rock if it’s rock at all, it’s art, dammit. This is no accident, either, like other glam-punk outfits like Sophe Lux & the Mystic, carefully orchestrated choreography and a supporting stage show is as important to the songs as the lyrics are to the melody.

This is no happenstance, everything about this group is perfectly orchestrated and choreographed. If the album itself soars with an uncanny cohesion thematically and melodically it’s just a testament to this performing art troupe’s dedication to the original Dionysian roots of ritual stage performance, in the vein of the seminal performance art industrial outfits Throbbing Gristle & Psychic TV. Steampunk, classical ballet and other elements meld in the live spell set in their worldwide tour.

As if my words of praise weren’t enough, the dazzlingly talented performers have shared stage with music legends and giants like Sonic Youth, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Melvins and Slayer. Lyrics run from the sickeningly sweet (“If I could be you for a day I would, I’d cuddle with myself all day”) to the macabre (“You are just another drop of blood in this crime scene.”) to the lackadaisical refrain of the last track, which is possibly the most honest thing that can be said in any relationship: “we’ll care until we won’t, I’ll love you until I don’t. often without warning or transition. All in all a beautifully unsettling and fascinatingly disturbing work of art.”

Purchase the album here.

Through the Plastic Screen ep06, Language, Culture, Education & History with Lindo Faelnar

This week it was my absolute pleasure to take part in a long chat with Lino Faelnar from Defenders of Indigenous Languages of the Archipelago. A lawyer, linguistic expert and language preservationist, Lino is also a genuine renaissance man. Our conversation was all over the map, both literally and figuratively as we bounced around from indigenous Filipino languages to the history of Crimea, Suharto and E. Timor, strange coincidences that seem to connect the Vikings to China, the Basque, Celts and the indigenous Melanesians who inhabited the Philippine islands before the Austronesian migrations. From Dr. Charles Tart to linguist Noam Chomsky and concepts like linguistic fascism or intellectual piracy, we covered quite a bit of ground in a little over 2 hours. Endangered languages and cultural genocide to the importance of folk tales and how stories and language affect our window on the world and much more today on through the plastic screen…

Unfortunately this was the last episode of the podcast for a while. I’ll be on hiatus until I can get the cost of the surgery taken care of and recover from that, but once I have that out of the way, already have several amazing guests from artists to best selling authors and ordinary people with extraordinary stories.

Interview with artist/motivational speaker Shane Watson About Silverladder

Recently, long time friend and art compatriot Shane Watson reached out with me to share this video from Brazil. A YouTuber with a half million subscribers had created a nearly half hour video about the history of the Silverladder, including the early badscaryplace days where I first began correspondence with Shane. After years of writing back and forth and publishing an interview with Shane online I was once asked out of the blue if I’d be willing to take part in a sort of dada/surrealist interactive art project borrowing from Alternate Reality Game (ARG) culture. The catch? I’d be interacting with Shane’s alter ego as Shane would be dead “in the game.”

Codebreaking, steganography, interacting with “characters” from the bit of chaotic fiction we were taking part in were all big parts of the Silverladder experience but most important honestly were the connections we made, the genuine community that sprung up. After years of voice chat, emails and chat rooms it didn’t even seem that bizarre when several of us would meet in Phoenix to hang out with Shane for the weekend of November 11. (11/11 was one of several overarching “themes” that Silverladder played with).

As for exactly what Silverladder is, that’s a hard one to answer. This YouTuber actually does a pretty decent job, especially doing so from after the fact. Deconstructing the “internet mystery” as it were. I even show up briefly in some footage of the SL get together around a decade ago. If you want to check out the video below, you can click on closed captions, go to options and switch from Portugese to auto-translate and the auto-generated translation is pretty easy to understand from there. I’m also sharing here my interview with Shane below.

The following interview was conducted by freelance journalist and long-time Bad Scary Place fan Philip Fairbanks in 2004.

Philip Fairbanks: What was your inspiration for creating this? Don’t just tell me you liked Burroughs/Gysin cutups either. I’m talking about the elusive “theme,” which is quite well developed.

Shane Watson: The inspirations for the BSP are extremely varied. It began a few years back when my cousin Trey showed me a particularly surreal site on the internet. Trey has introduced me to lots of good things over the years, such as the bands Ween and Built To Spill, but I digress. He sat me down at a computer at my aunt’s house and said, “Here, check this out.” I started clicking. It was unlike anything I had seen on the internet, because up to that point, the sites I had dealt with were very straightforward and quite linear in nature. It made perfect sense to me, though.

In real life I can be a somewhat quirky, eclectic person. Although up to that point, my website hadn’t reflected that about me at all. While having *some* artistic flourishes and bizarre moments here and there, my site was pretty, well… normal. Whatever this odd site was, it got me thinking about what I hadn’t done with my site yet, and what parts of my ability to create hadn’t been unleashed on my site.

This soon mixed in with several other factors:

1. As a kid, I was a huge fan of the “Choose Your Own Adventure” book series, which you may or may not be familiar with. They give you options, and rather than being a linear (there we go with that word again) story, you come to certain pages where you get to make a choice. Based on which choice you select, you are instructed to turn to a particular page. Your choices then affect the outcome of the story.

2. While in high school, I picked up a CD called “Telecommunication Breakdown” by a losely-formed “band” (more of an art project, really) called EBN (“Emergency Broadcast Network”). The CD used a heavy amount of television samples within the music, including political speeches cut up and re-arranged in such a manner as to make it sound like people such as George Bush (Sr.) were saying things like “We will rock you.” The CD also came with some Quicktime movies that were quick-cut collages of all kinds of various TV broadcasts, movie clips, war footage, home shopping channels, self-help videos, etc. It was like a 200-channel assault of the emptiness of TV over an industrial music background. The album and the accompanying videos had a very big impact on me at the time. This group actually went on to produce the video walls for U2’s “Zoo TV” tour.

3. Other factors and influences may include game shows, the movie “Fight Club”, the movie “12 Monkeys”, Japanese pop culture, William S. Burroughs, Hunter S. Thompson, Las Vegas, televangelists, lucid dreaming, the constant bombardment of media from all directions, the evolution of people into consumers, psychedelia, advertising, cryptic shortwave radio broadcasts (“numbers stations”), police scanner transmissions, technology, disco balls, strobe lights, smoke machines, red wine, good beer, The “Mind’s Eye” animation series, conspiracy theories, abnormal psychology (that would be a big one), DADA, surrealism, M.C. Escher, Salvador Dali, and the music of Ween, Radiohead, David Sylvian, Holger Czukay, Robert Fripp, Trance Induction, Flaming Lips, Alice In Chains, The Beatles, Pink Floyd, Bob Dylan, Air, Bjork, The Doors, Led Zeppelin, and COUNTLESS jazz and ambient music artists.

Anyway, these (and other) influences all eventually converged in my mind and led me to start what was the precursor to the BSP. While I DID have Silver Ladder Studios up on the internet at the time, I decided to make this a side project site, not affiliated with SLS. Therefore, I went and opened a cheesy little Geocities site, with pop-ups and all. The original version of the BSP wasn’t even called the Bad Scary Place, in fact it didn’t have a title. It didn’t get very big, maybe 20-25 pages deep, before I started slacking on it and quit making progress. However, not long after, the e-mail address I had listed on the Geocities site (accessed by site visitors via a picture of a bomb and the text “send me threats”) started getting hit with e-mails from people who somehow had run across the site. It was strange because I hadn’t advertised the site or submitted it to search engines or anything. But these people were e-mailing and saying how much they liked the site. Making a long story longer, I soon scrapped the Geocities site and put a re-direct link up on the Geocities page to send people to the new site within Silver Ladder Studios. I trashed all of the original pages (which I now sometimes wish I had held on to) and started from scratch.

The name Bad Scary Place comes from the type of terminology that a child might use. The use of the words “bad” and “scary” (both being quite simple and somewhat similar) right after each other gives it this kind of wide-eyed innocent naive kind of sound. It’s really more of a reference to a closet with a monster in it or something frightening outside the window than it is an actual reference to the site being scary or something. It never really was intended to be flat-out scary or anything. Some people still fail to understand that. Even if it WAS scary, anything that is SUPPOSED to be frightening that refers to itself as such is just plain cheesy. Not my style. Little known fact: I have often entertained the idea of ditching the name Bad Scary Place and renaming the site “The Umbrella Graveyard.” However, now that the site has caught on so much and refers to itself in SO many places as the BSP, it’s a little too late now. Who knows though, the Umbrella Graveyard may very well become a subdimension of the BSP, just like Menthol Tunnels (ever been there?).

As far as the “theme,” well, you’re correct about there being an underlying “story” beneath the bizarre surface of the BSP. The story is first-person. YOU (whoever is clicking through the site) are the main character, though I never formally explain that because doing so would be tacky and clunky and corny. However, while you are the star, Morris the mailman is the catalyst. Morris the mailman was *originally* Morris the milkman, who came from an old 4-track song I did in high school. The song, “Charlie Jones” was on a little underground cassette release that I distributed within my school, and Charlie’s wife runs off with Morris the milkman in the song. Interestingly enough, the tape (“Underground Noise Museum” – referring to being PHYSICALLY underground, not referring to being “too cool” for the mainstream or some nonsense) had a liner-note booklet (on standard 8.5×11″ paper) that came with it… much of the artwork from those liner notes is now in the BSP (i.e. the black and white picture on this page, the picture of someone shooting up on this pagethis image, which is the background for a BSP page, etc.). I can’t go too in-depth about the plot of the whole deal, but (as you may have discovered on a later page) it involves Morris slipping some kind of substance into your drink at a company party (held in a courtyard) and you waking up elsewhere. What else has happened in the mean time? What WILL happen coming up? That remains to be seen or may already be defined somewhere, somehow within the BSP. Some “chapters” of the story are much more literal than others. Some segments may be completely in metaphor and based in images rather than text.

Read the rest at Silverladder.

It’s Not Easy Being Vegan

Back in 2015 I embarked on a little experiment to see what it was like trying to transition to a completely plant based diet. What I found out was, it’s not that easy in a lot of ways. Animal products are so prevalent it’s really surprising how many foods you wouldn’t even expect to not be vegan-friendly that aren’t. Eating mostly raw, plant-based meals for a few months however was great to my stomach and even after the experiment ran its course, I ended up sticking with a mostly plant-based diet for around a year, year and a half or so… until that fateful day I fell off the wagon having a sausage biscuit with my dad. Yup, turns out just like any other addiction, once you relapse into eating meat and highly processed foods it’s really easy to stay off the wagon from then on. By the way, this article was inspired by the ethnobotanicals, medical herbs, premium spices and organic food vendor Eternally Herbal who I definitely would recommend!

Vegan like me: Part I

Chapter 1: “What happens when a meat & dairy loving dude attempts to “go vegan” for 60 days?”


WEDNESDAY, MAY 27, 2015

“Goodbye, meat and dairy…”

I mean how hard could it be, rite?

As soon as I wake up, early. Earlier than I had expected and two and a half hours before my first alarm (you know, the one you set to snooze the first 45 foggy minutes of the morning?) goes off. Even with the heady weight of early morning sleep fogging the ol’ gray matter, I am already beginning to doubt last night’s resolution. Maybe I was just up too late? Delirious from the past month’s work overload? Just an inevitable eventuality to the slow but steady increasing immersion into my (over a decade in the works) “all natural/herbal” kick?

Perhaps. And Perhaps a mixture of all those factors and inspiration owed to Paige, the resident vegan here at Eternally Herbal and my and Eternally Herbal new friend, vegan model, the lovely Dani Bre (who coincidentally I discovered, once again, through Paige here at EH).

Last night I had a steak. Tastiest steak I’d had all year, or a calendar year marked from yesterday. (Albeit one of two total steaks I’ve had in said calendar year). Fitting send off, I suppose before I begin this adventure. I can’t help but be reminded of the zen koan about the two Buddhist monks traveling. A woman is standing at a bank unable to cross, one monk lifts her up and carries her across the river despite the religious injunction against any contact with members of the opposite sex.

The next day, the other zazen practitioner looks at his companion, puzzled and upset:
“I still cannot believe you broke our oath by touching that woman, even going so far as to hold her, carry her across that wide and treacherous stream.”

“I left her there at the other side, my brother. It is you now, who carry her still, in your mind.”
Chew on that as I consider how I still carry that steak in my mind’s belly…

****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

This won’t be too bad though, I’m thinking (bright and bushy-tailed now, after a shower). I’ll start with my usual anyway, the veggie sub at Subway next door to the Inn I’m currently posted up at. Drat, they’re still closed. I thought they served breakfast. How can you serve breakfast and not open before 8? Ok, ok, that’s fine, we’ll have one last send off then. A sausage and egg burrito (as non-vegan as it gets without bacon involved, gang) is my (gulp) final non-vegan meal of the day.
At least they’ve got that tasty veggie burger here at Burger King I can… Wait, you’re telling me Morningstar uses milk and dairy products in their veggie burger? This is going to be a challenge. I like Morningstar, personally prefer them to Boca, but maybe that’s just cause the first veggie patty I loved was the black bean and corn burger from MS, but does this mean even a lot of vegetarian products are taboo when you go the whole vegan? Guess so. Well, good thing I’ve got a handful of friends who’ve already gone vegan to refer to with advice. Not to mention a whole mess of nice vegetable proteins, seeds and smoothie mixers coming from Eternally Herbal soon…

“Mmmmmmmm, guacamole.”

SATURDAY, MAY 30, 2015

Chapter 2: It’s not easy being vegan

It’s not easy being vegan…

It’s the little things. I’m becoming totally used to having to check “the instructions” as I’m beginning to call them,. the nutrition information, to make sure there’s no animal products or by-products in anything. But there’s so many in so much that you wouldn’t consider. No dairy products, I think. Ha, I’m fine without poultry or dairy. I’m not a huge fan of milk or chicken and it’s not like I eat eggs often. 

Oh wait, you mean even if it just HAS eggs or milk in it it’s not allowed. This is where I notice that being strictly vegan is going to be a challenge. Vegetarian is easy. I’ve done that a time or twenty for a week or 40 at a time, but no ice cream, no cheese, no chocolate… Wait, they make vegan chocolate. Come to think of it, I’m more of a dark chocolate man than a milk chocolate fan anyway. 

Then it hits me again, that it’s not only grilling season, but that I’m coming up on one of the most important grilling weekends in all of Summer. And me gone, vegan… Oh well, I’m beginning to become accustomed to guacamole instead of the veggie patty at Subway and avocados and bananas and nuts keep me grazing but full and there’s something refreshing about those vegetable burps. It almost feels like there’s so much freshness and nutrition it just has to burst out and announce itself. 

It’s not until well into the third day that I experience my first temptation. I’m riding with my friends we’re in the drive-thru for Krystal’s, Tennessee’s version of White Castle, basically White Castle with more lard. The smell as we approach is nearly overpowering, but I’m remaining strong. I try to distract myself. I think about what a great scene this will be, my first major temptation and how I still stand strong. My friend orders a sack of 24 freshly steamed Krystals. They’re packed in this box that traps the steam and grease and beef and lard smell in and I’m still fine. 

And then she rolls the windows up. I am engulfed with the smell of my favorite gut-bombs in all the world. Let me explain, I used to work at Krystal’s. I don’t know if it’s some secret in the lard that causes habituation to it (I’ve heard similar things about bacon, don’t laugh, it could be true!) but I found that when I worked there and ate there daily I would occasionally have a craving come over me and the more I ate them the more often the cravings would come. 

So here I am, feeling trapped and trying to stay strong. I don’t say a word. Then as my friend is doling out burgers it hits her and she apologizes. 

“It’s ok. It’s great for the story…”

****************************************************************************

And so, it’s time for a quick snack since burgers are out of the way. I grab one of those gummy chewy candy things that have the “real fruit juice” in them that I convince myself are healthy when I want candy but won’t let myself. Oh boy, these things are great and they’re fruit and stuff, definitely could not have been made from any animals. But wait, “check the instructions first” I remind myself. Flip over the bag and read through the list, corn syrup, yuck, ok, ok, and… I knew it. Too good to be true, it’s chewy, it’s gummy, it’s HORSE HOOVES. Bahh, so no gelatin either, didn’t think that’d be a problem. I don’t like Jell-o, but anything gummy? Hmmmm, jujubes are ok. So at least I know one candy that’ll be safe next time I go to the movies. 
Which begs the question, is movie theater popcorn butter really even considered butter? Guess will have to research that one too… Despite a few false starts at the beginning and a tense moment or two, so far this whole thing seems like it’s actually going to be ok. Must admit, there is a release of tension on the stomach and a bit more pep in my step. Thank goodness for the Eternally Herbal dried goji berries and dragonfruit. I’ll admit, the dragonfruit scared me at first, it’s dried flesh does resemble, more than a tiny tad, the scales of some mythical beast, but they taste great. I’m betting in a tropical trail mix with the right combination of nuts these would make a great tasting and super-healthy snack. 

“It really does look like a dragon’s skin!”In between the new diet and plenty of items from Eternally Herbals Clean and Detoxify section, I’m anxious to see how this does feel after another full week or two. But Memorial day weekend is poking it’s head right around the corner. Best bet just may be to stay indoors the whole weekend and away from the wafting scents of barbecue and steaks and burgers and pork chops. We’ll see…

Ghettoblaster, 2007: Special Report: Bewilderoo, TN

Still awaiting surgery, so since I can’t sit up and type out long form pieces for the moment, here’s a little blast from the past. I was lucky enough to get press passes to cover Bonnaroo every year between 2003 and 2009 on behalf of Get Underground, Ghettoblaster, AMP magazine and Spacelab. This is the first section of my attempt at gonzo music journalism, Summer of 2007 in Manchester, Tennessee. You can find the link to the full piece from Ghettoblaster at the bottom of the page. But without further ado, welcome to Bewilderoo…

SPECIAL REPORT: BEWILDEROO, TN

AUGUST 1, 2007

A not so common look at the not so common festival.

by Phillip Fairbanks

Though the festivities didn’t begin until June, my Bonnaroo story begins in March, when I got my confirmation that I would indeed be receiving press credentials and tickets for the big show. In a way, here in early July, I’m coming full circle as I put pen to paper in attempts to capture some literary tincture of that magic something, that “temporary autonomous zone” that for four days in Manchester, Tennessee is known as Bonnaroo.

The first elements are preparation and anticipation. March through June were a whirlwind of consciousness expansion including, but not limited to, ingestion of obscure, legal herbs from the Oaxacan, Mayan and Aztec canon, shadowboxing, glossolalia, yoga and failed attempts at emulating the painfully intricate moving meditation of Master Li Hongzhi’s Falun Dafa. At about the same time, I was working on a sort of counterculture Tony Robbins, a la Tim Leary and Robert Anton Wilson that resulted in pages of maps, models, schemas, tips, tricks, mantras and insufferably incoherent psychobabble based on anchoring intense states for ready retrieval. Here I was treading on dangerous waters. My roommates at the time, who had dealt with this quasi-psychotic behavior since March had had enough by the time May rolled around.

Armed with new and activated knowledge, or as Bob Wilson deems it “neuro-somatic knowhow,” I didn’t let this snag steal the momentum of the movement, but consciously down-shifted at this point. Besides, after a frightening Salvia Divinorum experiment gone awry, it seemed high time to arc down my emotional parabola.

Being a small town boy from a rural area, having something as big as Bonnaroo breeze through once a year next door, so to speak, is a dreamlike experience. Being at times, a pretentious performance artist for an audience of one, constantly crafting an opus I like to call, my life, the annual festival down on the farm down the road is always an ordeal, a crucible and a rite, not merely a convergence of people, art, music and drugs (though these are typical cornerstones of many ancient ritual festivals as well). Needless to say I got no sleep Wednesday night and word comes that they’re letting folks in to set up camp so we head to Manchester.

I get dropped off Thursday morning around 3:30 in the A.M. By the time sun comes up my tent is still unpacked. It’s hot and there are thousands of people surrounding me in every direction. I’m closed in. Bonnaroo has become overnight. A rush of adrenaline tinged terror wraps icy tendrils about me. I know that my notorious lack of direction will ensure that I will lose my site if I leave. After meeting Will and his group, I decide it might be safe to leave as long as I don’t get separated from them and lose all chance of ever rediscovering my campsite. Already I’m feeling that soft sadness that accompanies this small town boy’s Bonnaroo experience. It’s beautiful, like life, but like life its over before its begun, and I make sure to soak up every ounce of that weird tincture of emotions that infectiously spreads. Like Norman from New Jersey had corroborated earlier. The world is a strange and weird place.

I get dropped off Thursday morning around 3:30 in the A.M. By the time sun comes up my tent is still unpacked. It’s hot and there are thousands of people surrounding me in every direction. I’m closed in. Bonnaroo has become overnight. A rush of adrenaline tinged terror wraps icy tendrils about me. I know that my notorious lack of direction will ensure that I will lose my site if I leave. After meeting Will and his group, I decide it might be safe to leave as long as I don’t get separated from them and lose all chance of ever rediscovering my campsite. Already I’m feeling that soft sadness that accompanies this small town boy’s Bonnaroo experience. It’s beautiful, like life, but like life its over before its begun, and I make sure to soak up every ounce of that weird tincture of emotions that infectiously spreads. Like Norman from New Jersey had corroborated earlier. The world is a strange and weird place.

Read more at Ghettoblaster. 

Vignette I: and so socrates said, “well make that a double”

Vignette I: and so socrates said, “well make that a double”

from the tentatively entitled: “house of the yellow lichen” (to be a lovecraftian horror by way of burroughs/thompson in the vein of philip k. dick)

Vignette I: and so socrates said, “well make that a double”


Consider it screwed:

you know though, it’s probably best not to take most of what i say without a dose of salt (and maybe a tablespoon of activated charcoal if you have any about). i don’t know what it is i’ve got but i’m pretty certain by now it’s contagious and it may very well spread as easily through thought as any other vector. orgonian overdose? mk-ultra? electromagnetic pollution? satellite array transmitted assassination networks (SATAN, for short), i dunno what it is these days but lately it’s like a constant headache, fog or else a mania. Feel my brain all tingly…I wonder if listening to black metal while generating new neurons will have any repercussions?


Better than my old buddy “big red’s” idea though surely: Huff raid, he said, it only kills the weak braincells


oh well, at least i’ve been recording/documenting all i’ve seen and thought i saw. all the connections i mined or imagined. I’m a goof, sure but sometimes I’m pretty sure that maybe deep down I could be great undifferentiated connective tissue, too…

i will never forget the first story i was told when i finally made it to the yellow house:
It was up here in Northern Cali, maybe Ukiah but I think probably more like Garberville, I knew a guy who would crystalize Raid by spraying it on an electrified screen. He would scrape it off and bag it up and sell it as speed. Apparently, the pyrethrins short circuit your nerves and create an amphetamine like sensation…as they DIE.


Well that’s a nifty recipe for a hot shot. I exhaled, remembering the ridiculous trek following Nathan (not the Nathan I had come to McKinleyville, home of the largest totem pole in North America to see, but it seemed portentous at the time, so I followed) that ended with me in the middle of nowhere, dressed in leather fringe and tight, paint stained purple denim, twisted ankle throbbing in Burbank cast off mock-moccasins). That needs to go into a story though, I thought to myself.

True story. He said. I watched him do it.
Whoof… I barked, just under my breath
Yeh…it was brutal. His old lady had a smack habit. Dope don’t buy itself. Caveat emptor..
Yikes, cuz what fun is fucking a girl to death when you could see her die so much more slowly by letting her boyfriend fuck HIM to death and let her live with THAT debt

Hey, you roll the dice, you takes your chances…

i need to get on with it though, at least draw together the important parts, let you make of it what you will. something about a psychedelic sentient lichen and that place they called the house near hootenannie where
the floor rotting in was nothing to the mist of must that gently constricted and tickled the inner soft fleshy palate of throat flesh
then there was
the society of seekers scene, only known as the society of seekers to hangers-on, “prospects” and the scant group of researchers who seem themselves nearly as cultish and obsessed. society members (most of whom manage to evade any public note apart from basic census data)

on your role, complete in every detail, the rollercoasterdips and dives
i’m getting off track again though, aren’t i. this always happened. the weird, wired way my brain worked, the way i thought in a sort of web, wrought with recursive loops. sometimes i drop the golden thread entirely, at that point i’m done for.


like, have you ever woke up, either from anesthesia, being knocked in the head hard enough to cause a concussion or the wrong combination of compounds? that first second, the sort of ether huffing, laughing gas “wah wah” that you get from good model glue, the warmth in the pit of your cheeks and then the brightness and a sense of overhwelming “okayness” followed by a swift and sharp panic, of “where am i, what just happened, hasn’t this happened before, who am i?”

TO BE CONTINUED (perhaps)

Defense For the Prosecution: Kai the Hitchhiker Trial part I

Kai the Hitchhiker has been the victim of an unfair system after years of unconstitutional detention, questionable and potentially illegal investigation methods, and a trial where even his own defense attorney seemed out to get him.

In the case of Caleb McGillvary, better known by many as Kai the Hitchhiker, the phrase “guilty until proven innocent” has been turned on its ear. Kai went from folk hero and living meme to accused of murder. However, an eyewitness for the trial confirmed disturbing discrepancies in the trial transcript. “Now, I’m going to go over some of the stuff that the State’s going to say well.” As he faced the Jury, his face contorted and his voice vehement with rage, Cito pointed accusingly at Kai. “That shows my client is full of crap,” he continued. “He did this intentionally. He purposefully ran out of the house.” This may sound a bit strange as if the defense were working hand in hand with the prosecution. As strange as it sounds, several moments in the trial support this possibility.

Read more at TheLatest.com and stay tuned for the rest of this series featuring exclusive, never before reported details.

Masked Luchador Runs for Mayor Anonymously

Who is that masked man anyway? Blue Demon Jr., a masked Mexican wrestler runs for mayor in Mexico City (try saying that five times fast). The famous wrestler intends to not only run anonymously but govern anonymously if elected. What’s more he is only one of three masked candidates running for mayor in Mexico currently.

Aliens & The Occult: Occult Engineers & Hidden Histories

Have you ever stopped to wonder what, if any thread connects NASA’s JPL, The Antichrist, Thomas Pynchon, the Roswell crash and cult classic b-horror distributors Troma Pictures? We delve into the weird connections between strange tales of alien cults and actual alien cults themselves. We begin with H.G. Welles and Crowley then through Lovecraft, Jack Parsons and L. Ron Hubbard up through Thomas Pynchon to see how a suppressed history is encoded in fiction.

Gray aliens and the Roswell crash site have a long established connection to the Crowleyan current. What all could Lovecraft have possibly known about the actual cult of Thelema as they attempted to invoke extradimensional entities. Lovecraft’s cosmic horror, echoing H.G. Welles, sets the stage for the reductive materialist “clockwork universe” of our current “New Age of War.” Is there truth hidden within the unassuming pages of pulp fiction and within the celluloid reels of cheesy b-horror movies? Tune in and decide for yourself.