Heinlein

I don't feel like thinking for myself right now.

From Robert Heinlein's Friday;

"...It is a bad sign when the people of a country stop identifying themselves with the country and start identifying with a group. A racial group. Or a religion. Or a language. Anything, as long as it isn't the whole population."

"A very bad sign. Particularism. It was once considered a Spanish vice but any country can fall sick with it."

...

"So far as I have listened, before a revolution can take place, the population must lose faith in both the police and the courts."

"Elementary. Go on."

"Well . . . high taxation is important and so is inflation of the currency and the ratio of the productive to those on the public payroll. But that's old hat; everybody knows that a country is on the skids when its income and outgo get out of balance and stay that way, even though there are always endless attempts to wish it away by legislation... Boss, laws to sweep back the tide never do work... I want to mention one of the obvious symptoms: Violence. Muggings. Sniping. Arson. Bombing. Terrorism of any sort. Riots of course, but I suspect that little incidents of violence, pecking away at people day after day, damage a culture even more than riots that flare up and then die down. I guess that's all for now. Oh, conscription and slavery and arbitrary compulsion of all sorts and imprisonment without bail and without speedy trial, but those things are obvious; all the histories list them."

"Friday, I think you have missed the most alarming symptom of all.

"I have? Are you going to tell me? Or am I going to have to grope around in the dark for it?"

"Mmm. This once I shall tell you. But go back and search for it. Examine it. Sick cultures show a complex of symptoms such as you have named... but a dying culture invariably exhibits personal rudeness. Bad manners. Lack of consideration for others in minor matters. A loss of politeness, of gentle manners, is more significant than is a riot."

"Really?"

"Pfui. I should have forced you to dig it out for yourself; then you would know it. This symptom is especially serious in that an individual displaying it never thinks of it as a sign of ill health but as proof of his/her strength."

Still Not Voting

I looked over my voter guide and almost decided to vote due to one particular measure. Some puritanical pukes are trying to get a measure passed that requires a doctor to give 48 hours notice to the parents of an unemancipated minor before performing an abortion. Looking over the language I noticed that in no way did it stop the procedure. So even if the damn piece of shit measure passes, it just means that approximately 6 girls a year will have to get enough spine to fess up to their folks. If pops whacks her across face, she needs to get enough spine to either leave and file for emancipation or press charges for assault. But the measure almost got me to vote. All the other measures, if read in full, were meaningless.

While the people offering their arguments against this measure are using the same old annoying gimmicks, the folks arguing in favor of it are so much worse. Page after page of 'personal testimonials' about how having an abortion ruined their lives. Nobody who chose not to have one can say that. Once you've got the kid you are suddenly obligated to love and cherish them no matter what kind of a little shit they become. One of the things I hate about the 'personal testimonial' approach regarding the abortion issue is all the lying.

Let me tell you about a young girl who had an abortion. Blah blah blah. Blood, trauma, regret, abandonment, etc. That girl was me. Boo hoo.

The great majority of the individuals who profess to have had an abortion that destroyed their lives are really poor creative writers who somehow think that their Lord God Jehovah will overlook their lies since they are lying to save a fetus. They pulled a similar tactic on me once. Phone calls telling me to reconsider my position on the issue, someone close to me, blah blah blah. LIES!

I've got a personal testimonial for y'all. Let me tell you about an individual who minded his own business and didn't try to force people to live their lives as he saw fit. He didn't end up with my foot in his ass.

Chaos Magick

As many of you know, one of my interests is magick.


Don't believe anything Grant Morrison says. He is a doper, a comic book writer, and Scottish. In this video he explains a simple system of chaos magick using sigils. Don't believe it. Only 5 out of my 6 attempts at his style of sigil magick have been successful. That is only 5x more successful and 23x easier than other systems of magick I have dabbled with. Don't believe anything Grant Morrison says. But watch the 45 minute video. He has a great voice and beautiful skull.

And don't bother reading anything by Peter Carroll. He is just another simpleton hack like Grant Morrison.

Space/Time

I woke up five minutes before the alarm told me I needed to get up if I didn't want to be late to class. My dreams had been really funky all night, but nothing that eluded to the thought that was now lodged in my head.

It is theorized that sub-atomic particles exist as fields of probability that not only can ignore traditional spatial travel but can also ignore time as we conceive it. For instance, in some circles it is not considered too far fetched to suggest that an electron can leave here and be on the other side of the galaxy before it left. A bit much for your head at 6:40 AM on Saturday before heading off to a community college class on machine tools practices? What about those experiments with light where they were able to get light to appear at the other end of an optic connection before it left the source? Yes, it is all very strange but hints that the concept of time travel is not a total pipe dream.

So what if we end up only harnessing the power to send light or sub-atomic particles backwards and forwards in time? That means we can send information back in time. A very powerful tool. Most banking transactions consist of information. You swipe a debit card and it withdraws funds from your account and deposits them into the vendor's account. Imagine at the height of your earning potential sending funds to yourself just out of high school so you could pay for your education with cash instead of loans that have interest. Or a retro-fund purchase of your dream home so you can buy it when the market is most favorable without having to take out a mortgage. It would destroy our current economic system. But say you could only send information back a few minutes. You could still make a killing on the stock market. At least until once again the practice devastated our linear time dependent market system. You can't have people quintupling their money every few minutes as casual day traders. It's just not sustainable.

Suddenly my idea for matter transmission machining seemed like child's play. But it was time for me to take off for class to learn how to use the old fashioned mills, lathes, and surface grinders to make components for use in old fashioned linear time forward machines; machines that make saw chain that cuts down trees that produce pulp for paper for printing out parts specifications for a space elevator that will take supplies into low orbit for building an array of orbital space colonies that will not only shield the Earth from the Sun, reducing the risk of global warming, but will house researchers performing experiments that will lead to the ability to send information backwards in time thus facilitating the collapse of the current economic and political paradigms. I love my job.

AWPC: A Compliment

I was giving a 21 year old hottie a hard time about going out clubbing. She is a petite Asian gal who in my eyes would have a hard time passing for 18.

Jake: If I were a bouncer I'd be asking, "Don't you have school in the morning, little girl?"
N: Even when I had a fake ID they wouldn't card me. It's all in how you dress and present yourself.
Jake: Then why am I still getting carded at my age?
N: Because you're so cute and nice.

Why do people keep insisting I'm nice?

Space Elevator

A space elevator would be cool.

Arthur C. Clarke once predicted that it would be twenty years after people started taking the idea seriously that we would finally have a space elevator. Three years ago scientists started taking the idea seriously.

I wonder if the Brits would call it a space lift?

New Maintenance Policy

We thought for certain he was joking, but he wasn't. They actually want us to start our shift each day by going around to all of the operators, saying hello, and finding out how they are doing. So of course we went full tilt.

Hi!

How are you today?

That's just super!

Isn't it great to be here?

Can I get you anything? Maybe a cup of coffee or some tea?

No, I can't look at the problem with your machine right now. I have to say hello to all the other operators first. Company policy. But as soon as I'm done doing that you can be certain that I will work on your machine in the order in which we prioritize it.

I'm really glad we had this little chat.

Hey, you have a super day.

Then later the maintenance light would come on and we would go check it out.

I saw your light on and said to myself, "Oh no! (Name) is having a less than super day." Is there anything I can do to make it better?

That's just terrible! Why would a machine be that mean to you?

Do you need a cup of tea or maybe a group hug?

We'll get things back to being super for you.

Within a couple of days the operators are going to be begging their supervisor to make us stop.

Accuracy

After work I stepped outside to a subsiding rain. Of course the roads were still wet and I got soaked with cold water all the way home on the chopper.

The weather report said it wasn't supposed to rain today. Then the connection was made. The rest of the news is about as accurate as that. Strange how everybody views the weather report with suspicion but sucks up the rest of the news as gospel.

Short Term Memory Is Over-Rated

While short term memory is over-rated, Marijuana-like compound may fight Alzheimer's.

Marijuana has strong anti-inflammatory effects. "This is why I believe that people who used marijuana a few decades ago are much less likely to develop any disease, such as Alzheimer's, that relies upon the slow development of brain inflammation," Wenk told Reuters Health.

So while your short term memory may get a little fried, those bits that do stick won't slip away later in life. Besides, short term memory is over-rated.

Now if the Alzheimer's patients could only remember where they hid their stash. But I hear short term memory is over-rated.

Synchronicity?

So I happen upon this goth band called The 69 Eyes out of Finland. Shortly thereafter they announce the release of a new album called Route 69.

Just so happens that I grew up at the Northern most end of U.S. Route 69. I was the town's token punk and one of my few friends was a Fin.

Synchronicity seems inevitable in the information glut of the electronic age.

Naughtoberfest

Some days I find myself doing nothing for extended periods of time. Other days I have to set aside time to do nothing. The former is relaxing, happily sedate. The latter exciting, often revelationary.

Hot Pocket

With Google buying out YouTube, I figured it would be worthwhile to take a look at other video hosting services. Not that I don't like Google, I just hate to place all of my online activities into the hands of one provider.

Boob Tube: a PSA

Television can make your kid retarded. I mean, TV Really Might Cause Autism.

Today, Cornell University researchers are reporting what appears to be a statistically significant relationship between autism rates and television watching by children under the age of 3.

Thus explaining why Americans love to wave flags while chanting political slogans. But then they go and spoil my fun.

If television viewing by toddlers is a factor in autism, the parents of afflicted children should not reproach themselves, as there was no warning of this risk. Now there is: The American Academy of Pediatrics currently recommends against any TV for children under the age of 2. Waldman thinks that until more is known about what triggers autism, families with children under the age of 3 should get them away from the television and keep them away.

Bah! No warning? Elderly kooks were warning you young whipper snappers since before the TV was invented. Even I knew that TV made kids into sissy drones. Who was ever beat up by the kid with his own TV and cable box? Did the kid with the highest score on Super Mario Brothers front the math or debate teams? Saying nobody knew about this is like claiming nobody knew they would get fat eating at McDonalds all the time. Of course there is an obvious flaw in the whole study. Only stupid parents would shove their kids in front of the TV for long periods at such a young age. So it might just be genetic.

Underground

The home of underground rock, CBGB, is no more.

Just after 1 on Monday morning, the last notes of live music rang from the stage of CBGB & OMFUG

The bar opened just a couple months after my birth in 1973. How strange for it to close on my birthday 33 years later. For me, it has always been THE punk rock bar. I visited in July of 2000, purchased a t-shirt that is now falling apart, and was heart broken when I saw the same shirt for sale at Hot Topic last year. But I shed no tears for the place. The venue long out-lived its eventual purpose as flagship of American punk rock. Perhaps with CBGB gone all those weird, disenfranchised kids can stop humping the rebellion of the past and create something new, harder, and weirder.

Vow of Celibacy

Ze Frank forgets to mention that this is one date where you're guaranteed to get screwed when the night is over.



the show with zefrank

Too Much Balance

After my insane attempts to conquer the water element, I spent Sunday evening battling with the fire element. Went to Salvador Molly's to take the Great Balls of Fire challenge. It consists of having to eat five of their havanero cheese fritters with all of the havanero dipping sauce.

Every time a restaurant has warned me about spicy food, I've been disappointed. Nobody has come close to presenting my stomach with a real challenge. The Great Balls of Fire did not scare me.

I now know the melting point of an iron constitution. I was barely able to complete the challenge. After the first one my mouth was on fire. Two more and I was sweating and turning red. I managed to smile when they took my picture for the Wall of Flame.

Then I got home and it all settled into my stomach. The only thing that kept me from puking up the lot was thinking about how bad it would burn coming back up. Last night was a nightmare of being able to feel where it was as it traveled through my digestive system. Even after a glass of milk I had to sleep sitting upright. At this time, the oils are finally starting to be removed from my stomach lining while the main mass has made its first two attempts at bodily exit. The saving grace is that while my sphincter may never forgive me, my urinary tract has been spared.

Hardcore Surfing

Woke up early and headed to the beach. All the way there it was raining. As we got to the coast, the rain picked up as did the wind. So we had 20mph winds out of the west with rain and about 50F. But that didn't stop me from trying to surf. We were already soaked by the time we walked the half mile from the parking lot to the beach. The wind kept biting my long board and once managed to rip it from my hands. But that didn't stop me from trying to surf. The waves were small to begin with and fairly well blown out by the wind. My hands went numb in a matter of minutes. But that didn't stop me from trying to surf. When one beach wasn't working out, we moved on to another, looking for waves. Then on to another. Even after noon when the sun finally came out, it was still cold and the waves slow and weak. I ended up catching one real good belly ride and a decent knee ride. Of the three other people we saw out, nobody caught anything better.

What a great day!

12,053 Days

Writing it that way, I should have had a party in August.

About Time

It's kind of creepy when you're sitting there doing nothing and then you look up at the clock on your computer and it reads something like 1:11:11 as you shake your head back into this odd consensus reality.

I'm playing evil influence this weekend. We're taking care of a friend's kid. I let him into my Lego stash and showed him how I prefer my Spaghettios, cold and eaten out of the can. He still wanted his cooked. You'd think he was the Prince of Wales or some such. Some people's kids...

Something Different

This post doesn't have video, images, or links associated with it.

Getting Stoked

Surf reports for Sunday are varying from 2-7 feet. Screw it. Don't care. Going surfing. I'm stoked.

For those of you who don't get the pleasure of surfing this weekend, watch this instead. I would love to someday ride a wave like that. But the truth is, that was a once in a lifetime wave (estimated at about 70-80 feet) ridden by one of the world's best. At my skill level I bet a 10 footer would feel about that awesome.

CoSM

When I look at the art of Alex Grey a connection occurs. I look and say, "I've been there. I've experienced that." He calls it spirit. I don't presume to know what it is, but I guess that's as good a label as any.

Naughtoberfest

The world dissolves into nothingness. The shell disappears, the vehicle is gone, and all that remains is self beyond self. So fleeting, but worth every second.

Surf's Up!

Looks like waves are moving in for Sunday. Awesome!

AWPC: Why I'm So Good At What I Do

The assembly lead (who kind of reminds me of a muppet) came to me with a very serious problem.

D: Veronica's thingy that keeps the parts up is broken.
J: The thingy?
D: You know, the bucket thingy.
J: You mean the rack thingy?
D: Yeah, the thinga-ma-jig.
J: The whatchamacallit.
D: The do-hickey.
J: The gizmo.
D: Yeah. So if you get a chance could you look at her thingy?
J: I'll see what we can do about her thinga-ma-bob.

I fixed her thingy in less than five minutes.

Surf's Not Up

Surfing conditions are looking at best average for this weekend. That still won't stop me from some birthday surfing on Sunday. Wish I was going out tomorrow.

Stop the Bloodshed

Self-assembling gel stops bleeding in seconds.

Swab a clear liquid onto a gaping wound and watch the bleeding stop in seconds. An international team of researchers has accomplished just that in animals, using a solution of protein molecules that self-organise on the nanoscale into a biodegradable gel that stops bleeding.

Last night I cut myself at work, immediately dumped some super glue on my finger, and the bleeding stopped in seconds. I'm not sure if it is biodegradable or works on the nanoscale, but the end result is the same.

For gaping wounds, rinse with listerine first. When screaming stops, apply super glue.

Lazy Satanist

Audio from The Onion Radio News.

White Stripes - Fell In Love With a Girl

I like Punk and Legos.

Space Migration

From the archives! Made back in the spring of 2001, this was my final presentation for my Astronomy class. Very little information has changed. The three biggest things would be the shuttle breaking apart upon re-entry, SpaceshipOne claiming the X Prize, and the introduction of space tourism with Dennis Tito. Still a very relevant short film.

G. W. Bush, Crowned and Conquering Child

A while back I posted a humorous little video about The Book of the Law, Aleister Crowley, 9/11 conspiracy, prophecy, and folding money. Now I present for your consideration that Barbara Bush, mother of George W. Bush, might have been sired by "The Beast" Aleister Crowley.

But who was Barbara's father? The chronology indicates that it could have been Crowley, but it could just as easily have been Marvin Pierce. The truth regarding Crowlean sexual rituals is disclosed only to the highest initiates of the OTO, in a document misleadingly titled "Emblems and Modes of Use."

Is Aleister Crowley the father of Barbara Bush? Even she may not know for certain; indeed, I have no way of knowing whether she has ever been told that this possibility exists. However, more than one person has noted the resemblance -- and this resemblance is not just physical.

Read for yourself at flux64. Is President Bush Horus, the Crowned and Conquering Child? Am I using too many links?

Because He Asked

Jewbacca asked if people would be willing to share their results on the Political Compass. So here it is with some modern political thinkers over-laid for reference. (Hmm, modern political thinkers are over-laid? Career change?)



Yep, that plain red dot (the one without the black circle around it) represents me, hangin' out with the Dalai Lama.

Who writes this crap? Primarily, where was the don't give a shit option? And there were other questions I had absolutely no way of answering truthfully in multiple choice format. For example:

Abstract art that doesn't represent anything shouldn't be considered art at all.

Well, yes, I agree. Problem is everything both is something and represents something. Dog shit on the sidewalk is dog shit on the sidewalk. It also can represent a pet owner who is too lazy to pick up after his pet, or maybe a feral hound, or maybe someone too distracted to take notice of what their dog was up to, or maybe it represents some lifestyle nazi trying to dictate how others should care for their pets. So how am I supposed to answer a poorly asked question?

Then there was this one:

Because corporations cannot be trusted to voluntarily protect the environment, they require regulation.

My initial reaction to this is to strongly disagree. Corporations can be trusted to voluntarily protect the environment if consumers give up the crusade for low cost and instead only purchase goods produced with a minimal environmental footprint. Living in an urban area means consuming goods and consuming the biproducts from the manufacture of those goods. Unless we outsource the polluting end of things to China.

Let's throw a Z-axis on this damn thing and have it measure political apathy. Then you'll see me wallowing in the sewer while G-dub soars in the clouds. I figure I'm on the opposite end of the chart for the others, I'm probably on the opposite end for that one, too.

Sri Syadasti. All things are true in some sense, false in some sense, meaningless in some sense...

Back to School

Started machining classes today. It is both very fun and very frustrating. Fun because using machine tools like mills and lathes rocks. Frustrating because this is an accelerated course put together specifically for employees of the company I work for. The course is normally taught half days 5 days a week over three months. Our class consists of 8 full day sessions every other Saturday. Frustrating because it is not moving fast enough for me. So I've fallen into my old school habit of jumping from machine to machine seeing how the others are doing. The faster they move, the faster the class can move.

I did learn something today. Old folks and soccer moms are far scarier behind the wheel than a drunk driver. Drunks I can spot from a half mile back. The former do stupid shit for no obvious reason and without warning. They'll be driving along all normal, suddenly slam on their brakes, change lanes, hit the gas, and then fly back across two lanes of traffic to make a turn. Drunks know where they are going and while they may not be holding their lane, they hold the course for fear of looking like they are drunk in front of a cop. You can steer clear of a drunk. How do you steer clear of a mid-lane crisis of intent?

Not Dead Yet

Robert Anton Wilson is in the process of dieing for the second time. He did it once before back in 1994. The news reports of his death were so convincing even he had to admit that there was a possibility that he really had died and was replaced with a robot. This time around there is a little less mystery surrounding the event.

What surprised me the most is that the guy is broke. Writers may not make a lot but RAW is not just an ordinary author. I have 20 of his books on my shelf. I have lost four others. I have purchased copies as gifts for friends and family. When I have seen the success of things like The Davinci Code and What the Bleep, I am reminded that Bob covered that territory quite well back in the 70's and 80's. Psychology is still having one hell of a time just catching up to where this guy started. This man's literature has transformed my existence. I have told everyone I know time and again what a great and genius writer this guy is and to go out and buy his books. Well obviously some of you didn't do that because the guy is dead broke and was about to be kicked out of his apartment while on his death bed. Do you really want to be reincarnated as a VoteJake refrigerator magnet? Of course not, because nobody even buys those things. Luckily he has lots of loving fans who came to his rescue.

Robert Anton Wilson is a GOD. He is also a Pope and a Tsar.

Absolutely, Positively Insane Surf

The wave looks decent, between 4-6 feet. That's bigger than a lot of California waves. That's about what we get most decent summer days in Oregon. Then winter hits and the Oregon coast gets epic. Scary big. Like 10-20 feet crash down pile drive your head into the sand bar big. So what makes the little wave pictured so absolutely, positively insane? This is a shot of Minnesota's North Shore, icy cold Lake Superior. All those years I could have been surfing...

Next time I go back to Minnesota, I'm bringin' a board. Just so I can surf in my home state. Bet the waves aren't crowded either.

Space News

Wide Range of Rocket Tech for Civilian Spaceflight.

By filling in niches, such as orbital and sub-orbital flight, once occupied by NASA, private space companies will free up the agency's resources for other missions.

"NASA's budget is 16.8 billion dollars-six-tenths of one percent of the federal budget," said Chris Shank, special assistant to NASA chief, Michael Griffin. "For us to finish the International Space Station, go to the Moon and then on to Mars is going to require commercial and international investments. NASA can't do it by itself."

Shank says the agency plans to shift some of the workload involved in getting to space onto private businesses, freeing up the agency to focus on its federally mandated Moon, Mars & Beyond mission. This is happening already. For example, NASA recently awarded Space Exploration Technologies (SpaceX) and Rocketplane Kistler to deliver crew and cargo to the ISS.

Do you mean to say that when Bush spoke so boldly of return to the Moon that he was just paying lip service to space endeavors? Hurray for unfunded mandates!

Who is dumber; the man who speaks such bullshit or those who actually believe it?

Regardless, I'm still waiting for the floating tattooed boobies. My childhood dreams are crumbling each day that we aren't building a city in space.

Go Twins!

Naughtoberfest

I dived in a little deep tonight. Doing nothing while in a recliner or on a couch in a relatively sedate room seemed so simple. Tonight I challenged myself to do nothing while sitting in the studio. This is a room where I spend my time browsing the internet, reading e-mail, watching videos, listening to music, and generally always occupying myself.

The initial urges were all about things I could be looking up online. After a bit this gave way to the desire to take off my boots. Such a simple thing, but the urge to stop doing nothing and take off my boots was much stronger than I would have thought. My brain was also bombarding me with images and sound samples. Synapses were firing at hyper speed providing no end to the torrential deluge. It eventually gave way to me smiling while realizing that I was experimenting in time travel. Yes it was all still forward, but I seemed to be traveling through it much more slowly than when I occupy myself. As this realization hit, I was shocked out of my nothingness by my computer monitor inexplicably coming to life. About 45 minutes had passed.

I now have this strange urge to do stretches before doing nothing.

Minneapolis Old School

This is primarily for the Swede Transvestite, but I figured some other MSP escapees might enjoy this site of Minneapolis architectural history. It's hosted at the site of James Lileks who used to have a fantastic late night radio show called The Diner. While he never came close to the pure radio genious that is Mishke (who could commit the cardinal radio sin of intentionally allowing dead air and actually see his ratings go up) The Diner had its moments and I listened regularly. One moment sticks out where a very sincere caller, an older lady judging by the voice, made the comment that they should all remember that there is only one true God. Lileks' engineer immediately agreed saying, "Yes! And it is Pan! The Goat God!" Classic.

Where was I... oh yeah. So, uh, buildings, you betcha.

From the Garbage Heap

At work a friend and I were discussing hipsters. We both knew where to find them on a Friday night, where they lived, what they looked like, and how they tended to behave. Wikipedia's definition of a modern hipster seems to confirm our ideas.

Since the late 1990s, the word hipster has resurfaced as an often derisive label for individuals or stereotypes of individuals devoted to retro fashions, independent music and film, alternative comics, and other youthful forms of expression outside the mainstream. The term is sometimes used as a blanket derogatory descriptor for fans of indie rock music.

Some stereotypical accessories of the modern hipster include Vespa scooters, Buddy Holly-style glasses, white belts, indie-rock band membership, Converse style shoes, and vintage clothing. Neighborhoods such as Northeast, Minneapolis; Wicker Park, Chicago; Williamsburg, Brooklyn; The Mission District, San Francisco; Capitol Hill, Seattle; Hollywood, Los Angeles; Pearl District, Portland and other, smaller concentrations across the country have become popular living and recreational destinations for hipsters. Cheap, alcoholic beverages such as Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer are sometimes associated with hipster culture.

But that doesn't answer a question we both raised. Where did hipsters come from? What brought about the hipster as we know it?

My current working theory is three-fold.

1. Hipsters were quiet, somewhat geeky high school kids from predominantly suburban middle class homes. I am using the IRS definition of middle class which means a household income of at least $100,000 a year but less than $500,000. This of course can be adjusted to local economies since it really has to do with living with privilege without realizing you are privileged. These kids were sent off to college where they first started to think of themselves as individuals. There they hooked up with similar suburban refugees and they all became 'individuals' together. Being privileged, educated individuals they naturally felt a certain degree of superiority to those who did not display the obvious signs of individuality, meaning, did not act like them.
2. Factor into this the tech boom of the 1990's. Very young and geeky kids of privilege had access to home computers growing up. They were either stuck in the suburbs where parents feared the influences of an outside world or were turned off by the society around them based on their experiences in the public school system. So they started to tinker with the computer, learning not just how to use it, but how to make it do new and interesting things. In their 20's and early 30's they found themselves in important positions and with lots of disposable income. Being geek was chic.
   
3. The people who tend to really set subculture styles are the artists. They tend to do it without trying. Poor, willing to spend all their money on more art supplies or band equipment while hitting the Salvation Army for clothes. But they have an eye for aesthetics. So they make interesting outfits from the leftovers of previous fashion trends. With faded jeans and old flannels being sold for a premium because of the grunge scene, they move on to whatever else they can find. Knit knee length skirts. Polyester pants. Old suit coats and leather smoking jackets. They pieced it together into something interesting. The consumers of fringe culture ate it up, wanting to be individuals just like their favorite artists that nobody had ever heard of.

Overly simplistic of course. Full of sweeping generalities that certainly do not apply to all hipsters. Just trying to figure out the origins of this subculture. Because while most subcultures have some fairly obvious origins and at least some redeeming qualities, they seem to be missing amongst the modern hip. While I am certain there is a beauty to the irony and banality of the hipsters, it is lost on most people including myself. I'm fairly confident it is lost on most of them, too. But unlike me, they are too hip to care.

Beer

Fuck 40's. This is a 64! That's right, an entire 6 pack of beer shoved into a single jug with a thumb loop to help prevent accidents. Not only that, but it is real beer that actually tastes good.

Then there's this little number. Don't let the pint bottle trick you into thinking this is a safer bet. Always read the fine print. Yep, 10% alcohol level in a beer. You pop the bottle cap and the hops aroma gently wafts into your nose and proceeds to pick a fight with any other smell that happens by. You take a sip and wonder if the Brits could have held India had their troops had an IPA like this. Then you finish the bottle and realize they would have lost it a lot quicker.

Both of these are American beers done right. They are also both now empty. Products like this make it easy to support American businesses.

Naughtoberfest

Do nothing month is off to a great start. This morning I laid around for a couple of hours. This afternoon I sat in a chair for almost an hour. I was roused from my intentional zoning out by my dad's weekly phone call. Towards the end of the conversation I mentioned something about saving up my vacation time to cash out at the end of the year. We said our goodbyes, hung up, and that's when I had an epiphany!

When I cash out my vacation time I'll have enough to buy all the surf gear I need. What a great end of the year gift to myself. My dedication has at least some pay-off. And all next year I can surf and surf and surf!

Doing nothing is sweet.

Fried Chicken

First, an AWPC from Friday. This one comes from a black co-worker of mine on his dining experience at Dennys.

E: So I order up some fried chicken and I'm like what the hell is this? I look back in the kitchen and there's a brutha back there. What brutha doesn't know how to cook fried chicken?

Exactly. That is why when I craved some fried chicken today, I drove the extra distance to go to Popeyes on MLK. Every metropolitan area has an MLK and every MLK has a Popeyes. And when a white boy walks into the Popeyes on MLK, no matter what city it is in, the odds are that he is the only white boy in the place. And being that it is Sunday, this white boy in ripped Carharts and faded shirt found himself surrounded by folks in their Sunday best. Which always looks better than the white folks in their Sunday best who insist on using the drive-through. Women were in big, beautiful hats that matched their over-done dresses. Men had on neatly pressed stetsons with their immaculate pin-stripes. Even the minister at the register next to me had a shimmering baby blue silk shirt and shiny silver crucifix on a thick silver chain. The whole scene is rich, warm, and friendly and this is only a freakin' Popeyes! To top the whole thing off with some grand irony, the sound system was pumping some Dr. John,

I been in the right place but it must have been the wrong time
I'd of said the right thing but I must have used the wrong line
I been in the right trip but I must have used the wrong car
My head was in a bad place and I'm wondering what it's good for

My only regret is that I decided not to get a beverage. A grape soda would have really topped off my meal.

Dirty Old Man

I'll admit it. I try to always go to the tobacconist on Thursdays because that's when the mid-twenties punky girl with septum ring and half sleeve is working. And she tends to wear thin white shirts with a black bra.

Is 33 too young to be a dirty old man? It's hard to tell if it is genetic or a learned trait. My dad started me off at the tender age of six months old. He'd take me to the park while my mom was working. There he would use me as bait to get young gals in low cut shirts to bend over in front of us with, "Oh, aren't you the cutest little baby? Yes you are. Yes you are." My grandfather was also a dirty old man who got into all kinds of trouble at the nursing home. So I'm at least third generation dirty old man. I bet it goes back a lot further than that.

Why is any of this relevant? Why should I mention it here? I just thought people should know that my mind works like Clinton's, Kennedy's, and Jefferson's. Considering the kind of great people that were dirty old men, there should be a club. I therefore proclaim the formation of the Social Order of Dirty Old Men! Who's with me? Who wants to be a SODOMite?

Tsunami!

Samoa quake causes small tsunami.

Thanks to my activities this summer, my first thought was, "Dude! I bet New Zealand's gonna get some killer surf."

Devil's Playground

Maybe there is some truth to the old adage, "Idle hands are the Devil's playground." While doing nothing, I kept thinking about evil. Not evil thoughts but thoughts about evil.

Like noted before, Hitler never killed a Jew but his followers did it for him. Bush never killed a Muslim but his followers have done it for him. Manson never killed anyone but his followers did it for him. Jesus never killed anyone but some of his followers...

Luckily, I have no followers. At least I don't think I do. If I do, please don't kill anyone. And when I say don't kill anyone I mean don't kill ANYONE! But only if you're a follower of mine.

Because maybe that's what evil really is, not thinking for yourself. Followers have done a lot of stupid things just because someone told them to do it. Don't be afraid of Bush, be afraid of those people with W stickers in their rear windows. Don't follow them. Change lanes.

But here's yet another interpretation. In the past 2,000 years, how many wars and mass exterminations have been started in the name of or with the supposed support of God? Allah? Buddha? Even the atheistic communists of the former Soviet Union had a go at death camps. Mass scale slaughter. Now how many wars and mass exterminations in the past two millennia were started in the name of or with the supposed support of Satan? How many death camps were set up by Wiccans to rid the world of infidels? Even the Thelemites with their, "Man has the right to kill those who would thwart these rights," how many holy crusades and inquisitions are hidden in their closets?

Seriously, if you can come up with one mass scale atrocity promulgated by Satanists, Witches, Hermetic Magicians, or even agnostics please comment or drop me a line. (Address at right.) Just don't start following me if you see truth in what I say. That would just be evil.

On Being Evil

Yesterday I was thinking about how evil I am. What should chance upon my wanderings today but a test to determine my evilness.

You Are 80% Evil

You are very evil. And you're too evil to care. Those who love you probably also fear you. A lot.

How Evil Are You?

But I take some exception to a few of the questions. Such as asking if I would kill for a million dollars if I was guaranteed not to get caught. That's not evil, it's psychotic. Evil is convincing someone else to do it for you and not sharing in the responsibility. Did Hitler ever gas a Jew? Hell no! He had other people do that for him. George W. Bush has never tortured an enemy combatant to extract information. He's evil and has other people do it for him. And last night when a co-worker wanted to prank someone's tool box, I didn't pitch in and help. I merely gave him suggestions as to how to seal the tool box and then mix oil, coolant, and raw rivets for the biggest possible mess to clean up. Because I am a lot more evil than a mere 80%.

Do Nothing Month

I am accepting the challenge! I declare October as Do Nothing Month. For the entire month of October I will spend at least 30 minutes every day doing nothing. This is followed by National Novel Writing Month. Last year as a NaNoWriMo participant I wrote Black Whole Son. This year I will spend November writing about my experience spending a month doing nothing.

Olbermann's Comment regarding the Clinton Interview

How can this guy comment for ten minutes straight on such a short news media event and manage to keep me engaged? He does it.

Crowley and 9/11

Did the occultist Aleister Crowley prophecize the attacks on the World Trade Center in Liber Al vel Legis (The Book of the Law)? The 911 Origami Prophecy presents their case. It's an occult twist on the well known bill folding exercise that purportedly shows the WTC burning. But this one uses $1 as a talisman and then $5-$100 sequentially as a story. Though I'm surprised they didn't grab the line; "III,7: I will give you a war-engine," as supporting evidence.

Nothing At All

Yesterday I spent a couple of hours doing nothing. I'm really good at it. Some folks say they've done nothing when what they've really done is watched TV, read a book, or maybe went for a walk. That's doing something. I just sat in a chair staring off blankly. It wasn't a sitting meditation. Meditation implies either focusing on a single thought or trying to clear your head of all thoughts. I didn't do that. My brain continued to wander and play out its thoughts unhindered by any effort on my part. I did nothing. What really amazes me about doing nothing is just how active the brain can be when not engaged by anything. There seems to be a fear of idleness in our culture. Let me suggest that everyone should do what they need to do and then try doing nothing for a while.

Welcome to the Devil's Playground.

South Park Character Generator

Thanks to Jewbacca for linking the new South Park Character Generator.

LEAP

This 13 minute video from Law Enforcement Against Prohibition explains why all drugs should be legal, from a cop's point of view.

Journal Entry

Was looking through an old journal and found something I'd like to share.

There's something inside me that wants out. It wants expression. I get this feeling often. I've had it for years now, off and on. It gives me this feeling that if I could just locate it and start the release process, all would fall into place. Some sort of chain reaction would take place that would propel itself out into eternity. At least my eternity. Have I seen it, felt it before? I want to say yes. I want to say that what needs release has its roots in something lost. No certainty of that, though. And even if that does hold true, I have no certainty that this lost bit comes from this incarnation's history. For that matter I hold no certainty that other incarnations have ever occurred. The lost bit could even come from some parallel existence. And that also raises doubts of its validity. No certainties anywhere. Just feelings and notions. On one day I can feel completely satisfied with my current state and then I wake up the next day with notions of regret. Do we merely make choices and proceed from them like some damn choose-your-own-adventure novel? Do we have options in front of us that we may deem right or wrong and will ultimately determine some sort of success or failure? I have no answers and feel like no one else does either. Perhaps some people just get lucky and call it truth.

Heed the words of the prophet. I know nothing and neither do you.

WWJD

The weekend is here and I think everyone is asking the same question.

What Would Jake Drink?

It's a beer weekend, folks. Right now there are two local beers rockin' my world. The first is Dead Guy Ale by Rogue. Everybody loves Dead Guy. From the folks who prefer a straight up American beer to the micro brew afficianados, Dead Guy Ale is a crowd pleaser. The other is Arrogant Bastard by Stone Brewing Company. This one is not for pansies. It pushes a strong combination of malt and hops to the limits of sanity and is high octane to boot.

A good night is a 22 of Arogant Bastard to kick start you followed by a jug of Dead Guy. That way when the cops catch you stumbling naked down the street you can say, "Honest officer. I've only had two beers."

Act Your Age

My 33rd birthday is only a few weeks away. Yesterday I got carded. It wasn't just a typical card everybody moment. The waitress at Acrop asked if I knew what I wanted then looked up from her note pad at my face and said, "Actually, I need to see your ID." I kept from busting out laughing.

For the first time in years I know exactly what I am going to do for my birthday. I'm going surfing. Mid-September to mid-August is the best time of year for the North Oregon coast. Storm swells are building off the coast while Easterly winds prevail, creating excellent waves averaging 7-12 feet. Once winter hits the waves get scary, 10-20 feet and some days are even bigger. In a year or two I hope to be a competent enough longboarder to catch some of those cold monsters. Birthday surfing should prove most excellent.

Mmm... Communism

The 400 richest people in America are all billionaires. If you took their combined net worth and divided it equally amongst all the working Americans with full time jobs (no need wasting it on slackers, right) we'd each get about $12,000. So a typical household would receive $24,000.

Five of the top ten (4-8) are Waltons and there are two other Wal-Mart folks on the list who thank you very much for your continued support. (The one Walton who disagreed with the family's business practices died in a mysterious but completely accidental and unrelated plane crash.) Imagine if they shared that wealth with their employees. Or if you're the greedy type, imagine how much less they could be selling you that crap for.

Remember, you are not being screwed. Paper money is practically worthless and the 105.9 million working Americans could seize the assets of the 400 fat cats whenever they like. There is no justice like angry mob justice. It will most likely never come to that, but if it did, the great masses tend to win these things.

On a scarier note, the 400 richest people in America combined couldn't pay off the national debt. In fact, all of America combined can't pay that off. But the dollar is real. It has value. Backed by the full faith and confidence of the US Government. No wonder they print "In God We Trust" on the stuff.

Sticks & Stones

Jay: What the fuck is the Internet?
Holden: The Internet is a communication tool used the world over where people can come together to bitch about movies and share pornography with one another.

If someone is smart, they will never read the reviews of their work. If they make the mistake of reading them, a smart person will brush it off with a laugh. It could even be argued that the smartest of people are those who never offer anything up for critique.

I made the mistake of reading some comments from my YouTube material. Bad Jake! Bad!



Why should a comment questioning my farming background get my goat? It seems obvious that such an individual needs a serious beating with a clue X 4. The video he commented on contained images of me on my parents' farm and doing farm work. He either didn't bother to watch the material or suffers from some degenerative brain disease that blocks out bits of information that don't fit his particular world view. Still, I initially got steamed. But I calmed down and can now deal with the situation in the traditional internet way. Hey 'desperado', bite me.

Then there was this guy.


No clue what he was trying to say with the second part of the statement. His statement about me being ugly made me rewatch the video. Was I less than prime that day? Laugh at my vanity, folks. Seemed to me that I looked about like my usual self that day, and that ain't ugly. But to each their own. Perhaps 'laughingBun', who is 18 and from Roseville, does not find piercings and a mohawk attractive. The video really had nothing to do with my sexiness. It was a rather poorly done comparison of party politics featuring my pups. Maybe he thought I was one of the dogs, but they aren't ugly either. Only one way to deal with this impromptu beauty pageant judge. 'laughingBun' can suck my left one.

When you put your material into the public eye, you are going to draw a lot of critics. If you feel a connection to that content, the criticism will hurt. But it can also be a great source of inspiration. Because these people said stupid, nasty things, I was tricked into re-evaluating my work. I determined that really, they were just bastards. Yes, those two vlogs marked some of my worst YouTube work to date, but their comments were still stupid. I can deal with stupidity. After all, I've had to deal with some real nasty stuff.

It would still be fun to do the Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back thing, though.

Banky: Well, *you're* in love. And you've both got your own monkey. What more could two guys from New Jersey want?
Jay: Well, to have all these fucks stop talking shit about us on the Internet.
Banky: What've I been telling you? There's nothing you can do about it. Unless you show up at all their houses and beat the shit out of them.

Young

Today I realized that I've still spent a lot more of my life depending on others than I have fending for myself. So it's okay that I haven't really figured all this shit out yet.

The Signs and Signals of Freemasonry

High Coup

Pow pow pow pow pow
Bang bang bang bang bang bang bang
Pow pow, bang bang bang

A & The

Confusing the uses of "a" and "the" has caused so much harm to the psyches of our youth, and psyche is the most important attribute. Or is it a most important attribute? Ask Rolfe. He'll give you a straight answer, but probably not the straight answer.

Father: You can be anything you want to be when you grow up.
Son: Even President?
Father: Even President.

Very true. While anyone can become a president, only a few crafty bastards with connections can become The President. Want to be president? Start your own business and give yourself that title. Or you can just declare the elections false and name yourself as President. Most people won't recognize your position as authentic, so you'll just be a president, not The President.

I'm a pope. If you know me, you're probably a pope, too, since I try to pope my friends. But most people will never accept you as The Pope. Don't feel too bad. The dress code for The Pope is far more restrictive than for a pope.

For millions of people, Jesus is The Savior. I am my own redeemer. I am a savior. It will stay that way unless millions of people start viewing me as their salvation. Please don't do that. I like the job of prophet a lot better. Any Muslim will tell you I am not The Prophet.

I have seen The Five Foot Beaver. In saying that, I forsake all other five foot beavers as somehow false. Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? Yet people are more than happy to have The President, The Pope, and The Savior. Personally I put a lot more faith in The Five Foot Beaver. May you infidels who have not witnessed its awesomeness be washed away when the rivers flood. Thus sayeth The Prophet!

High Coup

Bipartisanship
Democrats can suck my balls
Republicans too

Just Preparing for the Real World

Business grad students most likely to cheat: study.

Life is Good

Yesterday I did NOT get hit by a semi rolling through a stop sign while taking a wide turn.

My 600th Post!

Alcohol use helps boost income: study

Sho raishe a glassh with me! To shix hundred poshtsh and higher wagesh! Cheersh... hic

FREE WILLIE!

Because a 73-year old pot smoking musician is such a threat to society.

How To Speak Without Saying Anything

Holy crap! Has Bush been reading my blog?

Bush says pope sincere in apology on Islam.

Reading through this article was amazing. People issue official comments on all sides of the issue but the statements contain no substance. Seriously, loads of talk with nothing being said.

In short, Bush thinks the Pope was sincere in offering an apology that wasn't really an apology and the Prime Minister of Malaysia accepted that Bush felt that way. While some Muslims don't care, others do.

In other news, those unable to eat chocolate cake often do not. Film at eleven.

You're So Vain...

You probably think this post is about you.

Nerd Fortress

My good friend Rolfe, who by divine right is King of the Nerds, was in Seattle this weekend. Since I love Rolfe so much, even though he only gave me one week's notice, my wife and I drove up to Seattle for a quick visit with him on Sunday. By quick visit I mean four hours in a Chinese restaurant until it closed, about 3 hours at a Shari's, and another hour driving around and getting lost in Renton trying to find the apartment of the individual they were staying with. Never trust a person who has never had a driver's license to give you good directions. Not saying they can't, just saying you've got better odds in Vegas.

I mentioned he was King of the Nerds, and it was in this role that he and his lovely queen found themselves in Seattle for an invitation only gaming convention. The convention was being held in the home of an employee of Wizards of the Coast and I was to meet Rolfe there. From the outside it looked like a very typical suburban subdevelopment in beige. These neighborhoods are everywhere in America and they always scare the hell out of me. I was half expecting to see a Ford Escort parked along the street with a "My Other Car is a StarShip" bumper sticker. No stereotypes on the street.

Inside was a totally different matter. I'm familiar with nerds and geeks, so a house full of twenty and thirty-somethings at multiple tables throwing dice, laying down cards, and strategically moving miniatures across a map doesn't frighten me. I'd say I feel more unease walking in on a group of guys crowded around a big screen TV and shouting at a ref several states away. So seeing people gaming in the den, dining room, backyard, bedroom, and over-sized walk-in closet while a few took a break in the family room by watching anime, no big deal. But the house, well, that was something I just never really thought existed. The idea of such a place never crossed my mind. In most respects it was a stereo-typical over-sized three bedroom suburban home, very clean, very bright, beige carpet, nice furniture, exactly what one would expect to find in a place like Kent. But the book shelves were filled with Role-playing and strategy games. More than carried by most game shops I went into as a teen. The theme throughout the house was fantasy. Everything was swords and dragons. I have swords and dragons. But the are only a part of the whole. This was some serious fantasy fixation fed by a middle class income. Room after room, every wall, upstairs and down, it was all swords and dragons, dragons and swords.

In that moment my prior career strategy came rushing back to me. I had tried for two years solid to land a job with a video game company. The people I knew in that industry were not all that different from those whose home I now stood in. They loved video games, played video games constantly, always bought the latest consoles, and followed industry trends. My level of technical skill was meaningless, as was my creativity. Without that kind of passion behind me, I never stood a chance in that industry. As a kid who found ways to entertain himself alone on a farm without card games or Nintendo, my fantasies took on a very quixotic flavor. My dragons were slain with sword in hand and I moved on. I was a freak amongst geeks.

But it was freakin' awesome to see Rolfe. He may not live in such a castle (yet), but he is still the secret King of the Nerds.

Cake and Eat It

The Pope apologizes! He's sorry that muslims are too stupid to understand that he was quoting from an independent source so he wouldn't have to take credit for how he really feels. Of course I'm paraphrasing, not quoting.

Muslims demanded an apology, the Pope apologized, looks like we can all forget the whole thing happened.

High Coup

Government will walk
Up, down, and all over you
When given the chance

23rd Blog Post This Month

Do I over blog? Considering this is my 23rd post in 17 days, 5 of which were video blogs, plus one podcast and a wall paper, while I have a readership of maybe a dozen people...

And that's not counting the stuff over at my other blog. (Which has a huge readership but I hardly ever post to.)

Yeah, I might be over doing it a bit. Or that huge cross-section of America often invoked by presidents, the silent majority, is lurking around here with hopeful hearts just waiting to hear the next words of the prophet. That would just be creepy. I know I could get a site meter. I used to check the stats on my other blog. I was getting 1000 hits a day during the week and 2000 a day on weekends last I checked. When you get hits like that you start feeling like you have a responsibility to your fan base. Fuck that. I do this for my own amusement and have comments turned on because they often amuse me as well.

Ich bin nicht der zentrierte Selbst!

High Coup

Fuck Bush and Cheney
Freedom took a holiday
No one even cares

Creativity Potion

An advertising archive has commissioned a witch to forge a creativity potion.

Why I Hate America

Reprinted in full without permission. Found at Disinfo.com.

Mickey Z: Why I Hate America

"Why do you hate America?" This is a remarkably easy question to provoke. One might, for instance, expose elements of this nation's brutal foreign policy. Ask a single probing question about, say, U.S. complicity in the overthrow of governments in Guatemala, Iran, or Chile and thin-skinned patriots (sic) will come out of the woodwork to defend their country's honor by accusing you of being "anti-American." Of course, this allegation might lead me to ponder how totalitarian a culture this must be to even entertain such a concept, but I'd rather employ the vaunted Arundhati defense. The incomparable Ms. Roy says: "What does the term 'anti-American' mean? Does it mean you are anti-jazz or that you're opposed to freedom of speech? That you don't delight in Toni Morrison or John Updike? That you have a quarrel with giant sequoias?" (I'm a tree hugger remember? I don't argue with sequoias.)

When pressed, I sometimes reply: "I don't hate America. In fact, think it's one of the best countries anyone ever stole." But, after the laughter dies down, I have a confession to make: If by "America" they mean the elected/appointed officials and the corporations that own them, well, I guess I do hate that America-with justification.

Among many reasons, I hate America for the near-extermination and subsequent oppression of its indigenous population. I hate it for its role in the African slave trade and for dropping atomic bombs of civilians. I hate its control of institutions like the United Nations, World Bank, International Monetary Fund, and World Trade Organization. I hate it for propping up brutal dictators like Suharto, Pinochet, Duvalier, Hussein, Marcos, and the Shah of Iran. I hate America for its unconditional support for Israel. I hate its bogus two-party system, its one-size-fits-all culture, and its income gap. I could go on for pages but I'll sum up with this: I hate America for being a hypocritical white supremacist capitalist patriarchy.

After a paragraph like that, you know what comes next: If you hate America so much, why don't you leave? Leave America? That would potentially put me on the other end of U.S. foreign policy. No thanks.

I like how Paul Robeson answered that question before the House Un-American Activities Committee in 1956: "My father was a slave and my people died to build this country, and I'm going to stay right here and have a part of it, just like you. And no fascist-minded people like you will drive me from it. Is that clear?"

Since none of my people died to build anything, I rely instead on William Blum, who declares, "I'm committed to fighting U.S. foreign policy, the greatest threat to peace and happiness in the world, and being in the United States I the best place for carrying out the battle. This is the belly of the beast, and I try to be an ulcer inside of it."

Needless to say, none of the above does a damn thing to placate the yellow ribbon crowd. It seems what offends flag-wavers most is when someone like me makes use of the freedom they claim to adore. According to their twisted logic, I am ungrateful for my liberty if I have the audacity to exercise it. If I make the choice to not salute the flag during the seventh inning stretch at Yankee Stadium, somehow I'm not worthy of having the freedom to make the choice to not salute the flag during the seventh inning stretch at Yankee Stadium. These so-called patriots not only claim to celebrate freedom while refusing my right to exploit it, they also ignore the social movements that fought for and won such freedoms.

There's plenty of tolerated public outcry against the Bush administration and the occupation of Iraq, but it's neither fashionable nor acceptable to go as far as saying, no, I do not support the troops and yes, I hate what America does. Fear of recrimination allows the status quo to control the terms of debate. Until we voice what is in our hearts and have the nerve to admit what we hate . . . we will never create something that can be loved.

Mickey Z is the author of 50 American Revolutions.

Jake Explains the Fed

There was some nastiness with getting this republished here, but I took some advice and edited the sound down so the explanation is more audible.

10 Years of Conspiracy

Happy Birthday to Disinformation!

News Flash!

Swedish voters better looking than American voters!

Blood Rites

In religious practice there is perhaps nothing more controversial than the blood ritual.

Choosing to bestow upon some incorporeal entity a gift of that which is the very essence of our corporeal form can be a very strong statement. It is easy to argue that demons, angels, and gods are metaphors for those things we fear, desire, or aspire to. As such a symbolic sacrifice, such as using wine instead of blood or a hunk of bread to represent the flesh, should prove adequate in ritual if the intent is whole. A blood sacrifice is only necessary for literalists.

Malachi 1:8: And if ye offer the blind for sacrifice, is it not evil? and if ye offer the lame and sick, is it not evil? offer it now unto thy governor; will he be pleased with thee, or accept thy person? saith the LORD of hosts.

But the choice to use fresh blood drawn from the adorer at the time of the ritual is an unmistakable sentiment. The ritualist proves (if only to himself) that they are committed to the act by enduring or transcending the physical pain. They then offer a bit of their own life to manifest the ideals attributed to the egregore that is the focus of the rite. It is a very real sacrifice.

Leviticus 1:11-13: And he shall kill it on the side of the altar northward before the LORD: and the priests, Aaron's sons, shall sprinkle his blood round about upon the altar. And he shall cut it into his pieces, with his head and his fat: and the priest shall lay them in order on the wood that is on the fire which is upon the altar: But he shall wash the inwards and the legs with water: and the priest shall bring it all, and burn it upon the altar: it is a burnt sacrifice, an offering made by fire, of a sweet savour unto the LORD.

The ritualist is again reminded of the reality of their sacrifice throughout the next day when isopropynol, oil, acetone, and coolant constantly enflame the source.

The Truth About 9.11

This is how my morning went.

I woke up today at 9:10, looked at the clock, and fell back asleep. I then awoke again at 9:12, 9:11 passing by as strange visions I hope to someday understand. The truth is I will never understand those images that were broadcast across my screen in what seemed to last an eternity, but was only a moment. Professionals can give me their opinions, but they don't know either. We would all just be trying to make sense of the weirdness using what ever tools we have at our disposal. Trying to understand what it all means is like reaching out to touch the fog. It seems so solid, so real, but as you grasp at it, you realize there is nothing there to hold. Nothing to do but breathe it in and experience it whether you want to or not.

I rolled over and went back to sleep after that. At 10:38 I woke from a restless sleep, masturbated, and passed out again. I opened my eyes at 12:03, closed them again, dozed off, and finally woke up at 11:34. I'm not sure how that last one happened, but that's what I experienced.

I also don't know for certain how 9.11 happened.

Coffee Thoughts

This afternoon I paid a visit to my favorite drug den, the Red & Black, for a mind altering dosage of caffeine. My usual coffee ritual involves three tall glasses in rapid succession combined with frantic journaling. When my hands are shaking so badly that my writing turns into chaotic scribbles on the page, I hop back on the chopper, ripped out of my gourd, and ride home. It still amazes me that driving under the influence of a heavy caffeine dose is legal. How do those Starbucks junky soccer moms do it?

One of my ponderings during the ritual involved the Sanskrit Sri Syadasti principle. Translated it says,

All things are true in some sense, false in some sense, meaningless in some sense, true and false in some sense, true and meaningless in some sense, false and meaningless in some sense, and true, false, and meaningless in some sense.

Of course that means that the above passage is true in some sense, false in some sense, meaningless in some sense, true and false in some sense, true and meaningless in some sense, false and meaningless in some sense, and true, false, and meaningless in some sense. Contemplating the ramifications of this I felt enlightened, in some sense.

Requiem For the Psychedelic Revolution

I wrote this around the time of Hunter S. Thompson's death and recorded the audio version shortly afterwards. I hope you enjoy it.


Subscribe Free for future posts  Add this player to my Page

Blog Song

Daily Meditation

For Your Own Good

Someone really needs to buy me one of these so that I can continue to post wipe-out footage that entertains you for at least two minutes. Admit it. It's a worthwhile investment.

I Am Not A Pusher

As we get closer to the five year anniversary of what was either an extremely well planned terrorist attack by some dessert hicks or an extremely well staged media event by some good ol' boy politicians, the news gets fnordy. And as I watched some 'new' footage of 'bin Laden' meeting with the '9/11 terrorists' which seems to be released with very curious timing, and my thoughts tell me to link it, I say, "NO!"

Yes, I find it strange that al Qaeda number 2's are constantly dropping like flies while their strikingly tall leader dashes from cave to cave while hooked to his dialysis machine. Yes, I question why al Qaeda would video tape themselves training for a terrorist attack. The twisted tale I piece together from various news outlets looks something like Ralph Steadman paying homage to M. C. Escher.

This reality is created by what I choose to bombard my synapses with. While I enjoy the altered states of consciousness that can be created when trying to make sense of the news, I would not wish this mind fuck on anyone else. And since X is trying to abstain from the news, I'm keeping my stash for myself. And I'll still have plenty of weird shit to throw your way.

I'd Like To Try Porky Pig

Over at Hookers on Stilts, Britt is making and accepting suggestions as to who could play her in the story of her life. As is usually the case when reading things I haven't written, I found myself trying to apply the content of the text to myself.

Who could play Jake in a film adaptation of my life? Hmm...

Sorry, can't think of a single person. I don't know of a single tall actor who can pull off my appearance while contorting his mouth into failed over-enunciation and still be thought of as cute and nice. But I would make one hell of a Muppet.

What's The Dif?

Not even going to link to the articles. Don't care. But I love it when I see a headline change for an article. When I first saw the headline it read;

Bush admits to secret prisons

How does reading that headline make you feel? Examine your initial reactions closely. Now read what they later changed the headline into;

Bush admits CIA has held terror suspects

Same story.

Atheo-Anarchist Stingrays

Watch The Show.

If You Don't See The Fnords, They Can't Hurt You

Some people will do anything for attention.

Bush compares Bin Laden to Hitler.

On The Dear Old Farm

Don't get the wrong impression. I actually agree with most of Bree's observations on Stupid Conveniences. But synapses fire, cerebral storm clouds form, and I can't pass up the opportunity.

Chopper Tales

New story of this weekend's motorcycle exploits over at the Easy Rider site.

Still Fisting...

Here's a wallpaper for all you Jake Boosters.

AWPC

My maintenance co-worker called in sick today leaving me to tend to all the machines on my own. It was an extremely good night. I managed to keep the machines running just fine with enough down time to BS with the machinists and tool and die guys (and prank my boss). I was talking about old roadsters and choppers with the machinist right around break time when an operator flipped on their blue maintenance light. I turned to the machinist:

Oh shit, she's turning her light on again. I better go to break.

Sweet Constancy

This old house I rent is at least consistent. All winter it tends to be cold. Today, even though outside it is a beautiful summer day, it was still cold in the house. So cold I initially feared getting out of bed. I awoke from dreams of turning on the space heater. That means the bedroom AC only gets turned on about 5 days a year during the major heat waves.

Bonk!

I just witnessed a squirrel throwing pine cones with great accuracy at the yellow dog's head.

Look Twice

For my RSS feeds I recently added a surfing news feed and placed it where the adult industry news feed was, relegating the former to a lower slot. Sometimes I look at headlines in one and confuse which source it is from for a moment. Imagine my relief when I realized that my mind had temporarily mis-attributed the headline Hot Tuna Summer of '69 BPSA tour event completed.

The Aristocrats

So a family walks into a talent agent's office and says, "We've got an act you might be interested in."

Without even looking up the talent agent says, "I've already heard this one a thousand times this week. The cleaning bill is bankrupting me. Not interested." With that he presses a red button on his desk. Two large security guards enter the office and escort the family outside.

Peter turns to his sister Jane and his daughter Bridget and says, "Maybe Disney would be interested."

Fill 'er Up

Somebody finally took the film Sechs Schwedinnen von der Tankstelle and brought it closer to reality.

Australian brothels are offering clients discounts based on their gas bills... Brothel owners claim the system works much the same way as supermarkets which offer shoppers discounted gas prices by presenting their grocery bills when they fill up their tanks... Once you've filled up your car, bring your receipt to the brothel and they'll discount the price of your visit.

In the film clients get over-charged because the Swedish girls keep the pump running while providing full service. I like the economics of the Australian version better.

And here's an extremely NSFW clip from Six Swedes at a Pump. No nudity, no profanity, no violence, but getting caught watching it at work would still prove awkward. This is one of the strangest and silliest pieces of adult entertainment you're likely to ever see, with everyone fully clothed.