On Sandra Bland & Racism

Odds are, this is probably going to be the longest apology you're going to read today. Ever since Mike Brown's death, Eric Garner's death, Tamir Rice's death, and now the highly suspicious death of activist Sandra Bland (as well as hundreds of other black Americans whose names are escaping me at the moment) some wheels have started turning in my head and today I'd like to share what they've churned out. There seems to be a great deal of confusion and misunderstanding regarding concepts such as privilege and institutionalized racism, as well as an often misunderstood concept called Cultural Appropriation, which isn't going to be the main focus of this entry, but I will discuss it briefly. 

Unless you've been living under a rock for the last year or so, then you've probably noticed that black Americans of varying ages & backgrounds are dying horrific, unnecessary deaths at the hands of police. I'd like to think that we live in a fair & just society, as I WOULD LOVE to actually live in a fair & just society, but I've long ago accepted the reality of the world we ACTUALLY live in being chaotic, unfair, and occasionally downright cruel: This is a fact of life, "welcome to Earth" in all it's horror & glory, but I think that a lot of people who have this kind of mentality often forget that many of these kinds of 'cruelties' in life are easily preventable.

I'd hate to be a cop right now. Good or bad, people are watching the cops like their rights depend on it, mostly because THEY DO.

In my many past conversations with black squad-mates, co-workers and friends, I've noticed that certain jokes and anecdotes would often dominate those conversations. Most notable, sarcastic references to police fucking with them during traffic stops. Sure, I've been stopped by police for things like speeding or running a stop sign, but the worst that I'VE ever walked away from was a $200 ticket for having an expired registration (Note: In light of recent events, if you're ever pulled over within city limits of Westbrook Maine, it might be a good idea to have a camera handy.) True, my tags waere, in fact, expired, by a few months if I recall correctly; but every time I told my story among black Americans, the follow-up with almost always take a strange turn. For a long time it seemed very strange to me, that I just rather assumed that because the law said that cops HAVE TO regard the public fairly, that by default THEY WOULD. The general idea that I took from these conversations was that I could consider myself (a then-20-something year old white woman) lucky that they didn't pull me out of the car and kick my ass.

Up until recently, I thought of these sardonic responses with an air of humor to them. But lately, with every headline of black Americans dying in full view of rolling cameras, or even within jail cells, I can't quite summon the same cynical 'humor' that I used to. The more I see the parents & families of the dead plead for inquiries and investigations, I guess I no longer find racism "funny."

The fact that NOT ONCE has a traffic stop made me fear for my life speaks volumes to the sick reality of something called White Privilege.

I already know that I spend way too much time on Tumblr, but not for the reasons you're probably assuming (now that I've dropped that particular phrase.) Allow me to attempt to explain how concepts such as privilege ACTUALLY work, at least so far as I presently understand them:

WHITE PRIVILEGE IS

• Not having to be afraid of cops searching your home or vehicle without probable cause
• Reasonable confidence in a prospective employer reading your resume AND actually calling you for an interview, especially if your name is a common one that is easily pronounced
• The rarity of anyone looking twice at you playing your music loudly as you drive by
• Strangers NOT touching your hair or asking you weird questions about it

WHITE PRIVILEGE IS NOT

• The perceived "ability" to say the word without consequence... you know the one of which I speak

I realize that these examples aren't perfect, but this is the best way I can explain them because these are based from my own experiences, especially when I cross reference them with the experiences of those around me, especially people of color. I'll address the specific subject of the word later in this post, that's where the apology will come in. In light of recent events, both the suspicious death of Sandra Bland as well as the controversy about the Confederate flag, I will still adamantly defend free speech, but I must emphasize that free speech IS NOT freedom from consequence: If you want to wave the "stars & bars" from the back of your truck, regardless of your motivations for doing so, that's your right because it's YOUR property and therefore YOUR consequence to bear. As for flying it on State or Federal property, basically anything paid for by taxpayers, that's a NO-GO: Why should black Americans, or anyone for that matter, have to pay for that to be displayed on public lands? Why should I, as an atheist, have to pay for a 10 commandments "monument" to be erected on government property when they embody an institution that endorses hate and violence against me just because I exist? 

If it's a private citizen slapping a sticker on their vehicle or a flag on their own private property, then whatever; I couldn't care less what Jimmy-Joe-Bobby-Danny-Frank does with HIS OWN STUFF. When a GOVERNMENT ENTITY flies a Confederate flag, or puts up a giant cross, however, THAT IS NOT FREE SPEECH: That's showing undue favor toward a particular ideal that may or may not represent the people or their best interests, especially when doing so involves use of taxpayer money. Amazon & Wal-Mart no longer carrying Confederate flag merchandise is ALSO not (technically) a violation of free speech because they are PRIVATELY OWNED BUSINESSES, and their CEO's & Shareholders can make whatever decisions they please, and to the best of my knowledge, that particular decision was made completely voluntarily. 

Contrary to popular belief, white people CAN say the word: It's prefectly legal and is, in most situations, protected speech. We just have no fucking business whatsoever doing so, which brings me to my apology for having done so...

Sometime about a year or so ago, I remember getting into a discussion about race with some friends on Twitter. I don't remember what started it, exactly, but I do remember a brief discussion about the word and how there was a perceived superficial "difference" between black Americans and a group of people categorized under the word. This was roughly around the same time that Atheism Plus started evicting people from their elite ranks & pre-emptively banning people on Twitter for even hinting that they disagreed with their organization or their opinions. Again, they're a private entity and legally they can do so, but they still suck: Yes, I've somehow managed to find my way on their stupid little shit-list, but to my surprise, it's NOT for the reason I'm about to apologize for.

During this conversation, I recall making a tweet about "loving & respecting black people," and then "hating..." well, I used THE WORD. I used the word to categorize an entire race of human beings in the perjorative, I did so of my own volition but thinking that somehow there was an ACTUAL difference. I tweeted a racial slur against black Americans, I did this (at the time) thinking that I was being distinctive and "edgy" but in light of recent events, I now realize just how fucked up and wrong that was of me to do.

I am sorry: I should not have done this, I see now how divisive and damaging the word is, and in the future I promise not to use it again.

Some people close to me are probably going to be pretty pissed off at me over it, and I can't rightly say that I'd blame them: You have every right to be disappointed and angry at me, and please go right ahead and let me know if you do. Your anger is justified and I'm not even going to bother trying to justify it or explain it away. Twitter is forever, opinions and beliefs are not. The recent exposure of police brutality, as well as ongoing conversations about race and privilege, have forced me to confront my pre-existing ideas and opinions.

Especially in terms of language and actions.

I don't expect anyone to readily accept my apology, but I am genuinely remorseful for having done this.

Suicide as a Moral Choice

After a particular headline popped up on my news-feed a few days ago, I've been at a total loss for words. I can hardly imagine what a slap-in-the-face that diagnosis must have been for this young woman who's life is practically JUST BEGINNING, then came the dumb-fuckery from the religious right (as usual) like a stopped-up toilet. Let's just think about this situation for a moment: Pretend you're under 30 years old, just got hitched to the love of your life and then one day - BAM! - terminal cancer diagnosis. You would have had an entire life of experiences to enjoy and decisions to make for yourself, and suddenly you realize that circumstances completely beyond your realm of control have robbed you of all that. The closest comparison that I can think of would be spending your entire life's savings on your dream-house only to discover (too late, mind you) that something is so horribly wrong with it that soon it will no longer be fit for human habitation & is about to be condemned. Well fuck, NOW what are you supposed to do? You've already dumped every penny that you had into the house itself AND moving all your stuff into it, you COULD wait six months and try to save up everything you can but you know it won't be anywhere near enough.

Should you walk away? Or stay for as long as you are able to do so? 

This isn't supposed to be easy, mostly because LIFE isn't supposed to be easy: Struggles and tragedies will happen, but so will joy and accomplishment. What I'm talking about here is another human being making a conscious decision to permanently eliminate all of their own possibilities of any of those things ever happening ever again: Death. As the late George Carlin once put it, "It's the most profound thing that you can do with your life: End it." And on the whole, I don't disagree; especially in the wake of Robin Williams' death, the SECOND TIME in my entire life that I've ever cried over the death of a celebrity. The first, of course, being for George Carlin. 

Despite what years of Army training tells me, I don't think that suicide is in any way morally wrong. The reason I say this is because ultimately, I have no more right to tell another person what to do with their own bodies than they do for mine: This includes contraception, tattoos, sex, drugs and abortion. During my military career, I intervened in 3 battle-buddy suicide warnings. I did so because I honestly believed that I was doing the right thing for them and for everyone else, and maybe it WAS. Also, I honestly believed that if I KNEW someone was considering doing it, then they ACTUALLY did it, that I could be held liable for DOING NOTHING. Now that I'm out of the military, I'm looking back at my decision and I'm questioning my motivations: I should note that I am not in any way saying nor implying that I wanted for those people to die, so if that's what you're thinking after reading this you can get that foolish notion out of your head RIGHT FUCKING NOW. Looking back, did I really have any right to make such a decision FOR THEM? All three were adults, one suffered from a diagnosed mental illness, and the other two were close friends of mine. One of them is still very much alive, I honestly don't know about the other two. Is it "right" to infringe on another person's bodily autonomy because of the effect that it MIGHT HAVE if that individual chooses to die?

My answer is NO, but even then I still struggle with the idea of 'doing nothing' when a loved one, or even a stranger, is contemplating the act. Decisions require reasons for making them, wether it's getting more ink in one's skin, ending their own life or even what to eat for lunch: Have I thought about the consequences of this specific action? What could happen if this doesn't go the way that I planned? Is there a chance that I haven't considered all of my possible options? Would the cost of this action outweigh any forseeable benefit? 

I don't think that suicide is "selfish" any more than procreating, pursuing an education or joining the military would be: The only person that truly owns your life & your body is YOU, and that means that it's yours to do with as you wish, to whatever end.

And as far as the "coward's way out" idea goes, I have a few problems with that sentiment: For starters, it assumes that you have some sort of special rights or claim over the person who chose to end their own life, like you think you have some grand plan for that person and they just up and decided to flip YOU the final finger. Which, it stands to reason, if you genuinely DID have any control over the lives of others, they wouldn't have been able to commit suicide in the first place. Second, if there are really "as many ways to grieve as there are people in the world," then there are as many reasons to voluntarily choose death that just so happen to be inconvenient for you. Third, you can't own another human being, so you ultimately cannot possibly expect to own their thoughts, feelings, decisions or actions: The odds are good that their reasons for choosing suicide probably had nothing at all to do with you, unless they left a very detailed note specifically saying otherwise (at which point, I should add, many people that DO kill themselves don't always leave notes) so in the end, there's no way you can know for certain. Lastly, Who the fuck do you think you are to speak of the motivations and actions of another human being that can no longer speak for themselves? That's a tad arrogant, no? 

These are just my thoughts and opinions on the matter, I do not necessarily (situation depending) condone nor condemn people for killing themselves. I am sad that Robin Williams is dead, but I also realize that he didn't owe it to me, or anyone, to continue existing for the benefit of others. I am also sad about the terrible predicament that Brittany Maynard has found herself in, but she's made her decision and all I can really do is wish her the best of luck no matter what the outcome. 

And yes, I have lost loved ones to suicide. I still don't have any right to force my own judgements or decisions onto other people, and at the heart of it all, neither do you.

Atheist Imprisoned, Faces Imminent Death

Mubarak Bala is a Nigerian atheist currently being held against his will at a mental hospital in Kano. Last week, he was severely beaten and confined to a psych ward in a part of Nigeria known for being oppressed under sharia law by Islamic militants (no confirmation so far that Boko Haram is responsible for this). When the hospital staff FINALLY permitted his family to visit him, his mother managed to smuggle his phone into his room for him: That was the last time she was seen alive.

People are probably sick to death of being asked to sign petitions from Facebook and Twitter, but THIS IS A REAL PERSON who is facing being savagely murdered FOR THE IMAGINARY CRIME OF DISAGREEING WITH PEOPLE!

Godless Mom's blog has further instructions on how you can help #FreeMubarak (not the Egyptian, the Nigerian)

You can also sign the Change.org petition, and don't forget to check out Virtuarat as well.

PLEASE SHARE, UP-VOTE, TWEET, REBLOG & REPOST THE SHIT OUT OF THIS! A human being's life is in danger and we need to get the word out!

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22-JUNE-2014 UPDATE: A Human Rights attorney has been contacted on behalf of Mubarak Bala and is working on building his case

While his friends and family welcome any and every effort made to spare his life, I urge you to KEEP SHARING THIS and GET AS MANY SIGNATURES AS YOU CAN!

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23-JUNE-2014 UPDATE: The Canadian branch of The Huffington Post published an article featuring Mubarak's situation. The Change.org petition is at about 1,400 signatures so far, please don't give up!

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23-JUNE-2014 BREAKING: According to MSNBC, there was an attack on a hospital in Kano, Nigeria. Oh I do hope that it's not the same one...

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24-JUNE-2014 UPDATE: I'm happy to report that the explosion mentioned in the previous update WAS NOT at the hospital where Mubarak is being held. Also, a Human Rights lawyer was able to speak with Mubarak in person recently at great length, the lawyer (who wishes to remain anonymous) said he is otherwise physically well despite the dire situation. I will keep updating as often as I reasonably can.

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25-JUNE-2014 UPDATE: Here's a clip of "Deezer234" talking about Mubarak's situation on a radio broadcast (The video feature for this blog seems to be down for some reason.)

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29-JUNE-2014 UPDATE: This is the latest report from NBC News regarding Mubarak's state of being. He's being given a lot of drugs and having difficulty sleeping.

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3-JULY-2014 BREAKING: According to Godless Mom, Mubarak has FINALLY been released from his involuntary commitment and is getting ready to make a statement to the public soon!

The Left Field: Episode 9

I very recently had the pleasure of being featured on a British Video-Podcast called The Left Field. I had to wake up very bright and early, I made just enough coffee for John & me, however I neglected to leave enough time for a decent breakfast. Just as my "invite" to the Google+ Hangout was received, my cat knocked over my half-full coffee mug (and I would swear that she did it on purpose) spilling my only chemical addiction all over the bedsheets that I washed & folded not even four days ago. 

Little bitch. 

I pop into view about 6 minutes into this episode (which lasts about 2 hours) and you can clearly see me trying to wipe up my favorite morning beverage from the surface of the very bed that I was sitting on. Please enjoy Episode 9 of The Left Field, co-starring myself along with several other Veterans & Soldiers from the US as well as all over the UK: 

COMING SOON: I will soon be a guest speaker on a future episode of the famous Australian podcast "The Herd Mentality" being interviewed by it's host, Adam Reakes. 

I can hardly wait ^_^

RANT: Suicide

My Grandmother, Josephine, lived to be 99 years old. In the last month or so of her life she didn't lament never being able to make it to her 100th birthday, she knew she was very ill and likely going to die very soon (this was in 2012.) She was living at my Aunt & Uncle's house in Patchogue, New York, a nurse and a Catholic priest would stop by the house every other day to see that she was comfortable and being taken care of (my Aunt & Uncle aren't bad people, per se, they just have no concept of "bedside manner" or how to take care of a dying person) and my Mom made a special trip from Maine to stay with her for a few weeks. About 10 days after my Mom was back in Maine, my Grandmother passed away in her sleep.

Death comes for us all: Christian, Muslim, Wiccan, Scientologist, and yes, Atheists like me. While I wasn't exactly surprised to learn about my Nan's death due to her slowly failing health, it still hit me like a speeding Mack Truck: A person that I grew up with will no longer be in my life, I will never hear her voice or see her face again outside of old family home movies. Nan left existence as peacefully as she lived her life, and now her remains are in a Catholic cemetery on Long Island. I will never again get to give her a hug or see her smile, she's gone.

I was yanked from a Field Training Exercise to go to her funeral, my husband called me and told me the news: For some fucked up reason I'm always the last person in my family to find out when something bad has happened or when someone dies.

About a month ago I learned that a former squad-mate, US Army SPC Steven M Hays, was found dead inside his vehicle with an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound. When I first met Steven I was so badly dehydrated that I was pretty much completely delirious, our unit had decided that it would be a BRILLIANT IDEA to drag everyone out to an obstacle course and make everyone run it in the height of September with the Arizona sun blasting it's ultra-violet hatred on everyone: You know, to boost unit cohesion and some good clean "fun." So after ranting, yelling and swearing at my entire Company (and apparently my Commanding Officer as well) I was taken to the ad-hoc Med-Station (Which was basically a Humvee with a tank of water and some stretchers) and then I completely blacked out. It would seem one of the Soldiers I had inadvertently cussed out was Steven: Um, sorry 'bout that. 

The following Duty Day, he came to me and asked me what the fuck I was going on about: I told him a very abbreviated version of my story, he recalled to me some of the crazy shit I apparently screamed at everyone, our friendship was sealed from that point forward. I was never terribly popular in my old Unit to begin with, engaging in an act of consensual sex with another grown adult (a concept that our military has always struggled with) during the deployment in Iraq didn't improve my odds with them either, but unlike the other Soldiers who tried their damnedest to make me into a pariah, Steven at least took the time to say "Hello" to me when he could, in a group of people who could obviously have cared less if I had lived or died, it was a shining relief to see at least one other person who was glad that I was alive.
 

The difference between an otherwise natural death versus a suicide is that while both tend to be an emotional surprise, news of a suicide just doesn't seem to register in the brain at first. It's like you don't believe it at first, it literally "does not compute"

Our military demonizes people who die by their own hand, our society does this as well but not always to quite the same extent that the armed forces do. Sure, they tell you that they want you to get help if you're feeling like self-medicating with a .45 "Anti-Depressant" and they encourage Service-Members to do so, all the faster they can get the necessary paperwork started to kick your ass out. If life in the military is so awful that you want to DIE, why on Earth would you want to STAY IN? Because for many of them, especially those who have deployed repeatedly to Iraq or Afghanistan, that's all they have left: PTSD has ravaged their minds, military life has destroyed their families (Service-Members are up to four times more likely to get divorced than civilian couples) they're so beaten-into the system that it becomes the only life they know. After they have no more self-will, no more distractions from outside and no more control over their own circumstances, it becomes their life in it's entirety.

After that point, a Service-Member becomes so absorbed into "The Almighty Army" that it literally takes over their life. They are so indoctrinated that they can no longer understand anything else outside of the uniform, this can get to the point of "ordering" a spouse to do push-ups or even trying to pull rank on civilians who don't even live or work on Post. They literally BECOME their job, and when anything threatens them in that state (be it an injury, thoughts of suicide or even an Article 15) they will fight like Hell, scream, shout, even flat out lie, to keep the only thing they have left in their world, their only means of existence. 

The military suicide plague isn't due to a lack of options, it's because of a crippling lack of human decency toward one another.

Choosing to end your own life isn't a cowardly act, but it's nothing particularly ballsy either. Generally most of the people who express that sentiment are those who are upset only because the person they knew is no longer around for THEIR BENEFIT, not because that individual was in a tremendous amount of pain that he/she felt was being ignored or overlooked. There's nothing cowardly about wanting pain to go away, so suicide isn't "the easy way out," if anything it's got to be the most fearful and mind-breaking way to die that I can imagine.

I should know, I've tried it repeatedly.

I guess, to a point, the desire to self-terminate will always be there. When I was younger I was honestly so terrified that I would either go straight to Hell or maybe I'd reincarnate as an animal I didn't like. The last time I gave offing myself any serious effort was in Iraq, I had been stealing my Jesus-Freak roommate's painkillers over the course of a month, along with any & all pills I could get my hands on, and my original intent was to down the entire bottle on or before the day of my Article 15. I made it to about half the bottle before I started vomiting, they never quite made it into my stomach because I could feel my own esophagus squeezing shut: Of course I never told anyone that things had gotten THIS BAD, if I did then they would have just sent me on the next plane to Germany and shoved me into a cotton-box until my discharge papers were done.

I guess at THAT POINT it hit me that not only was the game rigged the entire time, that my squad-mates were NEVER going to grant me the respect that the uniform mandated because I admitted to myself that I'm just a person after-all (and a lowly female, no less) but that if I had actually gone through with my plan it would only be granting them what they wanted the entire time: For me to get myself out of the way before "the Enemy" could do it for them, and I wasn't ready to put my family through all of that. At the time, they had no idea about the kind of relationship my husband and I had, about our "friendships" with other consenting adults, it wasn't so much about me being afraid of the consequences anymore, but instead that I had to live through just long enough to see that they were eventually exposed for their own wrong-doings as well.

Surprised? Don't be. THAT was the big turning point for me, I fed them a line of bullshit about "seeing the wrong of my actions" while in the back of my brain swearing revenge for not dealing with another squad-mate who had assaulted & harassed me to the point of physical illness (I had been blacking out and vomiting so often from stress& sleep deprivation at that point that I honestly thought I might have had cancer, I even went to the clinic and requested a screening: UNFORTUNATELY, I didn't have cancer) and I gave any notion of gods or devils, even any version of an afterlife, the boot: If any all-intelligent being out there purposely allows people to get to the point where they'd rather die horribly than suffer the abuse of their fellow humans, then who in their right might can call this entity "good?"

There was recently a YouTube user going by the handle "MannixThePirate" whom, for the third time, faked killing himself: It's causing quite the outrage.

There is no pain in the world quite like realizing that someone you once knew is now dead, by whatever means. This is an especially troubling process when that person opted to decide things for themselves, but it's hard to put into words the fury that one feels boiling up inside themselves when they discover that someone, for whatever fucked up reason, decided that it would be a BRILLIANT IDEA to play it as a sick practical joke: Fuck you, dude, there are families and lives that are ripped apart because of suicide and you wanted to make a mockery of it? I'm not normally one to say that there are things you just can't joke about, because that would be censorship and I hold very tightly to the idea that censorship is for cunts, but this Mannix character should feel free to go dine on some fine light-bulbs with a tall glass of bleach to wash the shards down: People actually thought you were dead, you sick fuck.

In the end (haha, see what I did there) death really is the only thing that anyone can really take seriously at all, there's never really any going back and no one, despite any and all claims, ACTUALLY KNOWS if anything awaits us on the other side. I can no more demonize the act of suicide than I can cutting of one's own leg, it's your body and your life so I can't tell you what to do with it so long as you don't mean anyone else any harm.

But please, I don't want you to kill yourself. If only because there may be circumstances that you might not have considered until now.

The Story of Z (Part 3)

Atheists often use a term called "Cognitive Dissonance" to describe a specific concept: Essentially, it's an accurate description of KNOWING that something is, or has a distinct and clear possibility of being, complete and total bullshit but going along with it anyway for whatever reason the believer sees fit. This is often applied to lay-believers who "have to believe in SOMETHING" but may be wrestling with some doubt in the back of their minds, sometimes feelings of cognitive dissonance can escalate into full-blown emotional turmoil: This is especially true for people coming from more "devout" situations, countries and families because they may honestly believe that having a shred of doubt at all will damn them forever or even get them killed. 

Cognitive Dissonance is also the title of a frikkin' sweet podcast: Glory Hole!

About a year into joining Z's Circle and trying to find my place in the Universe (as well as with the others in the Circle, who never seemed all that talkative) It was easy to develop an obsession with all aspects of the Occult, and working at a bookstore full time it was even easier yet to accumulate a massive collection of books on the subject and build my own library. Z had his own curriculum that he taught from, there were two books in particular that he insisted were the absolute best way to do magick by: "Earth Power" by Scott Cunningham and "Psychic Self Defense" by Dion Fortune, and you'll notice many modern occultists and neo-pagans insist on adding the letter K to the word "magic" because they want to distinguish their rituals from slight-of-hand and stage tricks. 

I was convinced, by an incident I couldn't explain (at the time) in the old Holbrook Dormitory, that I was constantly surrounded by malevolent spirits and ghosts: Although I should point out that long after I had quit M.E.C.A. and returned home to Raymond, I found legit historical records (via the Maine Historical Society's archive building on Congress Street) strongly suggesting that a settlement of the Abenaki Tribe was violently wiped out not far from where I currently live over 200 years ago. Some people still believe in ghosts, especially in the New England area, and if they WERE REAL I can't imagine any lot of un-rested souls with any better reason to hang around and show the living how pissed off they are than murdered Native Americans.  

I am no longer among those people, but at the time this was all the convincing Z and I needed: I'd be pissed if this were MY ancestral home that white people were building a Banana Republic on, therefore ghosts exist.

He trained a small group of us, three including myself, how to investigate and vanquish spiritual "baddies" who were bothering humans: I began to doubt the legitimacy of Exorcism as a concept pretty early on, but I guess I justified it in my mind because I not only thought this shit was REAL but that it was possible for ghosts and entities to actually hurt people (and not just in the commonly said "feeding on your aura/energy stuff" that many New-Agers often discuss) Let's say for a moment that ghosts WERE real, that the dead could actually communicate with the living and could play charades with human beings, what if one ghost had a legitimate concern or urgent issue that they needed resolved? Like if that dead person was a murder victim and wanted their killer found, but started pestering the current occupants of their house for help because, well, a murderer could still be at large! Lighting up a big bowl of Myrrh in every room of the house and telling them to Go Fuck Yourself hardly seems helpful or beneficial to ANYONE, not the spirit in need nor the current home-owner.

After a trip to some middle-aged lady's house between the three of us, doing pretty much what I loosely described above, that was when some cosmic shit started to hit a really big fan that so happened to be pointed directly at me: Some weeks later we found out this lady had been to SEVERAL "Psychics" in the area requesting the exact same services, we got the impression that she just wanted to be told what she wanted to hear about some incurable problem and that some cosmic force had it out for her and no one could help, boo-hoo. Maybe if you'd vacuum your floor every so often, lady, and clean all those boxes of worthless shit out of your house you'd probably feel a little better about yourself and your life might come together.

This was going down in very early 2003, the drive to and from this woman's house was icy and dangerous: At one point on I-95 my entire wind-shield iced up and I had to pull over to scrape that shit off just so I could see the road. The other two in my crew took that as a sign from the spirit world that they were trying to stop us from doing this, I figured that this was a NORMAL FEBRUARY NIGHT IN MAINE! Z gave me $5 for gas, I don't think the other two offered me one red cent. Thanks, assholes. I think it was at THAT MOMENT that I began to quietly acknowledge that maybe I was wasting my time and resources with these people. I had already ordered several "reimbursable" books that I never got a dime for, now this. 

It's quite one thing to believe in invisible forces and that you can interact with them, not only that but that if you're a member of a spiritual community that actively wants to do this then that you should form some kind of agreement with each-other about about inter-member conduct: That night I honestly felt like I was just being used.

And it STILL wasn't enough for me to leave! I just couldn't accept that a Circle that I had devoted time and resources to would only see me as a means to an end, even almost ten years later this is difficult, at times even painful for me, to wrap my head around: Okay, fuck it, these people really pissed me off! But maybe I was just having a bad night, or maybe malevolent spirits were dicking around with my mind as revenge for the "eviction notice" I participated in serving upon them, or any other excuse I could imagine to explain away my doubts.

I simply COULD NOT BELIEVE, and that's honestly the most accurate term I can think to to express the sentiment, that some weird stranger playing a flute on 9-11 in the middle of downtown Portland Maine, the very same dude that I had managed to befriend and even offered me shelter from the proverbial shit storm that my hipster-classmates sent my way, only thought of me as little more than a resource for the security of his operations. Why the fuck would someone do something like that? Why would a friendship fostered over for over two years be a sham?

Or maybe I'm just taking a small slight (and approximately $1000 worth of donations and books) a little too personally...

Part 4 will be the final installation of this tale.

The Story of Z (Part 1)

Welcome to late-summer of 2001, Portland Maine. This is my first week of college at Maine College of Art, my first time living out of my parents' shadows and I'm completely alone out here. I'm one of only a few native Mainers in the Freshman Class, almost everyone in here is from a different State or another country. 3D Design class just started about 15 minutes ago, then some stoner-chick runs into the room yelling about New York City being on fire: We laugh, at first. She grabs three people to come with her to the Mr Bagel across the road from the Porteous Building, and there it is on the TV, BOTH of the World Trade Center towers are burning.

THAT was such a serious "Oh-Shit" moment, I didn't think it was real. It had to be either a sick joke or a mistake, I ran back into the Porteous Building, grabbed my stuff from the classroom and stormed out: At least half of my family, including my Father, are from New York City and the surrounding areas (Brooklyn, Manhattan, etc...) 

I'm walking quickly back to the Holbrook Dormitory, I walk right past some dude I've never seen before: He's just standing there playing a long bamboo flute.

I get it, people are panicking left and right, I pass two other students who are in tears: Maybe someone was just trying to do something to distract people from the violence on TV, or maybe this was just something this guy did for fun from time to time: Just stand outside and play his flute, side-walk musicians are nothing new in Portland (although these days they are entirely too rare.) 

I don't think there were any classes the following day, the Dean decided to hold a student forum to talk about what just happened to the world, The morning of September 12th amounted to little more than a bunch of hipsters arguing with each-other. There was talk of war, activism, charities and disaster relief. One or two students who came here from New York had tried to get home to their families, I was still waiting to hear back about two of my cousins (I found out later that day they were in Brooklyn and they were unharmed.) 

I walked out halfway through the ordeal: From where I was sitting, this "Student Forum" was quickly becoming an Ad-Hominem driven farce and I wanted no part of it.

I just wanted to quietly kill some time alone, so I wandered from shop to shop on Congress Street just looking at stuff. One shop was selling the kind of hats worn by little old ladies, another only sold varying types of Irish imported goods. I came across the same strange dude standing in the same strange spot only this time it looked like he was talking to two women standing on either side of him, he made eye contact with me and I gave a friendly nod: I don't know this guy, but I see no reason to be impolite.

This continued for weeks, once regular class schedules resumed: I'd walk past his little shop and say hi, most of the time he'd say hi back to me. As time passed, it became ever clearer to me that my leather-clad metal head self was not welcome among certain circles (the vegan-nazi hipster types that M.E.C.A. is still known for catering to.) At least three or four times a week I'd come back to my dorm-room to find PeTA pamphlets, and on some occasions flyers, jammed under my door. At least EVERY night of the week, my spoiled cunt of a roommate would bring groups of her party-buddies over late at night while I was busy either trying to study or just trying to sleep: Despite the fact that our first day of Freshman Orientation we both signed a mutual roommate agreement indicating we'd each give the other a "courtesy notice" of 24 hours before having company over.  

This is the very same chick that accused me of stealing and using HER kitchen-wares without any evidence to back it up, despite the fact that I had just purchased brand new ones for myself the week prior AND kept the recepit: LOL!

Some manner of non-academic escape was, as with anyone in similar circumstances I suppose, absolutely inevitable. All my class-mates ever seemed to want to do was either go drink or go off to concerts of bands I'd never heard of before: I guess obnoxious hipsters were being obnoxious hipsters long before obnoxious hipster memes on the internet made the world known regarding obnoxious hipsters. This strange dude on Congress Street, who had a name but called himself "Z" for short, offered a pay-by-donation Tae-Bo style workout class after class hours: Perfect! I show up twice a week and pay whatever I can afford to, sans OBNOXIOUS FUCKING HIPSTERS!

Things worked out great for about a month and a half of this, eventually I was coming back to my room to find more and more of my stuff occasionally being vandalized. At first I didn't say anything to the M.E.C.A. staff because I didn't think they would help me: Then one fine evening it literally took a screaming fit before people finally got the message that I was getting sick of this, a BRAND NEW message-board that I put on my door was been completely filled to capacity with not-so-clever dick-drawings ALL OVER AND THROUGH IT.

Meanwhile nobody in the dorm says or does anything to the chick who flips out on drugs, breaks into peoples' rooms and destroys THEIR property (and for some really weird reason mine was the only room NOT broken into.) so I guess that made it okay in their eyes.

I wanted to quit and go home, but something was compelling me to stay. I was worn down to the point that I could barely keep awake during class, I avoided damn near everyone until it was time for my OTHER classes, but even then my participation was just-for-show. After enough harassment from my dorm-mates, I just had almost no energy left and I think Z noticed.

He told me that with some new ideas and a change in attitude I could realize my full potential, whatever that meant. Around this time I had struggled enough with Christianity to give it the boot all together and pick up something else, it just seemed obvious to me at the time.

After all, Z not only led the workout class but also a small Wiccan Circle.

All this simply could NOT have been a coincidence, could it?

Stay tuned for the next installment of the series...

Bit By Awful Bit

This is the latest snippet from a book I've been working on. I've been putting this together for almost a year now, I've only made it 8 chapters in so far. I like to post my progress because I want 'reader' feedback, my biggest concern with writing about life in the military is the broad variety of acronyms and terms that everyday people aren't so familiar with: I want to simplify and explain this as best I can without dumbing shit down so badly that I wind up insulting my 'audience'

"Watch" a reading of it HERE.

For some reason, adding the video as a link is the only way I can get this to work right now (not sure why, I've done it many times int he past with no issues.)

Enjoy ^_^

A Comment

Being a native New-Englander, I was horrified to shivers when I saw what went down in Boston a few days ago. I'm glad that no one close to me was hurt, but I'm infuriated that innocent people were killed (to include an 8-year-old boy) during what was supposed to be a happy and fun occasion. Then there were stories of those who ran toward the carnage trying to help others who had been hurt, the rage inside shut it's snarling mouth at that point.

But now as I see other tweets and FaceBook comments popping up from across the country, it's started showing teeth again.

First there was a suspect in custody, a 20 year old student from Saudi Arabia. I admit, I too at first thought this may have been the guy who did it, but then as evidence surfaced and more reports came out it looked like that wasn't the case. I made a flash-judgement on a total stranger because of what the news had been saying, I should have known better but my brain got carried off in it anyway.

Then there were waves of ignorant tweets from the Conservative Right blaming "the Godless" for this attack, saying that this happened because we somehow managed to evict an all-knowing and all-powerful sky-daddy who is perfectly capable of protecting himself but for some reason needs his sheeple to do it for him on the internet... Gimmie a fucking break! This is NOT about you and your imaginary friend! Real people have been killed and seriously injured, let the FBI sort out the reasons and the details!

Even IF your god exists (never-mind Loki, Krishna, Ares, etc...) who the fuck are you to dictate their reasoning?

Now to address people blaming the Muslims: Go fuck yourselves with a fist full of rusty nails, seriously. At the moment I'm typing this, there is absolutely no evidence or accurate report indicating that this was pulled off by middle-eastern terrorists: I'd also like to remind everyone that the 2nd most lethal terrorist attack on US soil was orchestrated and executed by Timothy McVeigh, a born and bred American Citizen. It's happened before, it could very well have happened again.

I hope they find out who did this and lock them up in a steel box forever, in the meantime I think there are several organizations in need of assistance and donations. If anyone has any links to them, please comment with them below so I can do MY part (aside from my usual ranting.)

Were I not trapped here in Southern Arizona, I'd have hopped the train to the Fleet Center and done it in person. I guess PayPal will have to do this time.

Oh Boy, Mud

I'm an unabashed jerk and I don't make excuses for it, I simply AM. I'm sorry if this bothers you or comes out wrong sometimes, but this has been an ongoing issue that despite my own best efforts I simply cannot change. Then again why do I want to modify any part of myself to make others happy at my own detriment? I'll be 32 years old very soon, I may act like I'm 16 at times but dammit I'm not going to start diminishing myself just because people think I'm heartless, big-headed or even (dramatic gasp) weird.

I have often considered the possibility that I may have Aspergers Syndrome... NEAT!

Recently I may have posted a tweet that offended some people close to me about Roger Ebert's cancer diagnosis the day before his death:

Arguably, that was probably a pretty heartless thing of me to say, as one person pointed out as quite hypocritical. Okay, I can see his point, but riddle me this: How many public figures apologized to Amy Winehouse's friends and family for all the coke-whore jokes? Name one news-anchor or comedian who DIDN'T have a laugh at Steve Irwin's (tragic but predictable) death even when his family were in tears over it, I bet my left fucking tit YOU CAN'T come up with one meager little name.

People suck, and I'm a person. Not a particularly nice one, either. I say things without thinking them through, it's just me: There is nothing I can do to fix this and don't think for a second that I haven't jammed my own foot in my mouth on many occasions in the past, I guess I've just gotten used to it.

I do this so often that I've even gone to brain-doctors and tried medication for it: Nope, turns out I'm just a straight-up bastard.

What is an apology, really? It's a hollow gesture, these days it is, to appease someone to avoid more arguments. This day and age people rarely mean what they say, how can I trust "I'm Sorry" out of anyone's mouth? I have a simple philosophy when it comes to apologizing for anything: 1 When you're wrong, do it right. 2 If you're right, don't do it at all. And 3 Only do it ONCE (for any given offense.)

1 If you fucked up, fix it an apologize in the most sincere way you can muster. Never apologize to someone on-the-fly, it comes off as fake.

2 Think about the situation before you say or do anything, what if someone is upset over something that's out of your control? At that point, how is that your problem? "I'm sorry" "For what?" "It's raining" No, it's no fun because of the rain but it's in no way your fucking fault. And maybe the other person upset with you really is just an uptight asshole, in which case...

3 Never, not under any circumstances, should you EVER apologize for the same thing on multiple, public OR private, occasions (unless you've broken the law and got arrested, in which case see how far apologizing gets you) If you find yourself in a position where someone keeps dancing proverbial circles around you or your 'offense' because they're just so butt-hurt about it, obviously nothing you say will ever appease or satisfy them. If you can afford to, I recommend cutting them out of your life altogether: Who wants to be around someone like that?

When you get right down to it, people can be downright mean. Welcome to Earth, motherfucker.

But on that note, I am going to apologize to Mr Ebert's family and friends for the hash-tagged post:  I didn't know HE had already apologized to Ryan Dunn's family and friends, forgive me please.

But as for the easily-offended and their High-Horses, I ask you to consider this: What happens when you fall off that prancing sack of glue someday? You fall into the dark, thick stinky mud surrounding all the piles of shit you were just trotting circles around.


When that happens, and mark my words it will, I'll be waiting in that same mud to bury you in it.


None of you are any better than I am. 

Sounds Legit

Sadly... I saw this on Memebase and it made me wonder...

... Is it any wonder why Atheists and Wiccans (seem to) get along so well? I'm of the opinion that believing in less violent bullshit is, well... still bullshit.

Let's see how many more ellipses I can put in this post...

I guess you could say that the last nail in the coffin for me was hammered down while I was deployed. This is going to sound bad, but in a war-zone, you get used to violence. After a while, distant fire-fights and mortars don't scare you as much. I was what is commonly refered to as a "Pogue" aslo known as a "Fobbit." My job in the Army is not necessarily combat related, but that doesn't mean that combat doesn't find you on occasion (usually in the form of bombs.)

But to this day the most sickening things I've seen from other human beings came from those wearing the same uniform as me, but that's for another post (I've run out of wine.) I just don't get how any all-knowing ever-present being, from ANY pantheon, could ignore such a festering SNAFU as the Iraq War. Worse yet, many Soldiers and Veterans that I still talk to tell me their combat experiences have strengthened their beliefs. I now have a better idea of why battered lovers refuse to leave their abusive partners, perhaps the two situations are not so different...

My last week in Iraq (Baghdad,) I watched a rocket hit a small building with Military Police inside. I'm reasonably certain that some of them were killed.  

The thing about life (and death) in a combat-zone is that you hear the mortar/rocket/bomb hit, there's sometimes an alarm that's usually supposed to go off and warn people followed by the "All-Clear" signal, then if you go back to your room and the internet is down it usually means that someone died in the attack. They shut down internet services to prevent that Soldiers' family from finding out via Facebook.

I don't know anything about those MPs, probably never met them. What did THEY believe in, if anything? Did they pray every day, meditate or speak in tongues... the god that they probably dedicated their lives to, I can't help but wonder if they were afraid in the end and perhaps called out for him... then what?

Crumbling concrete, an alarm... silence (Exeunt.)

People have the right to believe as they wish and on their own terms, but if that were me bleeding out under rubble and hearing only my own straining voice calling out for mercy from my so-called creator, only to behold everything fading to black, I'd imagine I might feel pretty angry and scared. Look where my years of Sunday Sermons and thousands of dollars on devotional books has gotten me, and now it's over.

Pardon me, but I have a serious problem with the idea of a benevolent deity "calling home" such a loyal servant in such a disgusting manner. That'd be a bit like whatever company you work for "promoting you to District Manager" by shooting you in the dick.

Are people so afraid of The Great Beyond that they'll hang off from whatever insanity they can barely grasp like scared monkeys in a forest-fire? Are you really so certain of your convictions that if a rocket were to hit you out of the sky RIGHT NOW, that there wouldn't be some shred of doubt lingering in your mind?

Imagine then what people who believe in reincarnation and "energy" must be thinking, if this had happened to them: Almost there, just a moment more... damn it's cold, I though this was a desert. Wait a sec, nothing's - (dead.) People can't contemplate death because we don't have any experience close enough to it, and NDE's have so far been proven to be little more than high-powered hallucinations caused by the brain shutting itself down.

Maybe when I eventually die, all that LSD will catch up to me.

No amount of prayer or 'energy' in the universe will stop an incoming RPG, as you've no doubt observed. And you'd be very hard pressed to convince me that this is all the plan of a loving god who wants what's best for us. Right, because god clearly knows that war benefits EVERYONE. Maybe shit just happens and sometimes people die in the process, is that really so hard to understand?

After I got home, I never did any spell-work again. After having endured a whole year of almost non-stop despair and horror (but there were a few good times, too) It kinda forced me to really sit and think about why I would anymore. Spells can't even guarantee a winning lotto ticket or a job interview, so who am I to think it can do jack to stop someone from getting killed in the most horrible way I can think of? If witch-craft is a crap-shoot at best, since I've been told time and time again "it doesn't work that way" then why do it in the first place?

Either magic isn't real or I musta' been rolling 1's all these years.

I'm really not trying to be rude or disrespectful, Wiccans and Pagans take a lot of heat from mainstream monotheists just like... well, almost everyone who isn't a theist. But I just couldn't walk away from these questions and I challenge you reading this to think this over, too: If you can't stop a rocket, or summon one yourself, then what is it all for?

As for my old crystals, I'm going to give them to a friend.