You can’t tell the woman from the man
No, I say you can’t, ’cause they’re dressed in the same pollution
Their mind is confused with confusion
With their problems since they’ve no solution:
They become the midnight ravers.

So there you have it! Any other questions you have for the Good Doctor can be directed at the man himself when he returns and trust me he will return.

In the meantime the Disaster Culture movement that we began in 2009 (earlier IRL, but for sake of arguing will go back to when we started this little blog), from movies to television shows everyone seems to be joining the cult of extinction. You all want to be End-Time Enthusiast! Zombies are this years Vampires, but they’re all equally undead.  We all feel everyone else is the walking dead. The build up to 2012 felt a lot like the pre-millinal tension that led up to the year 2000, only darker and more hopeless. Everyone appears to be seeing that the truth we goat-fucking idiots have long been trumpeting; that there is no light at the end of the tunnel. NBC is advertising it’s new Thursday night as the last comedies you will see before the end of the world! The world is ending-have a cocktail! Disaster fashion is seeping up from the sewers into the main stream. Doomsayer tunes have invaded the ears of the “normal” world. A new Grand Theft Auto is coming out! Politics (which have always been about disaster and doom) have trended to the extra-dark, proclaiming every budget deadline the end of everything as we know it. As the world outside of America awakens and revolts, Americans squeak out a meager attempt at socioeconomic rage, in the pitiful hash-tag movement in which a group of out-of-work college students camp together in public spaces while playing the latest Elder Scrolls on their Mac Air laptops.

Welcome home Midnight Ravers,

As far as secret fraternities of evil villains goes, this is a good one. The warm covenant of shame and degradation that sends marchers up the spines of us all. The walls have long since closed in. The strange scent of greasepaint, marijuana and grapes. I miss the days when this small one room apartment in East New Delhi smelled more like waffles, peanut butter and used panties. After spending all day researching the ancient tantric rituals of mid grade prostitutes I would spend my evenings buried in a hash haze pouring through Sanskrit poems foretelling the return from duality into singularity. I have learned a lot on the left-handed path, but my trips to India were always special. The Order sent me to school but I had to do the work myself. There was no real career awaiting me upon graduation. I still had to get up and go out and work just like everyone else. It didn’t matter, it didn’t bother me one bit. There’s actually nothing out there that you can’t find inside one self. The surgeries the machine elves gave me aboard their ship helped me survive that one winter in St. Louis, but that was about it. Any special esoteric knowledge gained from the process could have equally been gathered from dusty books in far away libraries that have since been entered into the digital tomes. After a few years in the wild I missed the comfort of my box. I returned to the tombs and cocooned myself awaiting rebirth in a springtime that never came. Yawning and stretching I spread my bent wings, unkempt and disheveled made my way back out into the spider web. Still mashing together my metaphors like a cockney whale. Stronger than untamed horses! Swifter than raging winds! Braver than mighty lions! Wiser than wisdom, and kinder than Galahad is Master Man. Blatantly misogynistic in his tone “Why settle for simply being a super-man, or a marvelous captain, when you can be the master.” Time passes differently in the snowy peaks of the Himalayas.  You forget all the shows that used to come on Thursday night. Time also passes differently on that couch in Arizona. You forget what that one old drunk monk said to me in Samye. We are living in a new Gilded Age.  You go out the way you came in; stringing random syllables together to form random words that make up random sentences.  Drop that!

Vanquish all Thy Enemies,

The Dr.

Live transmission from the satellite heart; coming in for a landing somewhere on the other side of nothing. Peering in and pealing back the curtain, the Dr. arrives late but always on time. Like the divine baby Horus, “I have spoken with your name”. Watching from my forth eye which grows inside the retina of the third, I have seen the machinations of the machine elves that live in the heart of the beast.  In 1973 I was initiated into the Order of the Serpent by Mr. Harold Ramis (of Ghostbusters fame). I learned that when the Earth descended into the third dimension and the Planetary Logos entered a new cycle of experience, humans reached their zenith in polar consciousness. To this day the cycle of opposites and the feeling of separation have prevailed.

So much has happened since Shambhala and Agartha have guided my hand, but really nothing has changed. Why are you children surprised when the beast bites you? Why are shocked when it tramples people beneath its hooves? Why have you not known this? The clouds have long been gathered. Sight beyond sight is not needed. Defenders of Dharma wait in the halls, in these crazy times, these, wild days, these same old days. I see the two camps that are one camp with two faces. One group sits with ruffled feathers in towers made of glass. The other stands in judgment from towers made of Ivory. They argue over the blood of the fallen.

I come on like baby Horus all snakes and garland! Throwing tantrums on the backs of the dead!

I see the enemy out my window; they tease me and taunt me with thick juicy steaks and mouth-watering burgers. Leafy green goodness is my only shield. And the tonic! Ohh, that sweet elixir that gets me there. For interstellar calls home, I use the homes of these little blue woodland imps, or chemical reactions honed by wizards.  In the time of the Fear of Death, we need an undead hero. Halloween year round, conquer the fear by staring at zombies reanimated, taking it to the streets.

O nobly-born (so-and-so), listen. Now thou art experiencing the Radiance of the Clear Light of Pure Reality. Recognize it. O nobly-born, thy present intellect, in real nature void, not formed into anything as regards characteristics or colour, naturally void, is the very Reality, the All-Good.

With Vested Intrest,

Dr. Nhilist

It is uncertain whether the good Dr. (as he is known) is a real person, or several people. He is an online persona that has existed before the internet. A Meta figure who contacted me through the mail back when I used to print a zine in the days when zines were cool. According to his resume he was born in either Minneapolis, Florida, or Minnesota, Ohio. He was raised by barracudas on the south shore of Indonesia or possibly just a construct made up of three different psychopathic murders by ancient alien design. Either way he was educated at all the finest community colleges in the south-east from College Park Maryland to College Park, Louisiana. He drives a one of a kind Racing Mini Cooper, equipped with nitro and a roll bar.

                He (or she, or they) first contacted me when I was in high school and began transmitting what can only be called as the first transmissions. Strange cryptic ramblings that expelled no belief system or ideology. He spewed forth his venom in many hand typed letters that helped for what would become Rant and Rave, and into that The Royal Monkee Armada. He claimed to be raised on a steady diet of drugs and alcohol and fed into a life-machine that taught him the secret operating skills of Venusian Masters. His face was never seen. He/It commanded a loyal following on the green lettered BBS boards of the day.  In 1998 he disappeared. It was rumored he married a white/Asian in Cambodia and moved to Vietnam where he only spoke Thai and practiced his black medicine in the jungle. There he honed his craft to protect the president from an army of Sunlit Vampires. Some writings serviced during this time under the name 3 times 3 that folks in the know claim was the Good Doctor.

This is copy of his first transmission I received back in 1994;

The midnight rider has come again. Midnight is on the rise. Dig the hip speech keeping it fresh for ya! “His Madness kept him sane.” The topic this day is everything open discussion time, So sit back and change,

Is it not wise for a man to ally himself with those who could do him harm. Why make enemies with someone you have no hope of defeating, a wise man once said “keep your friends close and your enemies closer”. In building an anti-empire it would be smart to gather together those who could best benefit your goals. I chose to keep company with people who have the potential to be powerful. Those who have intellect, prudence, strength and the means in which to accomplish my goals.

What are these goals you may ask? I hope to liberate everyone from normality. To break the cycle of life: get up, go to work, so you can make money, so you can buy food, so you can have energy, to get up, go to work…ect. I want to see everyone free from having to do anything. I want to see people doing only what they choose. That is my idea of true freedom. I want to see monetary form destroyed. I would like to see mass production end and a return to the trade system.  I would like to see weapon production ended and all means of restarting it eliminated. I would like to see peoples co-dependency on government (local, state, and federal) abolished. I would like Anarchy. For those things to come about, the public would have to dramatically change its views. Give up its religion. Give up its wealth and cushy life. It would have to be hardened by something harsh and rough. It would have to be burned.

And the only thing I could see that could burn a people already scarred by daily images of violence and inhumanity is a violent revolution. A sweeping madness that will change everything by destroying it. The public will not willingly give up its lifestyle; therefore it must be stripped of it. And who better to do that than those who do not have these things. And who better to lead them than those who do not want it.

Now in this time of social unrest, the Good Doctor returns. Thanks to the power of social media, I am proud to announce that we will once again be publishing the misunderstood ramblings of the maddest bastard this side of the Rio Grande. With the code words Barble Far, “Houston-we have go!”. Soon and very soon those of you who don’t know-will know!

What can I say about Mastodon? They are the biggest metal band in the world right no, and when the new album comes out Tuesday they may become one of the biggest bands in the world. It is hard to even pigeon-hold them in the “metal” box, they may have begun as a metal band, but now (much to the chagrin of metal-heads) traversed into more of a broader almost unrecognizable musical genre. Part Rush, part stoner-metal, part Winding jam band. If you can’t wait until Tuesday, the band has offered up the entire album in one long continuous video on YouTube. Warning: do not start it unless you have time to finish it, because you will not be able to turn it off. The album entitled The Hunter, is the bands best work yet. What’s crazy is that I say that each and every time they release a record. How does a band this good continue to get better and better I’ve had the pleasure of seeing them live several times and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that they are each masters of their instruments. These four guys put out a sound so unbelievably rich and lush, its hard not to get lost in it. This new album is made for a acid fueled trip across country. I wish I had a car (and a license for that matter) to ride up the California coast listening to this album over and over again. I know there will be a backlash in the hard-core metal scene against this trippy-dippy album, but this stands to break the band out of that scene, and into the larger scene as one of the greatest rock bands of all time. I would put this up against any Led Zepplin album-it’s that good! So far my favorite track has got to be The Creature Lives, followed very closely by The Sparrow. God I wish I had a ten strip and blunt, and a bottle of rum. Fuck!

Flanked by his two television wives Katey Sagal (Peg), and Sofia Viagra (some show hes on now), the founder of No’Mam has received his long overdue star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Christina Applegate was also on hand no word if Grandmaster B. was int he crowd unable to get past the velvet rope! O’Neil said he almost didn’t accept the honor because he was too fucking cool, but his 11 year-old daughter convinced him other wise by telling him he would be crazy not to. I don’t know what’s more impressive, that the 65 year-old actor has a 11 year-old or that he takes advice from her! The Bundy patriarch has long been revered in Goatfucker circles, but now he is finally being recognized by the lame stream media! We await the Queen Peggy’s star next!(via)USAToday

Also receiving heavy rotation these days is New York punk rockers Cerebral Ballzy. Maybe you’ve seen their bump spots on Adult Swim, that’s where I first heard them. I had read a write-up in the LA Weekly while down there, but thought nothing really of it. I grew up with punk rock and while I still listen to Black Flagg and Minor Threat regularly most new punk rock just sounds like cheap imitations of the stuff I already own so I don’t bother. I did like the fact that they many of the members of the band were black. I always felt that punk rockers while supposedly open-minded and freedom seekers were a little too white when I was a kid. Punk was a movement that appealed to a lot of people from all walks of life, but when you looked on stage at a show you would think that it was only white kids that could play it. There were exceptions of course and you couldn’t even call yourself punk if you didn’t own at least one Bad Brains album or at lest had the sticker on your car.  So when Don’t Tell Me What to Do came on in between Aqua Teen and Squidbillies I thought I was witnessing the second coming or H.R. right before my eyes. It was the first time in a very long time I had felt energized by new Punk Rock.  These kids had it, they feel like I felt when I was sixteen and angry at the world. I couldn’t help but notice the coincidence that as they were playing on my television in San Francisco half a world away young black kids dressed like members of Blac Bloc were burning London to the ground.  Between what these guys are doing on the East Coast and what Odd Future is doing here on the West I feel there is a real strong emergence of Black Punk that goes beyond the social networking of the Afro-Punk community. Something is happening and it feels good to think that when I was young me being black and punk rock was a novelty now it’s a reality. I don’t know how I would react these days if I went to a show and wasn’t the only non white face in the crowd. I really hope these guys tour soon so I can check them out in person.

Last but not least Ruining It For Everybody is the latest  album from Louisiana metal nerds IWRESTLEDABEARONCE. Which if you haven’t heard of them by now, you need to get with it. These titans of math metal and the six change-ups per song have come out with a solid well crafted beast that will blow your brains out very quickly. As the summer winds down and people began settling back into their normal routines, put this on and wake everyone back up.

and just because summer is drawing to a close, doesn’t mean you have to forget about Summer Camp! If you don’t already have this it’s the ultimate summer mix tape from Tyler the Creator of the afore mentioned  Odd Future. Enjoy!

The Invisibles was a seven year creator owned (published under DC’s Vertigo imprint), odyssey that chronicles the journey of the next Buddha from boyhood to adulthood, with a band of anarchist/ontological terrorist fighting the ultimate good fight in the war between Order and Chaos. It is also a giant magickal sigil that affected everyone who truly read it and the man who wrote it. It affected me profoundly when I first picked up the seven page preview back in 1993. In 1994 when the book came out I lost my mother to Cancer, and began my long journey through drug abuse, punk rock culture, and in 1996 I formed an Invisible cell of my own. I had gotten into LSD pretty heavily, selling it and taking it almost daily. I was going to punk shows, and straight from there to raves throughout the Southeast. I gathered a wild eclectic band of young freaks and geeks with whom I turned onto the book. We read each issue over and over religiously. Devouring every word he wrote.

After a particularly long week of ingesting acid we decided it would be a great idea to construct a bomb. We were hapless armatures who thought we knew more than we did because we had read the Anarchist cook book. We weren’t completely out of it, we knew that what we constructed was not actually capable of exploding but it looked real, and we wanted to use it. After a short deliberation we picked a place-Hanes Mall-the largest mall between Maryland and Atlanta. We had resented the structure for various personal infractions, but more or less because we felt like it was drain on our area’s burgeoning youth culture. It was the thing that sucked the soul out of the city and when the mall closed at 10 the entire town shut down. It had to be taught a lesson. With haste we devised a plan and set our convincing fake inside a bathroom to await discovery. To quicken the pace I placed a call into the police and the local news station.

After some sloppiness on our part we were ratted out by one of our own, and captured four days later. My cell was comprised of kids each under 18 years old so they were given one year probation, while I was the ripe old age of 19 so I received a Federal Felony. I got 3 years probation plus six months on house arrest and another six in a half-way house. I continued to devour acid and drink like a fish, until I racked up four violations and a healthy rap sheet. After my forth probation violation I received an additional 8 months this time in a Federal Penitentiary on the side of a mountain in Ohio. There the series came winding down to its end and my journey as well transformed into so much more than I had ever dreamed. Once free I began this awesome track across the United States, first to Atlanta, then to New York, back to Atlanta.  From there I moved to St. Louis, Oakland, and finally ended up here in San Francisco, where the King Mob character from the book had an ex girlfriend that he called once when he thought he was dying.

Throughout the book I felt I was intertwined in the story, from early on the discoveries of Jack Frost within the 2D paged became my discoveries in real life. I fought the law, danced into the night with drag queens, and fell into a world of ancient magick and mysticism that has followed me every day since.  There are many people in my life that I credit with making me the man I have become; Ian McCaye from Minor Threat/Fugazi, Jeff Joyce my mentor when I was first entering the world of punk rock, my mother, my grandmother, and Grant Morrison. I had met all my heroes and idols, except for Grant up until July 28^th. When I met him a cycle of supplication has ended. I felt after I shook his hand and told him my story that I was now free. Whatever happens from here on out is up to me. The Invisible’s has been over for 11 years now. It was time I stepped out of its shadow and began to cast one of my own.

I had no idea when I left SF for LA on Jun 1^st that I was going to be able to actually see my hero in person. I had heard that he had a place in LA and split his time between there and Glasgow (Scotland). So I preformed one of the rituals I learned from the letters pages of The Invisibles. A process called sigil magick, were you write down a request from the universe and remove the consonants leaving only the vowels. You then take the vowels and arrange them into an almost unrecognizable pattern forming a singular symbol from the letters. You then fixate on the sigil and most masturbate upon it to give it some kind of sex magick power. I have done that, but I have found when I really want something I consume it. So instead of jerking off on the piece of paper I crumpled it up and ate it. When I arrived in Los Angeles I went to see an old friend of mine who runs a theatre in the back of a comic shop. After hugging and getting over the initial excitement seeing each other after some time, she informed me that Grant would be in the store promoting a book of his. The spell had worked; I lied on the floor briefly in disbelief.

I had nearly the entire two months I was there to wait. I idled the time away sightseeing and meeting people, having adventures and sitting quietly in my rented room wondering what it was I was going to say to the man who had shaped so much of my life. I debating on whether or not to give him some of my writings, or show him some of my sketches, I thought about if I should tell him about my cell, or just mention that I had a letter published in the back of The Invisibles back in 1996. I agonized over these decisions like one would agonize over whether or not to shoot someone. I weighed the pros and cons and tried my best to see ever possible outcome. In the end when the moment came I decided to simple tell him my story and thank him for what he had done. It was beyond words. I fretted and worried the entire evening. Through his interview by My Chemical Romances Gerard Way, thought he Q & A period and the entire time I milled around with the other store employees who had become my friends over the two months, awaiting my turn to speak with the Master.

It’s hard to describe the feeling of nervousness and elation that being around him brought to me. To me he is more than just a comic book creator, or writer. He is more than just a guy who wrote some kick ass book, this is a man who for all intents and purposes wrote my personal bible. He gave me visions that would rival and Christian hallucinations and set me on this course to living out my ultimate dreams. Now I know it doesn’t look like it, I am 33 and yet to be published. I have spent so many years wallowing in alcohol and self-doubt. I had taken myself up and down the highways of America in search of the awakening of my own Buddha-hood. I’ve found a lot of things on my journey, but I have yet to transform into a being of pure light and reach Parinirvana. But I can now say that I’ve met Grant Morrison.

—————-
Now playing: The Durutti Column – Otis
via FoxyTunes

Produced by Edgar Wright and featuring Nick Frost, this is the movie to see this summer. Written and directed masterfully by first-timer British comedian Joe Cornish. I recommend that if you like sci-fi, or even better if you don’t like sci-fi, you need to see this film. It’s so much more than just an alien invasion flick. There were moments in this movie that actually made me want to yell out and cheer, something I frown upon in most cases. I men they can’t hear you! But in this case I was hooked. It took me two days to stop imitating the accents of these kids in my head. I don’t want to give too much away, because I want each and every one of you to go and see this movie! The aliens are like nothing you’ve ever seen before (unless you’ve got an uncanny memory for Spaced)! The film itself is both scary and absolutely hilarious; the cast is phenomenal and led by break-out star John Boyega who plays 15 year-old, badass, Moses they make this feel less like an alien flick and more like a gangsta film.

Boyega comes off as a modern day Alex DeLarge, in fact the whole movie has a Clockwork verses the Aliens feel. Perhaps because I am an African-American whose favorite all time movie is Clockwork Orange that seems perfect for me. Or perhaps it’s because I grew up watching The East Enders of PBS that I feel more connected to these kids, than the ones in Super 8. I didn’t grow up in South London, but I did spend some of my formative years in some Suitland, Maryland slums that weren’t all that different from the ones in the film. And me and my friends weren’t terrible dissimilar either. Some of the people I saw the film with felt that the characters weren’t exactly the kinds of people they felt comfortable rooting for, but in my opinion they were exactly the boys I wanted on my side if something like this ever went down for real! I also like the fact that this wasn’t a big budget Hollywood summer action movie; this was a small British film that blows the doors off anything they got coming out this summer. This movie deserves to be the most talked about film of the year and in every major mega-plex making Ryan Reynolds and Michael Bay look like the piece of shit that they are. And if John Boyega doesn’t become the biggest star in the world and the next Denzel Washington then there is no justice in the world! Once you’ve seen it come back and leave a comment and we’ll discuss it in length.