So as I sit writing this we are two hours away from 126.96.36.199. the end of the b’ak’tun or whatever. People are still shell shocked over the psychotic eruption of a desperate kid last Friday that brought a tiny apocalypse to a small town. For the people of Newton the end of the world has already happened. These micro-pocalypses are increasing, building and rolling toward something that could possibly be all encompassing. This of course would be the fear of Doomsayers and Doomsday-Preppers. There are those who fear the fury of the sun, magnetic pole shifts, great disaster, or asteroids. Like a hundred Chicken Little’s running around screaming that the sky is falling. Without a doubt one day the sky will fall. But no amount of preparation is going to save you when it does. Modern humans have confused real life with entertainment. They believe that there will be a time for them to become the heroes, the action star. Narrowly escaping near death and saving the girl. They believe they can just preform a perfect barrel roll and escape the explosion unscathed. There are also those who believe they’re intelligence and their invented explanations will save them. They will understand the beast into submission. This too is a fallacy.
There are those who consider ourselves to be End-Time Enthusiast, who spend our free time pouring over apocalyptic cultures, reading and studying ancient prophecy’s and tales of the end of the world. Yet as we sit here life continues. Life does not stop no matter the population or species that inhabits any given world in any given fashion. close to 50,000 species a year disappear from the earth yet life continues on. Most don’t even know this and half that do, don’t even care. It’s nothing new. Even if the Earth stopped spinning and shattered into a million pieces, life would still go on existing throughout the universe both known and unknown. There is some debate about what our universe consist of. The scientist see only the molecules while the religiously devote see only the spirit. One the seen one the unseen. The two are not exclusive despite what their adherents say. The two forces have been referred to by many names; Order Chaos, Love and Hate, Life and Death, but the most simplest name of the diametrically opposed forces which constitute the nature of the universe may be Is and Is not. December 21st 2012 does not hold the end to that, for there is no end.
The current enthusiasm for this particular End-Time, comes from the perfect storm of desire and marketing. There are two people excited for midnight; the people who are tired of the world as it is, and those making money off them. There is a third and forth type of person but they are not as excited. They’re the Naysayers who exist on the outside as judge and jury to both parties, and there is the indifferent who are oblivious to anyone involved. The indifferent are the smallest minority. This particular prophecy has pervaded popular culture thanks to fact that we’re all strung together with invisible wires. We sit in hives silently looking out at the world through screens our fingers clacking mechanically in-between sips on our Meso-American coffee beans. Half us Hoping the Mayans are right the other half hoping to exploit that hope. Funny thing is we are all just fools. No one is certain that these calendars have even been read correctly. We have limited knowledge of what they had in mind and what they meant. Spanish priest saw to that. This prophecy is gleaned from but one of the four remaining codices. Archeologist are not even in unanimous agreement about what they mean.
This is just one thing though. The desire remains, even without it for those that are truly over it. The pressure from such a bloated consumerist society. A society driven in many different directions by a million screaming voices, breeds the bloody chaos we witness when we tune into what the monster is feeding us. The Ouroboros is complete, thank you Ernst Förstemann! The most important thing they got right is that time is circular, we are moving in a loop. If you find anything new under the sun I trust you to keep it to yourself, less it become sullied instantly. If you listen to those trying to make money of this current apocalypse, then the end of the world immediately means death and destruction. Now why those things are always present they do not constitute the end of the world. Even at the most loosest interpretations of Mayan prophecy the end of the long count calendar simply means start over. The supposed visions of the future predicted in the 4th K’atun are even understated. Claiming we will live in age of enlightenment and global social change. We will enter a dark age that will be lifted after a period. There are those that feel this meant we are going to be destroyed as previous civilizations have been destroyed. Still that does not end all life.
Well, it’s been awhile since we’ve transmitted on this channel. We’ve been away having our insides removed and replaced with new technology care of the Machine Elves that Dr. Nihilist introduced us to. We’ve had some secret training that we’ll be sharing with you all in the future. For now we have one last letter from the Good Doktor before he vanished through a hole in our broom closet. He somehow managed to hide it in an egg at the grocery store around the corner from our offices. Hail to the Good Doktor we await your return with glee. So without further ado we give you the last transmission from the satellite heart.
Hello and goodbye,
Welcome my Midnight Ravers, it is I your humble Doktor, the Nihilistic Avenger. Here for another house call. Through these invisible lea lines of communication I come to you from beyond the grave. I’m not dead yet but someday someone will receive this message and I will be. I have been back and forth through time and space for so long it no longer has meaning to me. When I began this journey I simply sought knowledge. I wanted to understand the universe on as many levels as I could. This of course led to experiments in alchemical sciences. I discovered cures for diseases that could have healed mankind. I brought eternal life to myself through my work. Yet I wasn’t satisfied. I had to have more, make myself even smarter. I had no idea that there were something’s I just did not want to know. I wondered the world learning the mystic arts from various shaman and holy men. I sought the entirety of human wisdom. I practiced ancient rituals with tribes untouched by time, and immersed within them. I developed the ability to move between the 4th and 5th dimensions back into the 3rd and even down into the 2nd. What I found was a world removed from our own. And I was not alone. There were others out there who could also move within the realms of multiple dimensions. They called themselves Travelers. They were fellow mystics (like myself), knowledge seekers who had risen to a place that was barely recognizable as human. They were not gods, but something else. They did not interfere in the lives of humans, they merely sought to reach the infinite dimensions and find the point of origin.
I have done many things in my time; some of them good, some of them not so. But that is a matter of perspective in many ways. My way may seem old fashioned at times, as ancient and outdated as a phone book these days. The roots of my knowledge come from centuries of practice, along with science from the future and alternate timelines that I have traveled through. I have reached across the stars and convened with alien races too distant for humans to ever meet. I have been operated on by machine elves that live inside of everything. They showed me the secrets of the universe-which were surprisingly simple explanations based on common physics and eternal truths. I have hallucinated on top of mountains with men who were too old to make the journey back down. I have smoked the frap of Gods and I found better living through chemicals and science, and open spiritual gates using the tools of man. I have stood on battlefields both ancient and modern and yielded no quarter. Through all my mastery of mind over matter and matter over mind I called upon the ancient names and stared into the fires of hell; the impact of which I feel each and every moment. Now it is time I retire once more to a place beyond the stars until I am summoned once more to the door of this world.
As I fall into nothing, I leave you with these parting word; everything is everything. Simple wisdom espoused by natty dreads of the shores of the Rivers of Babylon and the beaches of Jamaica. There is no separation between the two of us, the same energy that powers the machine elves wonder machines is the same that pumps the blood through each of our veins, and makes water flow downstream, each and every molecule is the same and as they twirl about each other we dance the same way, bouncing off one another reflecting ourselves within ourselves. The singular energy created when the Universe was born is the same energy that exist all through us right now. There is nothing but us we are the same once and forever. So when you stub your toe on the coffee table before you curse and raise your voice in anger remember that you are the coffee table and you simple bumped into yourself again. Life is the journey of energy from nothingness back to nothingness. Friction is the spark between spaces that separate electrons and neurons. When you light a candle and attempt to raise the devil you are lighting a piece of you to raise yourself. True enlightenment is the erosion of all division once you move past the idea of separation only unification remains and that singularity is the only true power that allows everything and nothing to be possible. It is this dream of infinite stasis I leave you with children. I told you the secrets were simple.
Calling in from the fifth wall.
The lord Zed figurine of plastic darkness, angler on the lake of sorrow, measured in half by what he owed. Called forth tonight from the Himalayas. There wasn’t much we could do, but try and process the ghost. I’m getting eaten alive right now. I can feel the hurt from the inside seeping out to my pour and I need a cleansing. I need to be free from this hurt and I’m not talking about dying. I’m sure there is a name for it in some language that I have forgotten through time. MY mind is not what it used to be so you must forgive me. I see the sun set in the east and the west but never see it rise. I keep thinking to myself; how long did Buddha sit under that tree for. It’s not a very good model. This day and age we expect speed even with our enlightenment. That’s not how it’s done the universe keeps reminding me. I’m sure I will forget as soon as the drugs the aliens gave me where off. They fill you with hallucinogens while they perform their experiments on you. It’s not like they need the data it’s just for fun. They get bored waiting for us to evolve. Unfortunately that’s not going to happen in my life time. Unless you count the genetic modifications we make to ourselves trying to hurry evolution itself.
There are those who would contend that self modification is a form of evolution but I don’t agree totally. It is and it isn’t. I mean on the most basic premise and understanding of evolutionary theory it is, but in actual proven evolution it’s debatable. Humans have evolved, but now it’s the quite time when man is not visibly transforming. It’s happening all around you and it’s not over. I know I shouldn’t care about what you’re doing right now but I do. I care a lot and it’s making me cry that you haven’t called me. My heart was broken before this song came on. Somewhere out there I know there is someone waiting for me, but truth is I probably already pissed them off already thinking about you too much. Movement is limited in the heart but the city is big and so is the stated and the country is even bigger. Distance cannot fill the void though. Travel cannot reclaim the time spent and the years lost. I’m too old to find myself and too young to lose myself again. I am aware of who and what I am the blood is there in the soil and it want wash away.
There is an access point between worlds where we can see everything. And when I say everything I mean everything (Past, present, future, what could have been, what would have been, and beyond). The universe opens up like a flower there and the dawn is always just beyond the horizon. Not very fun to live in a place where everything is there but just out of reach, and where heaven is not a place where nothing ever happens. This is a false heaven and one must seek the land where change is infinite and undying. Where the unbridled life of chaos and disorder are mere molecules of love and hate; distilled for the enjoyment of others. “Speaks so clearly”, it says. None such luck Jack, the tongue gets tied up in the head of one so alone. I once lay dormant thriving on the unexpected. The machine elves drilled holes in my head but not to let the demons out. They put them in and locked them up with me. Up on that mountain I went to find enlightenment. Tried getting a Zen then had to learn a new Zen (Figured out about ten-by now). My rocket ship fits a lot.
As thinking the other day about how we were all just soul carriers. Not just of our own souls, but those around us, and those who have come before us. I’m sure there are others who have and still do feel this way. We express it differently and I have yet to find a proper name for it. Times are changing and things always need rearranging. I want to walk off into the sunset like a good cowboy/samurai. Yet their meanings are lost in time and the truth about cowboys and samurai is not a glorious as there Hollywood descriptions.
Not so Sincerely,
I’m just going to quit apologizing for not updating this blog enough. It seems every time that I do I get even more behind. Let’s just say that sometimes real life gets in the way of internet life and because of that we make sacrifices. With that said I would like to point out that I have not forgotten the mission statement of Goatfuckers.com or the entire Goatfucker nation. In an effort to boost moral I may direct you two tumblr pages that I somehow mange to keep on top of Armada Out-Post 606 and Die Making Love to a Horse. I have few rants keyed up but their stuck in editorial phases right now, as soon as there sussed out I’ll post them. In the meantime I have also begun work on musical project that ties into all this, it’s working title is Suicidal Dream Lords. We’ll see if it manifest anytime soon, but remember you heard it here first! The deafening chant of the SDL will be DESTROYERS OF THE WORLD UNITE! Tell your friends!
First off we would like to thank the good Doctor for lending us a hand while we were taking care of more pressing matters (like keeping a roof over our heads). I’m sure there are those of you out there who weren’t sure what to make of his left-handed path, or his calls to Midnight Ravers. Well, good, you should stay confused. Confusion is the key.
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,
Greetings and salutations my Midnight Ravers,
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 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,
The Return of Dr. Nihilist
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!
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
So aside from all the movie reviews and meeting idols in L.A. I also made time to fill my ears with some new music that I would like to share with all you little Goatfuckers out there! First up the bat is a surprisingly amazing album from Troy (from Community), aka Childish Gambino, aka Donald Glover. I’ll let that sink in for a moment. Yes, Troy of Troy and Abed in the Morning, has released music since 2008 with some noise on the hipster set, but it’s his latest EP, released through his BlogSpot that caught my attention and is receiving heavy rotation here at the GF headquarters. Name dropping sitcoms, comic books, and Tina Fey while extolling the virtues of his incredible work ethic in his distinctive voice are notable, but what makes this album great is the fact that Donald Glover can actually rap and sing. Like Jamie Fox before him he is a man of many talents. At first it’s difficult to separate his character on television from the man himself which is a testament to how good he is, but once you do you can really appreciate his skills. I went back and grabbed some of his earlier work and it was good, but many of his flows sounded the same, it took him a few to develop and get beyond just name checking the latest internet memes and nerd favorites to come into his own. His flow is similar to the current crop of Suburban black hip-hop that is sprouting from the culdesacs of America (incidentally the name of his 2010 album). They’re was more than a little, Little Wayne, OFWGKTA, Kid Cudi, Drake, Waka Flocka, and Kayne in his style, but now he seems more his own and it works. Not that the older stuff was bad, but through all the boast of sexual conquest and how he was going to change the game (which felt forced), you were left with the feeling that it was still Troy off Community.On the new EP it’s all Donald Glover, and Donald Glover is Childish Gambino!
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!
Okay, it’s been over a week now since I met one of my heroes and idols Grant Morrison at a book signing in L.A. and I think I’ve finally processed it enough to write about it. For those who don’t know who that is; Grant Morrison is in my opinion the most prolific and greatest writer of all time. You can argue about that if you want and trust me many people have tried. You can claim that Alan Moore’s Watchmen, or Frank Miller’s Dark Knight, makes them the greatest comic book writers, and if you only judged on sales then you’d still be wrong because Morrison’s Arkham Asylum has outsold both of those and remains in the New York Times top 100, 20 years after it was published. You can argue that Grant Morrison is more of a fringe writer and that his stories are too confusing and all over the board. To that I would just look at you like you were stupid and pat you on your empty head. My love of Grant Morrison does not stem from his work on DC’s 52, or Final Crisis, it does not come from reading his All-Star Superman (the greatest Superman story ever told), or his six years on Batman (the best six years the 70+ year old character has ever had), no; my love for Grant Morrison comes from the work he is arguably most known for-The Invisibles.
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 28th. 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 1st 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.
I’ve been doing quite a bit of movie reviews over here as of late, but not without due. Yet of all the amazing films I have seen lately a few days ago I was lucky enough to see a film that blew them all out of the water! I had the fortune, and opportunity to see a screening of Attack the Block and it was by far the best damn alien invasion flick since District 9! I know that’s a statement that has been made before, but that’s because it’s true. This is the movie that Super 8 wishes it was! This is Super 8 for those of us that didn’t grow up white, middle class, in the 1970s suburbs. If you haven’t heard about it, Attack the Block is about an alien invasion that lands in a south London projects that they call council estates! Unfortunately for the aliens the military never arrives and the police are useless, but a gang of the most badass awesome teenagers greets them with all the grit of any blonde-haired, blue eyed hero we’re used to smirking in the screen. There’s no painted on dirt and five o’clock stubble, the grit and the grime here are real.
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.
So Marvel released some photos the other day of Bucky Barnes from the upcoming Captain America flick. For a second I’m going to put aside my anger at Chris Evans being both Steve Rogers (Captain America) and Johnny Storm (the Human Torch in the Fantastic Four movies). Bucky Barnes (for those unfamiliar with comic books) is Captain Americas Robin! His kid sidekick in hot pants that 1940s comic artist seemed overly obsessed with. Perhaps it was the writers, but ultimately it fell on the editors to recognize that this sort of thing was not right. Maybe they explained it away by saying they needed a kid sidekick for the children reading the comics to relate to, but that didn’t mean they all had to be dressed up like some NAMBLA fetish model. I am a lifelong comic book reader and I have never liked or understood the prepubescent sidekick role. Perhaps it was because I read Rick Veitch’s Brat Pack at an all too young age! It was one of (if not the) first comics to deal with the fucked up nature of the child sidekick. Fresh off the heels of making Swamp-Thing the cross that Jesus was crucified on Veitch took on the subject straight ahead and called out all the old superheroes as pedo-bears in disguise. This was also just after DC had killed off the second Robin in a horrible explosion. Everyone in comics was taking a second (some cases first) long hard look at the kid sidekick (pun intended). It was during the eighties nearly 40 years later that this comic book archetype began to get evaluated and done away with. Now we are used to the trope being marginalized and or ridiculed by the likes of The Venture Brothers. Many comics have tried to ret-con the idea and make it somewhat palatable to modern audiences familiar with the word pedophilia. It was a different time back then, an age of innocence as the historians would have it painted, but we all know that the same demons which haunt mankind today haunted them in the post WWII era, they just didn’t have names for it (or didn’t use them widely) as we do now. Robin wasn’t the only kid sidekick in comics, and far from the first. Young boys hanging around old men, was overlooked, that’s how Catholic Priest were able to carry out their reign of terror for so long. Now Robin has to be Batman’s son or it’s just wrong, and Bucky has to be a little older and in the comics he becomes a Russian super solider and eventually the next Cap himself. Ironically the big Blue Boy Scout never had a kiddy sidekick, just a younger time traveling version of himself! They state that in the new movie Bucky will most definitely be older which is appropriate, and that the relationship between him and cap will be different than in the original 1940s comic. I personally prefer the way the Ultimate universe portrayed it and allowed Bucky to grow old and senile while cap lay frozen. Bucky even married Cap’s girl while he was stuck in a block of ice! A hell of a lot better than being some pre-teen boy toy for some spandex clad creepy Uncle Figure!
If you know anything about me, you know that I have more than a few obsessions. I watch wrestling like it’s my job, I swear by the restorative properties of Whiskey, and treat Peanut Butter as if it’s the only food in the world worth a damn. I also have remained faithfully obsessed with a band called The Mountain Goats for over ten years now. What you may not know about me is that for the first 30 years of my life on this Earth, I was also heavily obsessed with The Price is Right. Blame my grandmother for that one, but every since I was knee-high, to a grasshopper’s ass, I sat with my grandmother during summer vacation, and religiously worshiped at the altar of Bob Barker. After she passed away it became even more of an obsession even, I even forced others to join my religion while incarcerated on the side of a mountain in Ohio for eight months. I converted scores of inmates to both my cult of Bob and the WWE (then the WWF). As a kid I would joke with my grandmother about what I would do if I were ever on The Price is Right. I would talk about how bidding $1 was the secret key. Well on Thursday June 23rd 2011, eleven years since my grandmother was here on this planet with me, I get my chance. I have been warned that I will have to line up at 2:30 A.M. to insure a spot, but I plan on getting there even earlier. I will spend the 24 hours prior boning up on my price knowledge for lawn mowers and campers. I will study what I need to do to get selected to come on down. This will be a mission for Nanny and all those hours we spent together. Although Bob Barker will not be present, I know that my Nanny’s spirit will be with me. And as if that wasn’t a holy experience enough for one day, later that night I will see my beloved Mountain Goats live and in person, so ever close to the former home town of the maestro himself John Darnielle! I feel like I may burst out of my skin and turn into a being of pure light before Thursday. I pray I can contain myself.
So I’ve been on these guys nuts pretty hard for quite while now! And one look at their site and you can see why. It’s as if Goatfucker.com had a more productive viral video wing. These amazing geniuses take the absolutely worst VHS tapes of yester-yore and turn them into pure gold, pure fucking gold! I love everything these fuckers do, but this here has to be the all time besties. Perhaps because I am biased on the subject matter, or perhaps because it features clips from Apocalyptic Cinema that even I (a connoisseur) do not recognize! I especially love the eye laser fight out of no where, and will someone please tell me what this amazing jam is playing as the soundtrack to the future!
Sunday I watched Rainn Wilson’s new movie Super. I rented it on Demand because I fucked off at the grocery store and missed the 7:30 show at the only theatre in town playing it. I had heard a lot about it and seen all the clips on YouTube, I was stoked. I had heard all the negative reviews calling it a darker less happy Kick-Ass, and had been intrigued by his obvious disdain for the genre in an article he wrote for EntertainmentWeekly. I knew going in that it was about a guy (Rainn) who loses his wife (Liv Tyler-yeah right obvious fantasy is obvious), to Kevin Bacon (does this count as two superhero movies for him this year since he’s doing X-Men: First Class too?). I also knew about (Juno/Kitty Pryde) Ellen Page as his kid sidekick, and that the movie was supposed to be “hyper” violent (a phrase that I adore), and all this made me want to see it more.
I had no clue that I wasn’t prepared for how “hyper” the violence was. It was obviously not a big budget film, it was filmed in Shreveport, Louisiana, about as far removed from Hollywood as you can get, and it shows. Which is part of the charm, they never say where there at in the film, and none of the characters have enough of an accent to even hint at what part of the country it’s in. This is to say, the story could take place anywhere. Immediately you get the since this will not just be a deconstruction of the vigilante superhero, and this will not be a smooth ride. After the set up we are let in on the fact that Frank (Wilson) has had pretty heavy schizophrenic visions since he was a wee lad. And I’m serious about the schizoid part! His full blown hallucinations are something that I personally have spent hundreds of dollars to achieve with no such luck as this guy (Happy Bicycle Day BTWs). The vision that leads to him becoming a costumed crime-fighter involves Wilson having his head ripped open and mind fucked by what he perceives as God, but has more of a passing resemblance to Japanese Tentacle porn! And if you have ever read Goatfucker.Com before, you know I love tentacle porn and people being raped by God-so this was awesome for me.
I guess I should have said *SPOILER ALERT* but if you’re too stupid to stop reading shit that you don’t want to know about then don’t waste your time commenting just go fucking die.
It becomes apparent fairly quickly that his mild mannered heroics (stopping drug dealers, bashing in the skulls of child molesters), with a monkey wrench, are not going to end well. With each successful outing Frank becomes more and more violent. In this he becomes more like the Punisher on a budget and without the Rambo training, than Kick-Ass. Kick-Ass by-the-way was a much more violent comic than the movie, and judging from all the crying online about the darkness and violence of this film I see now why they had to dumb it down for the rubes in Middle America. This movie was more realistic about it’s portrayal of violence, but it was still cartoonish and even funny. Who here hasn’t wanted to split someone’s head open for cutting in line? More so than I would for someone selling drugs, they’re providing a service that people want, if you’re too moral to handle drug use then you’re more like Frank than you care to admit and probably that’s what scares people about this movie. It’s not glorifying some lunatic who talks to god and starts cracking strangers over the head. It also begs to question to all the Batman fans out there the people that applaud the rich billionaire who takes it upon his lofty self to clean up the streets from the niggers and scum that are trying impeding on our perfect Christian lives. Frank is a loser who sits around alone watching Christian Superheroes on one of those shitty Jesus channels. Fuck Frank he’s not my kinda guy he’s a shmuck who believes the TV is talking to him! He probably watches the shit out of Glenn Beck.
The other characters aren’t all that great either, Ellen Page looking like a pedo’s wet dream is a bored 22 year old who works at a comic shop and bags hipster dweebs in her one bedroom attic apartment. She’s dying for some adventure and anything interesting to happen in her life so much so that she finds herself turned on by Rainn Wilson, who for all the money in the world would never bag a hipster hottie like Page! And that’s nothing against him, I have always said his character on the Office is my favorite, I think the guy is a genius and I’d love to see him get more work, but the fact is he’s the modern day Steve Buscemi! He ain’t winning no beauty contest. Any way back to Juno; her character lacks the moral understanding to know that keying your friend’s car is not an executable offense. I think it’s her character that strikes the biggest nerve. She is the product of a youth over saturated with violence, and made numb by it. Devoid of anything of her own she latches on to the first person that she’s as being deeper than their ironic T-shirt. She is amazing. And for the first time I saw her hotness. I thought she was cute in Juno and X-Men, but she looked thirteen, and she still looks thirteen in this, which is bad, but it works and she could defiantly hang out if I was in my twenties again. And like most art school dropout, hipster chicks (that have been around since before the term hipster came to its modern meaning in our lexicon), she is bat shit crazy! I will agree with the critics who have said that not enough was done with her character. We get our first glimpse of what’s up in this broads head just before we get to actually see what‘s in her head. And I won’t spoil that moment for you if you haven’t seen it but once you have you’ll know what I mean. Oh too far did I spoil it?
Liv Tyler and Kevin Bacon have to share most of their screen time which is all too brief. There are hints of coolness in Bacon, but he’s made out to be the villain in a fashion that I would have shied away from personally. He gives a great speech at the end that sums up Frank’s delusional mentality, before he’s put to it, and we find ourselves almost being shoe horned into an ending that didn’t quite fit. Through the whole movie you are shown that there are consequences to every act, each person meets a fate that was apropos to their story. I won’t blow it, but I will say this, I would like to for once see a movie where everybody dies. I want a film where not a single character survives and no lessons are learned, nothing will be heart-felt! All in all it was a great movie and if anybody tells you different fracture their skull and tell them to shut-up!
I know he’s just a washed up drunk French guy who can do splits now. Let’s not forget before we had Jason Statham, Jean Claude was the baddest mo-fo across the pond! Don’t sit there and act like you didn’t love Kickboxer! Anyway if you ever wondered how Van Damme became the Van Damminator here you go!
So earlier this week we were hipped to a new flick (yeah we were born in the seventies) called Hobo with a Shotgun! Starring Rutger Hauer who has been in more movies than you could ever watch (because he keeps making them), such as Batman Begins, Blade Runner, Sin City, The Hitcher, and our personal favorite Blind Fury! It’s a heart wrenching tale the makers of the film describe it as such;
A train pulls into the station – it’s the end of the line. A Hobo jumps from a freight car, hoping for a fresh start in a new city. Instead, he finds himself trapped in an urban hell. This is a world where criminals rule the streets and Drake, the city’s crime boss, reigns supreme alongside his sadistic murderous sons, Slick & Ivan. Amidst the chaos, the Hobo comes across a pawn shop window displaying a second hand lawn mower. He dreams of making the city a beautiful place and starting a new life for himself. But as the brutality continues to rage around him, he notices a shotgun hanging above the lawn mower… Quickly, he realizes the only way to make a difference in this town is with that gun in his hand and two shells in its chamber.
So the creator of this wonderful film was actually a contest winner from a create your own fake trailer contest that had something to do with the Grindhouse flick, Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodríguez’s double feature a few years back. So he decided to return the favor with a contest of his own and well you can see the results for yourself! There’s a bit of double entendre;
I wonder if Grant Morrison is thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about him today. Probably not since he doesn’t know me, but in some parallel universe we are best friends so (cross your fingers). Earlier today I woke up thinking about one of my favorite characters in The Invisibles; Mr. Six. I was thinking about him not as Big Malkie, or the smooth operating member of Division X, no, no, I was thinking about who Mr. Six was based on. The incomprehensible Peter Wyngrade! Who played the character Jason King in the short lived British television series of the same name. He was a foppish dandy of a secret agent working for the mysterious Department S. It’s a quite a complex and headed story especially for its time. It involved a guy writing about a guy, while also kinda of being the guy he was writing about and the duality or would that be tri-ality of the fantastic adventures the character would get into while researching material for the character he was creating. Yeah I know it sounds loopy and it is in all the right ways. No wonder it inspired Gran Morrison. The thing is Peter Wyngrade himself was quite a character. He was the son of a British Diplomat and a French mother. Spent his childhood in 5 different countries and even spent a few years in a Japanese concentration camp in Shanghai! He was on the Prisoner and was climbing up the ladder of success when in 1975 he got busted doing something in a public bathroom that people tend to frown on. What ever the guy also made some insane spoken word type albums that seem like they either inspired William Shatner or were inspired by him who knows. I mean Shat-Rock-Diesel possibly drowned his wife, and we still love him! And George Micheal still made a few kick ass songs right! That’s neither here nor there! The fact is that This dude is bad ass and makes songs about shit no one should ever make songs about! Check It!
I listen to an odd array of music, everything from the Nintendo-Core of IWRESTLEDABEARONCE, to Leonard Cohen, Pixies, to Lil’ Wayne and everything in between. I have been down with punk rock my entire life it feels like. Every since I first heard Minor Threats Complete Discography in 7th grade. I started shoving safety pins through my nostrils in front of my grandmother when I was 14. Yet even in High School I appreciated the art of juxtaposition. I never wanted to be boxed in and defined by one genre. Sure I had my standard punk uniform of military boots and ripped jean shorts, torn t-shirts from bands that broke up before I hit puberty, but I mixed it in with full three-piece suits and London Fog trench coats to punk shows held in VFW post and Armories. As I continued to fill my body with metal and rawkus hatred throughout the tail end of the last century, I wondered often (as I do now) about the future. When I began my journey into the underground I was one of the only African-American faces in my small North Carolina community, as time marched on I got older and there got to be a great deal more brown and black faces in the crowds. I wasn’t alone after a while and this felt good. I felt sort of responsible. Now that’s my ego talking I know, it was more of a combination of shifts in societal norms, due to groups like Out cast, The Roots, and others crossing boundaries on the big stages and the trickle down effect of a few generations of African-americans infiltrating the white middle class suburbs. Suddenly teams of black skate boarders appeared. Now many, many years later, we stand on the cusp of the great crux. Things are wildly different from when I was 16. The digital revolution happened, and genres and styles that were once exclusive to certain age groups and races are non-existent. Everything is all mashed up and the results are chaotically beautiful. Right now a small band of Afro-Punks are making a lot of noise out of L.A. They’ve stormed the East coast and stole the show at SXSW this past Friday. They’re being talked about in newspapers and hipster blogs are touting them as the next big thing. But before they become so ubiquitous that their obnoxious I wanted to share them for the benefit of those who haven’t seen them. If there ever was a Goatfucker party these guys would be on the bill. They’re called Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All! The name alone is worth a million bucks, but watching their elctro-hip-hop-punk fueled attack is awesome. They killed it on a recent Jimmy Fallon appearance, though I still can bring myself to watch that smirking jerk. They are all young and full of piss and vinegar as my old G-Ma would say!
On another note at the complete opposite of the spectrum is a group doing something amazingly retro. Long before I started shoving metal into my face I was a kid in the eighties. And Although Prince was always at the top of my list I had a huge spot in my heart for Hall & Oates, The Carpenters, and other cheesy early eighties/late seventies schmaltz, gleamed from being raised in the country on The Muppet Show and PBS long before 250 cable/satellite channels entered my life or the world for that matter. Now I’m 33 and I still keep my septum ring in , but most of the metal is out of my face, I no longer have a hole in my ear you can stick a battery in, I bought my tickets to the Steve Ignorant tour months in advance and-unless compelled by a force greater than I-I will not be jumping into any pit. I have in many ways settled down (as I light the bowl and down my third shot before work). I also am insanely in love with everything Tim & Eric do and can’t wait for the movie to blow minds at the theater (although it won’t set any box office records I’m sure). With that said if you watch any Adult swim you already know that Heideker & Woods features just the Tim part of Tim & Eric, along side of the man behind the music of their Adult Swim masterpieces. I’m sure you haven’t missed the commercials, but if you rock as much Hall and or Oates as I do you will love this.
One last thing of note that probably deserves its own post all together. Another one of the bright hopes for the future; Die Antwoord has released a fifteen minute movie masterpiece directed by Gumo’s acclaimed director Harmony Korine. It’s called Ushini Wam! And it is some next level shit that should be seen by nearly everyone and passed around so that it becomes a household name! I’m seriously thinking about a Goatfucker party now!
Since I was young I have been fascinated with apocalyptic theories, I have read and re-read every Robert Anton Wilson Book, I have delved deep into ancient and mystic text, and spent countless hours over analyzing the works of US philosopher Terrence McKenna. For those unfamiliar Timewave theory it was developed by McKenna, who studied the “Book of Changes” or the “I Ching” (one of the oldest Chinese books ). I Ching is a Chinese system formed from 64 hexagrams determined by two lines (commonly known in the West) as yin and yang.Despite being the go-to choice for tattoo flash at Daytona beach throughout the 1990s. McKenna theorizes that the I Ching may have initially been used as a calendar system. By studying the ancient writings, he conceived a numerological formula through which was assigned an I Ching symbol to each major event that took place in History. McKenna noticed that around the year 2012, the coincidence of events ( that can occur ) is a lot bigger. He hypothesized that around the winter solstice in 2012, civilization would be the subject to some major change. This coincided with theories already circulating on the Mayan calendar; particularly centering around the end of the 13th b’ak’tun of the Mayan calendar. Most specialists that studied the theory believe that McKenna misinterpreted the I Ching oracle, and that his study was incorrect.
Weather or not you buy McKenna’s right or not, it is obvious, and has been obvious for sometime that something is happening. The increased in cycles of “novelty” the rapid succession that world-wide events are unfolding, be it catastrophic weather patterns, global upheaval throughout the Middle east, Asia and Europe. Even in America there is civil unrest and discontent by various sides depending on perspective. There feels like a condensing of time. This may or may not be true. It could all be delusions of a few drug addled men and women. It could be the collective hallucination of a species that has sense it’s inception sought out confound itself with beliefs and dogma that (as far as we know) does not exist in other animals. My love of end-time, apocalyptic cults is rivaled only by my love of comic books and professional wrestling! I love our current age of disposable deities and fleeting celebrity worship. Faster than a season of American Idol can keep up with the information age gives us weekly idols, monthly Gods, daily heroes to worship. This in a sense brings up the question of how sacred can something be when it is only temporary. The answer of course is that everything is temporary and nothing is stable, therefore nothing is sacred and all things are in a since novelty.I believe it is necessary and healthy and that the ease in which the snake is now shedding its skin and being reborn only completes the cycle. Although the cycle is never truly complete and the war never ends.