I think I may be in love…

And that is not something I say lightly. But then again, its not every day I find a cam-whoring, ex-stripper, who trolls for cash…and so, having done so, I find her somewhat fascinating.

For those of you who don’t have a finger on the pulse of mainstream/left-wing blogging in the UK, I am talking of the delectable Ruth Fowler. She of Comment is Free infamy. Over the last week or so, she has pretty much managed to wind up much of the UK left wing blogosphere. Well, at least the parts of it I have visited.

And when you look at some of her articles, it is not hard to see why she has caused such a stir. Here are a few selected articles and their subtitles, links provided.

The antichrist for feminists

There I was, thinking I was just making a quick buck, when all the time I was illustrating that feminism is about choice

Club rules
Lefties are supposed to be the nice ones. But increasingly, liberals are just puritanical hypocrites

Flab isn’t fab
You don’t get fat by accident. Eating so much requires Olympic-class stamina and athleticism

And imagine lobbing these into the sort of people who frequent the Guardian for anything except entertainment. Well, actually you don’t even have to, just read the comments below the article. Yeah, precisely, its hilarious and designed to do only 2 things:

wind people up
get her name better known (for her book)

And of course, it does help that Ms Fowler is not only getting paid to troll, which is enough to earn my respect, and is fairly intelligent and well-read, which catches my interest. She is also quite the looker. Here is one of the more…work safe pictures from her site (although most of them are fairly tasteful, so if your employers have a liberal policy, feel free to sneak a look).

Yeah, precisely. I shall have to watch her future articles very closely, I think. I love a trouble-maker, especially of her potential.

The Spark

sparkThe hope for the future lies in our past.  I believe this to be true. 

But, not as a collective.  Not as a society, or as a country, or as a race.  The hope is in our individual past.  It is in, The Spark. 

It’s that moment, or series of moments that we’ve all had.  Perhaps for some it has long been buried by years of apathy and the leavings of a crumbling self.  Perhaps for some it was squelched by an overbearing parent or militant grade-school teacher.  Regardless, I believe we all have had it. 

What is The Spark?  It’s when you discovered you could be Ian Paice using the pots and pans in your mother’s kitchen.  It’s when you figured out how to turn a piece of paper into a soaring jet plane.  It’s when you strummed your first E5 with the gain turned up to 10.  It’s when you blew out your gut onto a piece of lined paper.  It was when you help hope and promise, not for the world, but for YOU.

Youthful exuberance.  Vim and vigor.  As you think about it now you are probably remembering back to fond times of yesteryear.  That’s good.  Because when you become reacquainted with that feeling, you need to drag it back with you.  Reinstall it into your psyche, your personality, your YOU. 

It’s hard to think that The Spark was what landed the Accounts Payable position for the financial institution.  It’s hard to conceive that it was The Spark that lead to the junkie with the needle in his arm.  It’s unimaginable that it was The Spark that has us deep into a conflict in the desert that is seemingly endless.  No, it would seem in these cases, and many, many more, that The Spark was relegated to the back seat while The Retreat was riding shotgun. 

The Retreat is where we went, and where we still go, when we don’t want to cause trouble.  It is where we, well, retreat to when we don’t wish to take on the challenge of choice.  When we fear the choice of becoming a professional Clown, egged on by The Spark, we then decide to pursue the safety of becoming an insurance salesmen presented at the job-fair hosted at The Retreat.  We’ve learned from others that The Retreat is safe and will allow us to live a life of comfort and a resulting joy.  The edges are all smoothed to keep us from harming ourselves. 

The Spark is rough and ragged.  It is possible that it can hurl us off a cliff into a crevice of danger, yet it also can propel us to the pastures of potential.  We could go all in, sell our stuff, hop on a bike with just a guitar and some gusto and maybe make it as a well-known musician.  In the effort, we may have to wait tables to put food on our own table.  We may have to forgo owning IPODS and cellphones while forging ahead.  But, the potential rewards for the soul, I would argue, are much richer than those who languish in the lap of luxury. 

It would seem that far too many have forgotten their Spark while living in their Retreat.  Many are unconscionably ignorant to the lack of fire burning within, while simultaneously feeling the chill coming, unheeded, through the windows of their Retreat.  And so, that’s where we find things.  Those in the cold far outnumbering those still yearning and burning for what tomorrow will hold.  But, it is not lost.  We simply need to form the search parties to explore and excavate that which was left in the dead days’ dust.  Meanwhile, for those who have managed to maintain their fire, we need to keep stoking it and assuring that it is never quashed.  It is this hope from our past that is going to give us the promise for the future…

X-Day: Anonymous vs. Scientology

Pungenday, Discord 28, YoLD 3174
A new spin on Mafia, by Pope Telarus, KSC, Tender to the Edible Zen Garden.

The Cards:

X-Day Card: Anonymous X-Day Card: Scientologist

X-Day Card: Bob X-Day Card: Alien Sex Goddess

“The portrait of J.R. “Bob” Dobbs is a trademark of SubGenius Foundation, Inc. and is used with permission.”

Continue reading X-Day: Anonymous vs. Scientology

Clergy to the Freaks

It’s a strange, chaotic world out there. It’s incomprehensibly huge and also so tiny it’s like your own personal cell. It’s miraculously beautiful and suicidally ugly. It’s both claustrophobically overcrowded and desolately lonely.

 

There are a lot of people – in this case I’ll use that nebulous “us” – who use weirdness, humor, and insanity as a means of coping. Perhaps lunacy allows some to achieve a sort of homeostasis, an equilibrium with the ubiquitious dynamics and pressures of modern living.

 

Over at the PD Forums we had a debacle yesterday. One of our newer members, Daruko, had a sort of “internet breakdown” when confronted by some opposition. It was both funny and hard to watch. The guy in question is a 25-year old father of two, who is “in dire need of some sillyness in his life.”

 

Somebody asked Tim Leary what to do after they had Turned On. He said, “Find the others.” And then they show up at our door.

 

Continue reading Clergy to the Freaks

Tears in the Trail

untitled.bmpIt can be difficult to want to move forward, when all you see are potholes and tears in the trail ahead.  No not tears, tears, rips, chasms, breaks.  There is no crying in abject uncertainty. 

I think many have been feeling this, for the past 7 years or so.  Quite a few give voice to their fears and apprehension about the future.  But even more have swallowed it in the name of ideological loyalty or just not wanting to be labeled a heretic, or worse, a terrorist.  And no, it’s not just The War, it’s more than that.  The happy times of joy and surplus of the 90s seem so far away now.  It’s kind of like we were having this 8 year party, we drank a bit too much, and passed out.  So now, in 2008 many are finally sobering up and realizing what’s been transpiring during this 7 year hangover. 

The regret is starting to sink in.  The  “Oh My God, what the fuck did I do last night?” questions are emerging.  And it isn’t just the mortgage brokers and the over-extended home owners.  It’s pretty much, to a man, everyone.  Those who aren’t questioning are certainly delusional and should be checked into an institution.  They will be the lucky ones, along with, perhaps, the dead.

But will the future really be that bad?  It’s hard to tell for sure.  But at this current juncture, viewing the different paths before us, as a collective of humanity, there certainly doesn’t appear to be any easy road to travel.  There seemingly are choices between physical safety and financial ruin, between global strife and a flourishing currency, between cheap energy and Ocean Front property in Vermont. 

And so we are in this time of confounding confusion and uncertainty.  What steps do we take next?  Who do we appoint to lead the way?  How much do we surrender to our leaders to lead?  And perhaps the most important, what can and will we do to master our own individual destinies?  Because, in my estimation, how that last question is answered in the years to come, will be the actual determination of where we end up. 

BREAKING NEWS: GRITS FUCKING SUCK

I know this is gonna get me lynched. But anyway–

BREAKING NEWS:
GRITS FUCKING SUCK.

They’re like this disgusting corn paste crap that Southerners swear by. I don’t know what retarded thing Southerners obsess over more: grits, or the confederate flag. Neither have any place in the union.

I NEED CUPPA COFFEE AND SOME CORN PASTE TO START THE DAY
\

/
AND MAH TRACTOR

SRSLY, would you eat this crap?
It looks like something that dripped out of a tissue. Tastes about the same, too.

I can already hear you: NO, PROFESSOR CRAMULUS. YOU’VE GOTTA EAT GRITS WITH SYRUP OR HOT SAUCE OR SOME SHIT

well really then you’re just saying you like syrup or hot sauce or some shit, and the bland, goopey corn sludge is a vehicle for it. You might as well drink the syrup right out of the bottle and save room in your stomach for foods that aren’t made of slime.

People in the south are FANATIC about grits. Check it out:

“Whereas, throughout its history, the South has relished its grits, making them a symbol of its diet, its customs, its humor, and its hospitality, and whereas, every community in the State of South Carolina used to be the site of a grits mill and every local economy in the State used to be dependent on its product; and whereas, grits has been a part of the life of every South Carolinian of whatever race, background, gender, and income; and whereas, grits could very well play a vital role in the future of not only this State, but also the world.”

That’s from the South Carolina General Assembly 113th Session, 1999-2000, Bill Number: 4806. They love grits so much they can’t stop talking about them, even long enough to pass a bill.

FUCK GRITS

Survival on the Lunatic Fringe

When I was 17, it filled my mouth with bile to think about the Office World looming over me like the sword of damocles. After watching Fight Club, Office Space, reading too much Cyberpunk, etc etc I thought that being a fucking independant, self-actualized, free-thinking individual might be negated by some sort of white collar slavery, some sort of indentured servitude to the Machine.

But ya know, after bouncing from career to career for a while, I’ve been sitting in this particular little gray cube for over a year now and it really ain’t that bad. Today is April Fool’s day and I’m hanging up prank signs from the MGT. My cube is filled with art by Magritte, Brandon Bird, Perry Bible Fellowship, and my own stuff. It’s the little things.

And you know, over here in the belly of The Machine, people actually DO seem to appreciate free thinkers. How’s that for faith in humanity? I do think people appreciate those rare freaks who are more colorful than their environment, and it IS inspirational.

And that’s the whole gimmick, right? How to sell out without losing anything of value? Without trapping yourself? How to rearrange the local parts of the Machine until it’s the Machine you want to live in?

I don’t think the 17 year old version of me got it yet. I’m 26 now and Yes I may seem like a white collar slave sometimes, but really now – it ain’t so bad. It beats being an actor / waiter, or a screen writer / shoe salesman, or a starving artist with scabby knees. Because when I’m not in the 9 to 5, I’m living a guitar solo. What I do professionally isn’t the focus of my life. Last night I went out and put up a hundred fucking posters, and it recharged me like WOAH I’m fucking awake again.

This  one guy was walking back from his car, and he saw one of the posters my girlfriend and I put up, and he burst out laughing like a mad man. As we walked down the block, we could hear him in the distance, still cackling. Somebody out there saw something weird today, and maybe he’s gonna start looking everywhere for nonsense now. Maybe he’ll even become a part of it.

This activity really recharges my batteries. If I’m ever feeling Low Quality, this is one of those things I try to remember to do. It makes me feel like all this talk we do about surviving on the lunatic fringe isn’t just abstract masturbation – I’m actually out there doing it.

whatever it is.
WOAH I’m fucking awake again!

The Debut of SPAG

spag.GIF  That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, Verwirrung is proud to present the debut of “Spag” by the new recording sensation SPAG.  SPAG consists of 4 members who are kind of like brothers, well not really, but they definitely ARE all spags.  It is the brainchild of vocalist Eddy Spag and his brother and drummer N. Moss Spag.  They recruited a couple of other spags on guitar and bass, and whammo, you’ve got one helluva band.  “Spag” is their debut single, and they are hard at work on their followup.  Well, actually, I think they are just hanging out in their Mom’s basement getting high, stupid spags.  Anyway, enjoy “Spag” (<–click to download)  Feel free to share it with other spags, er, friends. 

 Here is the “Spag” lyric sheet

While everyone is concentrating on Obama’s “crazy pastor”

I decided to do some digging into another candidate’s odd religious links. I’m sorry, but hysteria bores me unless it is very funny, and all the Rev. Wright drama is showing is how out of touch white America is with black America, and how some conspiracy theories are pefectly acceptable for the media to believe in and accept, but others are not.

I think McCain’s religious links are fairly well known, if contested in what they signify, so instead I decided to look into Hillary Clinton who, aside from her Bosnia sniper lies has kept a relatively low fuck-up profile of late.

And that’s why I find so much of this interesting, because while it is being reported on the fringe news sites, it doesn’t seem to have translated over into a general media concern. Not yet, at least.

I am talking, if you hadn’t already guessed, of The Family, the strange religious group to which Hillary Clinton belongs. Very strange, given almost all of their members are part of the religious right, especially on Capitol Hill, where the sort of people who tend to belong to the Family (or Fellowship, they like to play fast and loose with names) include people like Kansas Senator Sam Brownback, most famously known in the UK for denying evolution during one of the Republican Presidential nominee debates.

So yeah, we’re not exactly talking Methodists here.

But there is much more to the Family than a prayer group for Christians in DC. Much, much more. As Mother Jones goes on to explain, The Family is built along:

sex-segregated cells of political, business, and military leaders dedicated to “spiritual war” on behalf of Christ, many of them recruited at the Fellowship’s only public event, the annual National Prayer Breakfast. (Aside from the breakfast, the group has “made a fetish of being invisible,” former Republican Senator William Armstrong has said.) The Fellowship believes that the elite win power by the will of God, who uses them for his purposes. Its mission is to help the powerful understand their role in God’s plan.

Starting to feel a little worried?

You should be, because The Family not only says it wants to do these things, like so many groups of religious nutters, but it apparently has the means as well. In 1978 it secretly helped the Carter Administration organize a worldwide call to prayer with Menachem Begin and Anwar Sadat, and in 2001 it brought together the warring leaders of Congo and Rwanda for a clandestine meeting, leading to the two sides’ eventual peace accord last July. But its power is not simply limited to waging peace. It also helped the US government forge relationships with Africa’s brutal postcolonial dictators in the 60s, not to mention Brazil and Indonesia’s anti-Communist military dictatorships.

As you’ve probably realized, at least during the Cold War, the aim would seem to be in building an anti-Communist coalition among the Third World, no matter the cost in money or lives. Suharto killed hundreds of thousands of supposed Communists, and I couldn’t even begin to try and fathom how many were lost in Africa.

So…Christian and dedicated to anti-Communism, but with a decidedly Realist streak of cynicism when it comes to power politics. A question for the political science students: who does this sound like? If you said Reinhold Niebuhr, then give yourself a cookie. Niebuhr is considered among the pre-eminent early Realists. And just so happens that he is a favourite of one-time Goldwater gal Hillary Clinton, who learnt of his teachings under the leadership of Reverend Don Jones, shortly before she joined the Republican party.

I do this to illustrate that despite Clinton’s apparent apathy towards religion except as a tool of power, there are links between her early life and the thinking of the Family, and that this should not just be dismissed by appeals to “triangulation” or cynical politicking.

You shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking the Family is entirely part of the Religious Right either. They probably hate secular Democrats as much as any on the Religious Right do, but if someone is a Democrat and a Christian, they are more than willing to embrace them. Because their mission is a higher calling, they are here to bring about the Kingdom of Heaven on earth.

One of the more well known members on Capitol Hill is David Coe. Here is a quote of a talk he was giving to, what he thought, was just a cell of Family members, but also included an undercover Harpers reporter:

You guys know about Genghis Khan?” he asked. “Genghis was a man with a vision. He conquered”—David stood on the couch under the map, tracing, with his hand, half the northern hemisphere—“nearly everything. He devastated nearly everything. His enemies? He beheaded them.” David swiped a finger across his throat. “Dop, dop, dop, dop.”

David explained that when Genghis entered a defeated city he would call in the local headman and have him stuffed into a crate. Over the crate would be spread a tablecloth, and on the tablecloth would be spread a wonderful meal. “And then, while the man suffocated, Genghis ate, and he didn’t even hear the man’s screams.” David still stood on the couch, a finger in the air. “Do you know what that means?” He was thinking of Christ’s parable of the wineskins. “You can’t pour new into old,” David said, returning to his chair. “We elect our leaders. Jesus elects his.”

Exactly. Chew on the implications of that for a while.