Here we are. Again. Mired in the muck of the worst kind of political warfare the swine and insects can muster. I, of course, can stomach it because I'm demented and have a penchant for intellectual bloodshed. Indeed. I know it has been a sweet minute since I scribed anything of value on the election and the repulsive circus it has conjured, so allow me to make it up to you, as only I can. Please note that virgin eyes unaccustomed to my venomous diatribes should divert now and go about their business. This is grown folks territory. Wild, uncut. Indeed. 

To the meat.

I would just like to begin by stating, unequivocally and without remorse, and after much deliberation and scrutiny:

 "F--k You, John McCain - you are an intellectually dishonest, spiritually defecating, embarrassment to American politics. You are a liar, a hypocrite, and the worst kind of swine opportunist."

Ahem. Yes. Some of you are applauding and wiping away a patriotic tear. Others are cursing my name and spitting at the screen. But, they cry, "he's a POW for Gods sake!" My retort is simple: So? John Kerry was a war hero and look what the Repugs did to him in the 2004 election. Shameful. But whatever, that was then and this has NOTHING to do with McCRAP's service to this great nation. My feelings are a direct reflection, a blazing echo of McLAME's glaring distortions and exploitation vomited from his campaign.

 Abraham Lincoln is quoted as saying, "If you don't stop telling LIES about my record, I'm going to have to start telling TRUTHS about yours!" Bravo. Let me inject your soul with some FACTS.

First, Obama will LOWER TAXES. If you make less than $250 thousand dollars a year (like 90 percent of America) YOU WILL GET LOWER TAXES = MORE MONEY IN YOUR POCKET. 

Every bipartisan economist agrees. Obama's tax plan will HELP America. McC--t's will not.

 Now, if you are one of McSame's buddies, COUNTRY club FIRST, and you're worried that you might have to sell one of your 12 houses, then yeah, I could see how you might not want Obama to win. But stop saying Obama's going to raise taxes on the American public. He won't. It's a lie. STOP IT.

Most Americans don't own seven houses or spend $200 thousand dollars a year on SERVANTS for those houses. Nor are we married to multi-millionaire heiresses who wear outfits that cost over $300 thousand dollars to one function. Give us a fucking break. We are not STUPID. Deal with it.

Second, Sarah Palin is a f--king JOKE. Just because she has a vagina does NOT mean I automatically suspend reality and suddenly consider voting for someone whose policies are a direct threat to my freedoms, my pocketbook, and my ideologies. Just because she's a woman and a candidate DOES NOT mean she's a 'WOMAN'S CANDIDATE." She opposes EVERYTHING that women have fought for in this nation. Besides, she is grossly unqualified for the second most powerful job in the United States. And what happens, SIR, if your 72 year old ass has a stroke due to too much Viagra or that cancer that you've fought four times finally catches up to you? She will then be in charge of the nation. This woman, Sarah Palin, who has a journalism degree (after going to six colleges in six years), who was once a Sportscaster on Alaska TV and a beauty pageant contestant, who (as mayor) left a small town of 9,000 people over 20 MILLION dollars in debt, who LIES, LIES, LIES about her record, who rails on about Abstinence Only training in schools and her unwed 17 year old daughter is prego, who believes people can "pray the gay away" out of homosexuals, who governs a state with one of the highest rates of rape and incest in the U.S., who charges rape victims for their own medical rape kits, who doesn't believe in abortion even in cases of rape or incest, who believes the Earth is only 7,000 years old and dinosaurs walked with humans, and that Armageddon will happen in our lifetime!

She also is hiding from an investigation into Abuse of Power as governor -- this is a current scandal and she's handling it like a proud Bushie! 

In fact, she reminds me of another "cloak-and-dagger, the constitution doesn't apply to me" Vice President. Hey, Sarah, I got a joke for you: 

"WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN DICK CHENEY AND SARAH PALIN?" (((LIPSTICK.)))

Yeah, that's a real knee slapper. Actually, it's not. It's silly and petty, and absolutely terrifying. To think that this half-wit from the meth-Capital of Alaska will have access to our nuclear arsenal is enough to make me want to pack it up and move to Montreal where the air is clean and the people are beautifully almost-French. 

Are you f---king kidding me? How could you, John McBush, claim to love America, but risk leaving our well being in her hands??? 

Third, you are lying about Obama's record. You are lying about his tax policies, you are lying about his involvement in the economic crisis attacking our nation's infrastructure. You, McCain, have been in Congress for almost 30 years and you, sir, share responsibility with all your lobbyist, deregulating conservative cronies for this economic disaster. You have stated publicly that ECONOMICS is not one of your strong points! (You don't even know how to use a computer or E-Mail! But I digress). You are in bed with the same morons who caused one of the greatest economic failures in our nation's history!

You can't run from your record, ASS! You have been one of the loudest proponents for deregulation -- you know, that little thing that has caused the market meltdown while you and your lobbyist pals made a boatload of money? Remember that? Just last month you were spewing this same nonsense about doing the same thing to Healthcare and Social Security! And then you and your cronies claim that America is a "nation of whiners" and that this is just a "mental recession" and that the "fundamentals of the economy are strong!" The market will fix itself? Are you mad, sir? Perhaps you are. And now you try to pawn it off on Obama. It's laughable, it's shameful. You offer NO solution - but Obama does. Even Conservative newspapers are coming out against YOU and FOR Obama.

This, from a war hero (40 years ago) -- attack, attack, attack, lie, lie, lie --- you know what? I know why -- it's all you have. 

You can't fight on the issues. You can't fight on your record. Why? Because your record echoes the Bush record. You have voted with him over 90 percent of the time. You have campaigned for him. You AGREED with him on policies that have HURT this nation, you disgusting reptile!

 600,000 jobs lost THIS YEAR. 
9,800 homes lost a DAY.
 
And you still won't admit your mistakes or the mistakes of the Republican Party. Well, sir, we have had enough of your garbage. Seven years of Bush/Cheney = 4 more years with McCain/Palin.

Thanks, but no thanks.

"Life sucks & then you die." - Anonymous.

Banks are collapsing, our economy is tumbling, we have salmonella & e. coli outbreaks, unemployment is rising, our military is waging two wars in two countries, wages are stifled, Mother Nature has tuberculosis and skin cancer, working class folks are losing their homes, and the government apes still jump to bail out Wall Street before they offer any relief to those of us on main street.

It's enough to make even the most daring of hero want to crawl into the bottom of a cheap bottle of something (anything) alcoholic and drown our sorrows and woes until our minds perceive nothing but the warm comfort of absolute blackness.

But what good does that do? Letting the anchors of extreme emotional gravity drag us down only serves to mitigate the friction of those who attempt to walk over us. Indeed, our prone and prostrate surrender only makes it easier for these swine giants to stride right by, but I prefer to make them work for it! If they are going to get past me, they are going to have to master a few obstacles and overcome some entanglements. Call it wild ambition, a--holetry, or extreme stubbornness. No one gets past me unless they deserve it or outsmart the system. Either way, they earned it.

But no one is immune to the sludge of depression. Art has been a magnificent tool for me when battling hopelessness but sometimes it's just not enough. Sometimes, I need extra measures. So, if I find myself getting a visit from Lady Depression and her strange little neurotic cat, Anxiety, I don't join them on the couch, or on the bed, beneath the blankets, in the dark, weeping, binging and purging, or lying motionless in a puddle of tears. No, no, dear friends! I take that parasitic hag to the gym and beat the ever-living-s--t out of her. I run, lift, do cardio, I hit the heavy bag -- anything to exhaust the thorn she placed in my side and force her back into oblivion. I recommend this as a first measure if creativity fails you.

But if you prefer a softer, sweeter method, take a walk --- a loooong walk. Take photos of old signs, interesting mailboxes, of flowers, of random people doing random things. Not a photographer? Then draw! Take a pencil and pad and sketch tree roots, an old building, people, animals, landscapes, whatever -- but walk! Get out of the house, get out of your comfort zone -- and walk. Feed your spirit something new to enjoy. It may do nothing but give you a break from your own mind, but it could also give you an idea or an epiphany that will break those chains and free to you conspire a solution.

And if none of that works, and you still feel like there is no hope, no way out - then quit your job, pack your s--t, and join UNICEF, or The Red Cross, or the Peace Corps, and volunteer to go to some nation where children are dying of starvation and disease. Take whatever bit of your shining spirit that still exists (in you) and pour it into their eyes. They need it, and so do you.

Never surrender.
Never relent.

"I think it's the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately." — George Carlin

It is with heavy heart and boundless respect that I dedicate this week's entry to the late, great, comedian-philosopher George Carlin. He was one of the few that could shock, entertain, and educate all in the same sentence. He was a master of "analytical thinking" and his words offered a fresh, sometimes startling, view on everything from sex and psychology to all things taboo including politics and religion. He, along with Lenny Bruce and Richard Pryor, was of the last pure social provocateurs.

Carlin made us think about our culture, our flaws, our hypocrisies, and excesses. He fought for freedom of expression and individuality. I may not have always agreed with him or his positions, but he always made me think.

I hope we, as fans & supporters of his work, can honor his life and legacy by becoming his intellectual children and wrap our heads around the methods and mechanism that he used to challenge everything. Below, I've listed some of my favorite quotes from his amazing career. If you're new to his act then pop on over to YouTube and search for "George Carlin 7 Words".

We've lost a bright star in our long midnight. Farewell, Mr. Carlin.

"The very existence of flame throwers proves that some time, somewhere, someone said to themselves, 'You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I'm just not close enough to get the job done.” -- George Carlin

"Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?” -- George Carlin

"I have as much authority as the Pope, I just don't have as many people who believe it.” -- George Carlin

"If God had intended us not to masturbate he would've made our arms shorter.” — George Carlin

"Some people see things that are and ask, Why? Some people dream of things that never were and ask, Why not? Some people have to go to work and don’t have time for all that.” -- George Carlin
"Before they invented drawing boards, what did they go back to?” -- George Carlin

"Religion convinced the world that there's an invisible man in the sky who watches everything you do. And there's 10 things he doesn't want you to do or else you'll go to a burning place with a lake of fire until the end of eternity. But he loves you! ...And he needs money! He's all powerful, but he can't handle money!” -- George Carlin

"If lawyers are disbarred and clergymen defrocked, doesn't it follow that electricians can be delighted, musicians denoted?” -- George Carlin

"When someone asks you, A penny for your thoughts, and you put your two cents in, what happens to the other penny?” -- George Carlin

"Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he will sit in a boat and drink beer all day.” -- George Carlin

"If it’s true that our species is alone in the universe, then I’d have to say the universe aimed rather low and settled for very little.” -- George Carlin

This week I've decided to open the blogwaves to you, dear readers, and answer some of your questions and inquiries. I received so many great questions that I will have to do this in two parts. Thank you for participating, and now, TO THE MEAT!

Is it difficult being in the music industry, and identifying as a lesbian? I'm so curious, and I respect you so much because of that. It's good to know, that one of the best female vocalists is open about her sexuality. -- Holly

Hi Holly. It hasn't been that difficult for me personally, but I do live in Los Angeles where the weird and wild seem to flourish. However, it's hard for me to think of living any other way. On the road, most of our fans don't seem to have a problem with who I am or who I pick to be my lovers. I am very grateful to have found so many free-thinking folks who also love our music.
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Which are your favorite tatts and why'd you get them? Thank you for all that you've done. You have truly touched my life in so many ways. -- Love, Sadie

Hi Sadie. The tattoos that come to mind are the Picasso painting (unfinished) on my left arm, the portrait of Baphomet on my left bicep, the portrait of KALI on my left forearm --- wow, I need to work on my right side a little bit. Ah well, I am a liberal after all which means I tend to favor "the left." But I digress. Thank you for the question.
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If you could change/fix one thing in this world, what would it be? And how can we help make that change? Also, i think we'd love to know...what makes you laugh your ass off? (in other words, what do you find humor in?) Thank you for creating ART that helps us shape a discourse of empowerment! PEACE & Namaste! -- Rob

Hi Rob. Good question. The first thought that comes to mind is reducing the illiteracy rate in this country. If people read more books, they would have more knowledge -- heretofore & so forth -- wisdom breeds rationality which defeats wickedness and idiocy. So, my friends, get off the internet and read a book! Thank you.
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I've been a long-time fan and I love your music. I first wanted to say thanks. Without your music I would have ended it all. I can relate to almost every song you've put out. It has given me strength to go on, thus as always & forever I AM I--SS4L. My Question however is, what do you feel when your singing something like "Filthee" or "Home Grown"? I feel renewed when I hear "Filthee." It makes me feel not so filthee. "Home Grown" makes me feel liberated almost, cuz my Dad would say that to me, "Now look what you made me do!" and when I hear you say it, it paints a perfect picture in my head where it's not me quivering away from his kicks or punches. BTW Love your new vocal techniques, you rocked the clubhouse! SS4L -- Dustin, AZ

Hi Dustin. Well, there is a strange binary event that happens when I sing songs like "Fillthee" and "Home Grown." For me to be authentic and honest as an artist on stage, I must conjure and summon those emotions. I must relive the feelings that I know I felt and that I believe others who can understand, relate, and empathize with also feel. But then there's other shade of emotion that washes over me. It is a feeling of redemption, of victory, and deliverance. It is an ascension, if you will. Yes, our songs deal with painful truths and elevated joys, spanning the atmospheres of the extremes, but, the message is always we will overcome any obstacle, by any means necessary. We are worth it, and we will fight for it.
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If you had the ability to sit down with our 'president' and let him know how you felt about his disconnect with everything that matters to average people... (i.e.. survival in this s--thole of an economy...) what would you say to him? -- Poetic Lunacy

I don't believe words work on a man like this. (Wow, did I just call GW Bush a man? I must be lazy today. Oh well, one little slip won't hurt me.) What I would like to do is strip him of all his servants and assistants and handlers and take away his mobile phone, blackberry, ATM and Credit Cards and make him go live in one of the housing projects hit by Hurricane Katrina. I would make him go to work at a manufacturing plant for 12 hours and then have to come home to a house full of kids and see if they've done their homework, if they're healthy and happy, have they eaten, do they have school supplies, and then I'd make him balance the checkbook, write out some checks to pay the bills, and then buy groceries, fill up the car, and see what's left. Then, after a month or so of that, I'd suit his monkey ass up and ship him off to Iraq to live amongst the men and women that put their life on the line EVERY DAY. He'd have to go on patrol without his bodyguards, live and sleep and eat in the heat, know what it's like to miss his family, to wonder if he will see them again, to miss his daughters, and then muster the courage to go out on patrol again and again with the proud men and women of our volunteer military to know what real life truly is all about. Then, he can have his life back and we can only hope it makes a change. I doubt it would, he'd probably turn it all around and make it all about him and what he went through, but it would be pretty fun to make him live like the rest of us.
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How do you think (your favorite) Egyptian god/goddess would react to the state of the world right now? -- Aeriahn

Hi Aeriahn. I believe the Watchers are pretty bored. No one acknowledges them much anymore. But I hope they would be proud of those who still fight the good fight, who still look out for community, and who live their lives to the fullest extent.
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Hi Otep. I just wanted to ask you what the most touching thing a fan has ever done for you was, and also if you'd ever had any dreams/nightmares that impacted you so strongly that it changed you forever, and if so what it was. Thanks for your time. xoxo -- Mindy Chat pack SS4L!

The most touching thing any fan could ever do is embrace their own lives, love themselves, and realize just how amazing and powerful they truly are. I have received poems, paintings, music, works of art, and so many stories of people who have been inspired by our music and message and for that, I am forever grateful.
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On my darkest days (beatings & rape), your inspirational music, words and art are what get me through. But what gets you through your darkest days? -- Dana

Hi Dana. I am sorry to learn of your repressions and the violence you've endured. Just know that none of it was ever your fault and that it should never hold you back from pursuing whatever it is in life that makes you happy. To answer your question, I smudge out the abyss with art. I write, paint, read, recite -- even if it's s--te, I provoke the flames of imagination to drown out the stagnation. And if none of this works, and Depression decides to stay awhile and crash out on my couch, I take her ass to the gym and beat her to a pulp. Art saves, indeed.
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What advice would you offer someone who is trying to turn their life around? Also, what are the more pressing moral issues in the world today? -- Carlie.

Hi Carlie. My advice would be to expand your horizons. It seems to be a person can't fully change until they've opened up their minds and adventures. Change of scenery, meet new people, READ, and be open to new experiences.
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Dear Otep: When I was four, I was in a car accident with my family that killed my Grandmother and injured everyone else in the car. The accident left me with a spinal-cord injury but no brain damage. I'm 15 now, in a wheelchair and can't feel from the waist down. First, I just want to say that your music has helped me get past most of my insecurities of having to live a life full of stares and whispers. Secondly, I wanted to ask you for advice on how I can break into the music scene? In a few years, I would love to go to college to be a producer or a musician, but it's hard when there are tanned legs and perfect bodies everywhere I look. I was just wondering how I should handle the real world once I get out there. Thank you for your time. -- Leah

Hi Leah. Thank you for your kind words. I see in them a strength of character and boldness of self that is very rare. I think you have an amazing chance to accomplish whatever you choose. As the great emperor of Rome, Marcus Aurelius, said (and I'm paraphrasing), "Expect obstacles." Yes! Accept the fact that you will face obstacles, but also accept the fact that you can overcome them, you can outsmart them. As with any goal or dream, obsess yourself with it. Learn everything you can about being a music producer. Fill your head with knowledge and let your instincts guide you. I wish you well and much luck.
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For the longest time (much like a lot of things), music in general has sort of been a "guy thing" in which a guy fronts a band and whatnot. In my opinion, I think it's awesome that women are becoming a big part in metal (which for years was totally unheard of). Do you feel that you have helped contribute to this recent trend in the world of metal? If so, would you expect to see this trend continue over the years? And as a closing note i would just like to say thank you for taking the time to read this. I imagine you have hundreds of these to read so I wish you luck in choosing a good one! Sincerely Yours -- Dr. Antichrist (A Fan)

Hello Doctor. Indeed it is amazing to see the number and frequency of women in rock bands at every position. It's also inspiring to see the number and frequency of women attending our shows grow and grow. It used to be a rarity to see an "all-girl" moshpit but not anymore -- well, not at our shows anyway. I certainly hope that if I have had anything to do with this I am leading the way with as much respect and honor as intended. And I do, indeed, hope to see this continue and expand.
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You've written one song that even when I listen to it now, no matter how many times I listen to it, it still sends shivers up and down my body: "Jonestown Tea." And I wonder, what does creating a song like that do to you? I wrote a poem for my mother, who in July of this year will have passed away eight years ago. Even when I read what I wrote, I get emotional and I just wonder, what does creating a song like "Jonestown Tea" do to your emotionally, mentally, or both? -- Brett SS4L aka BloodFlowers
Brooklyn, New York

Hi Brett. I am sorry to learn of the loss of your mother. I thank you for writing and sharing your thoughts with me. Writing "Jonestown Tea" was both cathartic and resurrectional for me. I needed to write a song that spoke for those that believe they have no voice but also to empower my own spirit to defeat the demons of doubt. I am sure you understand this need. Write on.
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After several years now of touring on the road, you are bound to have experienced, witnessed and heard things, that people who do not live on the road several weeks a year wouldn't have. So, looking back, is there a moment that will always be remembered, whether it's funny, sad, weird or simply priceless? Best regards -- /smurfd

I've seen pits as big as crop circles in the English countryside. I've heard my name chanted by 25,000 people. I've seen the tears and felt the joy of all those who come to experience our music live. I've heard their voices rise above mine singing the songs louder than the PA! I've seen my words tattooed on strangers' flesh. I've seen things I've never thought possible to someone from my background and circumstances. To quote my beloved Jim Morrison, "This is the strangest life I've ever known."
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Otep, my family and people at school constantly give me hell for being gay and its tearing me apart. Is there any advice you can give to deal with them or just make them ease off? -- KaylaRae

Hi KaylaRae. This is one of the most difficult issues any gay, lesbian, or bisexual person will ever have to deal with. No one should ever have to hide who they are. But personal circumstances dictate everything. I say be yourself and protect yourself. Enjoy the life you have and know that this is just a chapter in the book. Someday, you'll be writing a new one and it will be one that you control. Good luck and much happiness to you.
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Is it true you worked with Joey Jordison on one of your albums???? And did he produce or drum for you??? How was it to work with him? -- Liz

Hi Liz. Indeed, it is true. He and I worked together on our second album, House of Secrets. You can hear Joey on "Warhead," "Buried Alive," "Sepsis," and "Hooks n Splinters." Joey Jordison is an amazing drummer. He is up there with my favorites, which include John Densmore of The Doors and my very own drummer, the "amazzazing" Brian "ninja" Wolff.
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As you are well aware, we are living in an age of technology. There are more and more opportunities for bands and artists to interact with their fans, promote their music, their message, etc. Given this uprising of technological advancement, is almost a necessity these days that bands be involved in Web chats, have MySpace pages, etc, etc. With that being said, there will always be certain people who will scream “sell out” at any given opportunity to any band who ventures out to better themselves in this type of medium and technological age. If anyone ever called you, or the band “sell outs,” what would your reaction be? All my love and respect -- [r]evolution SS4L

Hi [r]EV. My reaction to anyone who said we "sold out" would be to agree. Yes, we've SOLD OUT .... SHOWS! And we're going to keep selling out shows as long as this band exists. In fact, in some areas, tickets can't even be purchased, they have to be bartered and traded. I heard someone sold their 1984 Ford Escort for two tickets last year! (Wow, I hope it came with a sweet cassette player and working back speakers). Our band exists on the fringe and peripherals and will use whatever technology available to get our music and message out to our fans.
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How do you feel about Obama's recent statement, in which he said that if he could, he would change the "National Anthem," and that he doesn't wear an American Flag pin because the American Flag "offends" some people in America? -- monkeyjugglerSS4L

Hello monkey...juggler, is it? Is that your profession or nickname? Ha. Okay, thank you for the question. The statement about Obama is a complete falsehood propagated by the Republican smear mobs to play on our patriotism. They fear his ability to unite the nation because they do better when the nation is divided. Obama never said he wouldn't wear American flag pins because the flag offends some Americans. He said, "You know, the truth is that right after 9/11, I had a pin. Shortly after 9/11, particularly because as we're talking about the Iraq War, that became a substitute for, I think, true patriotism, which is speaking out on issues that are of importance to our national security, I decided I won't wear that pin on my chest. Instead, I'm going to try to tell the American people what I believe will make this country great, and hopefully that will be a testimony to my patriotism."

He has since started wearing a pin, I believe, after Memorial Day services he attended dedicated to our Veterans. But what's the big deal about a pin? Most of those flag pins were made in China and other places that (to quote "South Park") "took our jibs!" I respect Obama for keeping his patriotism in his heart, where it belongs, and not on his chest in an empty symbol of patriotism.
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As another woman concerned with gender equality, I am curious to ask, what is your opinion on porn? Do you think that, if a women freely consents to be in it, it is allowable? Or do you think that any consent is not really free because it comes from within a society that seems to suggest women are sex objects, and therefore porn is always degrading to women? It's something I can't decide on so I would be fascinated to hear your views. If this is allowed, I'd also like to say that I find you enormously inspirational. - Hattie

Hi Hattie. I do not endorse or support pornography. As someone who has never had trouble hooking up with a partner I find attractive or appealing, it just doesn't fill in the blanks for me. But as a feminist, I believe women have the right to do whatever they want to do; they can be a porn star, a housewife, marry a Republican, watch "Sex & the City," wear orange Crocs to work, et cetera -- but don't ask me to agree or validate or respect the decision. It's just "not my bag, baby". But, in truth, it's not my decision to make or live with. I hope to lead by example and (as my Mother did for me) inspire other women to be anything they want to be.

“The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There’s also a negative side.” — Hunter S. Thompson

Nary a day, nor an hour goes by that I do not receive an email, a MySpace message, or some other form of communicado asking (sometimes pleading) what (if any) suggestions or advice I might have for a band, artist or poet just starting out and hoping for some perceptive form of success.

I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask, but, I am honored some of you feel strongly enough to place your trust in my aggressively eccentric mind and I will answer to the best of my abilities.

So… you want to be a professional artist of some sort, eh? (Wow, I hope that doesn’t read as trite to you as it does to me. Why did I just start composing an infomercial? Ye gods, I must be losing my mind exposing an inner dialogue in an open blog like this. Maybe it’s the wine. Or the somas I take for a neck injury. Or maybe it’s the electrolyte imbalance I may (or may not) be experiencing from the three mile run I did today. Ah, what does it matter? I’m sure most of you have stopped reading by now — so I can type whatever I want here. I’ll prove it. Here’s an example of the Fibonacci numbers: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233, 377, 610, 987…. And now I will elaborate on the Golden Mean and its relation to the organic geometry of nature…. But wait, maybe you haven’t stopped reading and I am looking a bit foolish just about now. So be it. At least I’m having a little giggle over this. Yeah, it’s gotta be the wine. Or the somas. Or the electrolyte deficiency. Three miles is no joke. Okay, but you’re not here to read about jogging or electrolytes or somas. Or maybe you are. Well, my friend, if so then you’re reading the wrong entry. This one is about the mighty hydra of art. Maybe next week I will write about those other things. Probably not, but I don’t want to disappoint anyone. Hmm, maybe Fibonacci — but not this entry. Okay, enough of that. Indeed. Back to the meat.)

“If it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it — If you’re doing it for money or fame, don’t do it. If you’re doing it because you want women in your bed, don’t do it — If it’s hard work just thinking about doing it, don’t do it — If you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently. If it never does roar out of you, do something else.”
— Charles Bukowski

First, remove all cloaks and comforts of sanity. Toss them aside, soak the pile in kerosene, drop a match and burn it to sooty ash! You won’t be needing wisdom, logic, reason, prudence or any other rational faculty. And why would you? The art world is run by simians and swine! Do you think beasts such as these (that root in filth and eat their own excrement) understand the language of lucidity? Absurd! What you need to get your head around is that you will be encumbered and embedded with a bloated herd of talentless know-it-alls, nincompoops, ninnies, and dunderheads that all suffer from an extreme poverty of self-esteem. So, they swaddle themselves in silken Kiton armor, John Lobb loafers, 3G Wi-Fi Bluetooth enabled SMS digital gadgets, and study the “interwebs,” hoping to learn a few phrases from the language of the latest social meme! They feast on high holy plates of petty hubris lathered in a sweet glaze of saucy ego, and sip their generic wine while eagerly scanning the scandal rags for any mention of themselves and whichever rising starlet they took to a Laker game or wannabe celeb-utard they happen to be f—ing that week. Indeed, we are through the looking glass, Alice. No turning back now. Up is down, blue is green, the world is flat, and Jesus is a supply-side Republican. Do not doubt, just accept, know and plan your attack.

These are the sort of people who are afraid of their own shadow, who feed from what the mega-mammals kill and then surreptitiously take all the credit. Indeed. These are the order of vermin and teethy rodents that would sell their own children if it meant a better credit rating, got them out of their sub-prime mortgage, elevated their tax bracket or secured an exclusive book deal or a (minimum) 10 episode reality TV show.

To be clear, there are a few angels among them, but finding these pious rogues is difficult and dangerous. They know just how rare they are so their tastes and choices have become unbelievably exclusive — which, depending on which side of the knife you’re on, is both a blessing and a curse.

Gone are the days when making a difference makes a difference. For the vast majority, what compels them is the “bottom-line.” It’s a numbers game, just skim the surface, find something easy and quick and homogenized that reminds us of something else, then market it, brand it, (throw a little Auto-tune using the zero speed setting. HA!) and then deluge the world with it. If it fails, what do they care? The bucket is full of eager crustaceans fighting to get to the top. (But it’s not entirely their fault. They would be nothing if we didn’t keep eating the sewage they served and then beg for seconds. But I digress).

So, if you are thinking that just because you are suddenly a “professional” or “working” arteeest that you will be given the keys and password to gain access to a secret world of Libertines and Bohemian royalty, well my friend, you are sadly misguided. Prepare yourself for an endless frat party with better beer and worse jokes. The strange fruit that have stormed the walls and commandeered our beloved palace of creativity are mostly a silly lot of paramecium-brained gluttons and opportunists who know little of Art or her sweetly devastating nature. They care not for her tenets or discipline, all they know is that doing this “is cooler than flipping burgers.” Indeed. Here, here. So it is.

Sadly, it seems, we have become a nation of sickly spectators waiting for someone else to change the channel of our lives.

So yes, prepare yourself to continue your work, as you do now, alone and for the love of doing it. Only now, it might be harder because you have so many more plastic options open to you. Do you join the herd of talentless apes parading around pretending to be heirs of your soul and dictators of your opinion in the cult of personality? Or will you work even harder, scrutinize and embrace the search for intangible perfection? Will you take bigger chances, risk it all for the love and honor and majesty of imagination and creativity? Will you do it because you have to? Because you have no other choice? WELL?? WILL YOU??!

“I’m not like them, but I can pretend….” — Kurt Cobain

Sun Tzu said to “destroy your enemy from within.” Wise words. The smartest artists find a way to play the game and still win on their terms with integrity intact. So, never give up! Ambition and belief are powerful fuels for the journey. Embrace the obstacles, embrace the idea of conflict, know that you will be losing a battle here and there, but stay with it, ENJOY THE STRUGGLE (at least it will be interesting) , but continue to fight and (by all means) outsmart them. And don’t ever be afraid to evolve. We are creatures of change. Feed, breed, succeed. The branches on the mightiest trees extend higher and further because the roots grow deeper and deeper.

My own mantra is: Do more than expected, expect less than deserved, and fight for what’s yours. Either you are an artist or you’re pretending to be one. There’s no middle ground. It’s all or nothing.

Again, I’ve been asked, so here’s my thoughts, for what they’re worth. I’ll do my best not to be too generic.

Singers: Take care of your voice. It is a binary monster, both powerful and fragile. Take lessons if you can — diaphragmatic breathing, warm-up and cool-down exercises, proper muscular techniques, but swallow your pride and take the lessons. (If you can’t afford it or can’t find someone, then try searching YouTube. I’ve seen a few that aren’t complete shite). It might be awkward at first, but it will empower you in the long run. Yes, warm tea before, during, and after performing. Yes, silence is grand, difficult, but beneficial. No Smoking! And give a look to the Writers & Musicians section (below). This applies to you kindred heathens, too.

Writers: Read more than you write. Indulge your head with a lavishness of words, ideas, phrasings, metaphors! FEED YOUR SOUL! Then, write and write and write some more. Even when there’s nothing to say — write. Shake the clutter free, cut off the corruptible matter, and let the rivers flow! Give yourself permission to FAIL!! There’s an old adage that the floor should be covered in crumpled papers or you’re not doing it right. For me, the greatest satisfaction I have is finding that one word, that single phrase that will finish a piece and make it perfect. And don’t become a book on a shelf collecting dust. Get out, experience life. Take a walk, take a ride, do something you would normally never do. Absorb the world around you until your hand is screaming to write. Try to be original. Try to write something different each time. Don’t ever, ever become obvious.

Musicians: Practice. Listen. Practice. Listen. Study. Practice. Study. And did I mention, PRACTICE? Learn everything you can about your instrument. Listen to anyone and everyone (genre be damned!) that has mastered your instrument and plant those seeds in your fertile soil! And if you are rehearsing for a show — rehearse like you are performing! In your head, you should see the crowd you want in front of you. Lose yourself in your music. Let it guide you! And btw, yes, prior to any show, anxiety and nervousness are normal! Use that emotion to your advantage!

Painters & Visual Artists: Well, I’m no Picasso, but what the hell, I’m on a roll, and besides, visual art was the first medium to invade my consciousness. So here it is. Study the masters. Know their work, know who has braved the waters before us. Study contemporaries. Visit a museum or two. Maybe three. Check out local galleries and showings. There’s always going to be that one thing that hits the switch for you and suddenly BAM! — an entirely new labyrinth of expression opens and swallows you. Master your tools. Use unconventional methods. You, too, need not be obvious. Unless, of course, you are making some visual statement on the obviousness of being obvious, then yes, by all means, obvious yourself into oblivion. Otherwise, use your talents to turn the cog. Those who know, know.

Well, for what they’re worth, these are the simplest ethos I know. I’m sure there’s something I forgot and for that, I apologize. But, even if nothing I scribed here helps, just always remember that there should be no separation between art and life. There is only Art. There is only Life. For us, they are one in the same.

I hope this helps answer some of your questions. If any of you have anything to add, plz feel free to do so in the comments below.

“The job of the artist is always to deepen the mystery.” – Francis Bacon

Friends. Foes. Everyone in between. Welcome and salutations to another entry into the sick & twisted chronicles, celebrations, salacious travels, and secret adventures of a free-thinking, bohemian scoundrel (marooned in plastic-land) on the verge of a radical and stunning breakthrough. Indeed, to the meat.

Today, I scribe this from the dazzling white beaches of Aruba. The sun is high in the deep blue sky and a soft warm, southern breeze whispers softly through the vegetation. And next to me rests a sleeping vision of beauty. I met her last night in the hotel bar after we discovered each other admiring the same Basquiat painting. Her name is Ocean and she’s a design student from San Francisco. We had a few drinks, a few laughs, discussed politics, reality television, alternative music, the war, the U.S. economy, and then staggered to her room where a variety of sins were explored, examined, and exposed. If the Holy Roman Church were hip to our intimacies, I’m sure they would be aware of a few more we invented. But I digress.

Thanks to the recent activities of the California Supreme Court we plan to marry once we arrive back on the sweet shores of decadent L.A. It's going to be a grand ceremony, though private, filled with our closest friends and beloved family. A pagan priestess (of the ancient mystery schools) will perform the ceremony at sunset in the Temple of Kali in Malibu. The reception will last 14 hours and will be nothing short of pure Dionysian revelry! Ah, such a sweet vision is this! It's hard to calculate all the angles and edges and fully describe the beauty that surrounds me -- but I'll give it a shot! The sandy beach is blindingly white and sparkles like dazzling daytime fireflies crested in diamonds under the blazing eye of the mighty RA (er, sun). We are protected by a nesting of hanging nets beneath a Tunisian tent where we lounge on cushions and huge beach towels made of material so soft it could make an angel cry. My beloved paramour sleeps softly beside me. Her dreaming head is delicately covered by the softness of her long, brown locks. Her body is hard and bronzed by the sun. After a few sips of my sparkling water and OJ, I remember that my fingers are supposed to be tickling the keys of my laptop and not running down the length of her spine. (That’s where my lips belong).

Wait. Actually, none of this is true. This was just another trip into the many divergent realities that invade and infect my creative consciousness from time to time. Call it fun with imagination, call it Law of Attraction, call it hopes and dreams empowered by art that will someday manifest itself into being.
In truth, I write this from the sterile confines of a hospital bed. Forgive me if the content begins to get a little sloppy, but the painkillers are kicking in and my vision is starting to blur. Now, don’t worry, it’s nothing too serious — just a broken collarbone, shattered elbow, and badly burned left hip. Some of you may or may not know that I am an amateur rocket builder. I find the science of thermodynamics and aeronautics fascinating. Well, two nights ago I put the finishing touches on a rather secretive project I’ve been working on for the last five years. Without revealing too much, I can tell you that it’s sort of a personal flying vehicle that runs primarily on vegetable oil, solar circuitry, and bovine excrement. The initial test flights were successful and the level of excitement I felt was indescribably intense. I mean, we’re talking about revolutionizing travel for every single soul on the face of the planet here!

Well, I packed my assistant’s van with everything we would need and sped out to the desert. We arrived in the late afternoon, made camp, and set up our test sight. We slept hard and fast, elevated by the anxiety and excitement of the pending test flight, among the wild things that inhabit this strange wilderness. I woke in the early hours of dawn and began initial flight preparation. Everything seemed perfect and well planned. I stood on the makeshift launch pad, with this sleek contraption strapped on my back and around my waist, and gave the thumbs up. But someone on my team must’ve blended the fuel mixture improperly because once the ignition button was pressed, the damn thing exploded like a Tijuana firecracker. Part of the craft did launch and scream into the substratus. Unfortunately, it was the part that was attached to me.

So here I was, strapped to a flaming machine of molten metal, my face and neck splattered with burning bovine excrement, hurtling through the air at 900 miles-per-hour over the east California desert. It soared high and long and then sputtered and dropped. I came to a rather hard landing among a bushel of barbed vegetation and a huge cactus plant that ripped the shirt right off my back. As bad as I got it, I made out much better than my assistant who, because of his proximity to the exploding vegetable oil, will never have eyebrows or be able to grow a proper beard ever again.

Actually, this, too, is a deception. I’m just fine and was not involved in a small rocket explosion. To be clear, I am in Los Angeles, sitting at a restaurant called Lulu’s on Beverly Blvd, in the cold, sipping coffee and eating blueberries. The rain has stopped, but the clouds are still there, blocking out the solar god we all worship and love here in the City of Angles.

Well, they are closing now and the busboy is starting to crowd me with his stares to get up and leave so he can get the hell outta here. I forgot that this place closes at 4 p.m. Wait, no it doesn’t. They changed that policy and now are open for dinner. Then why the hell is this bastard mad-dogging me like I’m some kind of outlaw degenerate? Maybe he wouldn’t stare so much if he was busy counting his teeth on the floor. This chair I sit on is heavy enough and would cause quite a lot of damage to the side of a cranium or jaw line. Okay, well, he was actually just waiting to refill my coffee for me. I guess I shouldn’t be so defensive and aggressive. But, hell, it’s a dangerous city out here. It’s the kind of beautiful and seductive cesspool that swallows the meek, chews them to bits, and spits out the rest. Damn right. It will crunch your bones to jelly if you let it. This place is definitely not for the weak or uninspired. Some of my distant relatives that live in smaller places in and around this great nation like to rib me with their slight insults saying, “Oh, Otep, you’re so LA.” And I look back at them with a gleam in my eye, knowing with pride just what it takes to thrive and survive here, and say, “Thank you.”

“Are we the shepherd or the sheep? The Butcher or the Meat” — Yours Truly

But I digress. None of this really means anything and none of it matters in the grand cosmic scheme of it all. But, by now, this is what you should expect of this blog: my thoughts, my soul and opinions. Or maybe it isn’t. Tomorrow I might wake up with something else completely in mind.

But this, my friends, is the best part of the ride.

"... that the minority possess their equal rights, which equal laws must protect, and to violate would be oppression.” -- Thomas Jefferson

In order to scribe this weeks entry, I have had to remove myself from any source of news or interference. I believe it’s important to have the right kind of atmosphere when writing something this important that will undoubtedly evoke the biased and hateful to turn on me. So, here I sit, on a traditional bridal bed made of dark mahogany, draped in red curtains from India, fortified behind walls of giant harem pillows. In the deep darkness of 3 a.m., candles singe the exhausted air and lighten the ethers with their soft fragrances. Twisting and rooting all around me are the limbs of three sleeping furies, lost in the universal mind, their enervated bodies radiate a rainbow of halos that pinch and pull dark visions of sweet temptation. Yes, the mood seems right. My fingers are ready to focus on stroking the keys of this powerbook (and perhaps a leg or rib or nape of the neck or two). Okay, enough. To the meat.

Here it is, a topic so vile and disruptive, so provocative and arousing, so ridiculously taboo that I expect the hate mail on this to reach mountainous proportions. So be it. The California Supreme Court recently handed down a ruling that legalized Same Sex Marriage. Many cried with absolute joy at this revelation. Others were shocked and outraged, “Dear God,” they exclaimed, “the heathens have won!” Perhaps. But which is better? Heathens or tyrants? Good question. It shall be answered thus!

Our citizenship is not defined by sexual orientation, gender, race, or religion (or lack thereof). Neither is our patriotism, our loyalty, or our love for this great republic. I am a free-thinker, I am a songwriter, a bohemian, a scoundrel, an outsider, a painter, a provocateur, a godmother, a god-damner, a daughter, a sister, an activist, a lover, a fighter, I am Sapphic, and yes, I am a proud American.

So why should the bigotry of some define the limits of my life? Why should I be subject to the archaic ideas of a Puritanical bunch of hypocrites with hate in their hearts? Now, to be clear, I have no desire to marry anyone. But, if I did (somehow, somewhere) find that special someone that sends my spirit soaring beyond the sub-stratus (fueled by all the love we can muster) and all this beauty and joy and affection just so happens to emanate from another woman, then why should I be subject to the judgment and legislation of some intolerant, thick-headed xenophobes that know nothing of me, of my lover, or how we feel about each other? I am positive that I would disapprove of the way they cowardly shimmy through life but does that mean I should be able to enact a law against being an uninformed, namby-pamby, jingoistic mook? If so, we should immediately arrest GW Bush and the Republican members of Congress on the spot, forthwith! Ah, but I digress.

The Religious Right is always bantering on about the sanctity of marriage, meanwhile, most of these douchebags are (or have) been cheating on their spouses (left and right) and the loudest opponents are usually cheating with someone of the same sex! These particular swine have shamed themselves into “the closet” and now their attraction to same sex partners has become a mutation of sexual deviancy that they can not control. I despise these mongrels. How dare they attack and condemn and legislate love when they are the creatures they pretend to protect us from.

And you know what? My disdain goes out to you celebrity folk who remain in the closet to protect your careers! Gay and lesbian teens (across America) are being attacked and sometimes killed for no other reason than being who they are, and yet, you hide away, ashamed of your own skin and heart. Meanwhile, they have no role models, no one to lead the way, no one to teach them that being themselves is okay. They have no one to tell them that they are normal! It is those that violently fear anything different that are the true freaks! These cowardly actors and rappers and singers make me sick. They are eager enough to take your money, to live their lives happy, wealthy, and in the umbrella of privacy that Hollywood can provide, and meanwhile gay and lesbian teens are under fire from all sides — mostly from their own anxieties and insecurities. Well, my friends, leave it me! I tell you here and now, if you believe in a God, and that God is perfect, then, (as my great-grandmother used to say) God don’t make no mistakes!! You are perfect and beautiful and (flawed) just the way you are. Never let anyone tell you anything different!

And to those who disapprove of this lifestyle, and denounce the union of same-sex couples based on the idea that marriage is sacred — well, why aren’t you this vocal against heterosexual couples that cheat on each other? Isn’t that soiling the sacredness of marriage? Where’s your outrage when a “straight” man molests his “straight” daughter? When he sleeps with the babysitter, when parents beat their children, where’s your outrage when they violate everything holy and good that you claim is perfect based solely on the idea of gender? Love doesn’t count, right?

Look, I know most in this category won’t be swayed by any logical argument I scribe here, but we should at least be able to agree on this: If two adults are lucky enough to find each other and fall in love in this ugly world, at this time, then may the fates bless them and grant them good fortune and many days of happiness. Besides, if the Republican way is the godly way, then why do the top tier of these hypocrites have gay and lesbian children?

Ronald Reagan’s son - GAY.
Dick Cheney’s daughter - GAY.

Aren’t these the holymen of Conservatism? Didn’t they raise their children in the heart and soul of good, old fashioned American values? Then why do they have gay children? What did they do wrong?? Jesus Joseph and Mary! Homosexuality is as natural as heterosexuality and has been with us since time began. Hell, even Alexander the Great, the “greatest” conqueror known to us and is studied by all of our military leaders, was bi-sexual and arguably his greatest love was shared with a man, Hephaestion.

Now, to those that rejoiced and saw this as a big win for “our” side. I ask you to take a moment and think about the bigger picture. Yes, it’s a beautiful moment for equal rights in America, but, why now? Most people don’t realize that outside of Los Angeles and San Francisco the majority of California is pretty conservative. Our governor (Ah-nold) is a republican and the California supreme court is known for its conservative nature. So why this big move? Well, forgive my cynicism, but the conspiracy sensing sector of my spirit is suspicious. Could it be that the Republicans are so afraid of losing anymore seats in Congress (they’re falling like flies) and bigger still, the Presidential elections this November, that they are hoping to ignite their base (the religious right) this way? I mean, what better way to motivate the Jesus-freaks (no insult intended) than by giving those “damned Satanic Gays” the right to marry? Because everyone knows that the Homosexual Agenda is to give everyone “The Gay”! Right? Wrong. A straight woman (a breeder, if you will) once told me, “Not everyone is gay, you know!” And I replied, “Yes, I know. And we like it that way!” This is a club that likes its exclusivity. Ye gods, it’s astounding that we are shin-deep in the 21st Century and still plagued by such invincible ignorance. But again, I digress.

They say the monkey king (GW Bush) won his second term by sparking fear in the hearts and minds of middle & southern America over the 3 G’s — God, Guns, and Gays. Their talking points were, “If you elect a Democrat, the liberals will destroy America by taking God out of our schools, Guns out of your homes, and let the Gay agenda take control.”

This is complete and utter poppycock, balderdash, bollocks, and bullshit but it worked. And now, because those cowards were so filled with intolerance, look where our nation is now? Bush and co. have run our nation to the point of fiscal, cultural, and spiritual bankruptcy. I don’t mean to rain on anyone’s parade or piss on anyone’s moment, but I just want us to be ready for anything that the conservatives might pull. As we have seen, they will do anything (lie, cheat, steal) to stay in power. Now, I could be wrong, and I hope I am, and this could be an amazing moment in our collective history. But remember this: Now that they have reversed this ban it will be on the ballot this fall and it will most certainly be a topic in the Presidential debates, and the evangelical swamp rats will be waiting for a fight.

Let’s give it to them, with everything we have.

“We are all the same people. All of us. You are no different than I am. Our love is the same. To me, what it feels like, I will just speak for myself, it feels like when someone says, ‘You can still have a contract and you’ll still have insurance and you’ll get all that’ — it sounds like you can sit there, but you can’t sit there. That’s what is sounds like to me.” — Ellen Degeneres

Do we want to continue down this slow slide of self-destruction? Or do we wish to inch ever closer to the promised capacity of our beloved country? I say, we stand up and fight. It’s worth it.

"Perfectly Flawed. Perfectly Incomplete."

Ye gods, I love this song so much.

I know many of you (fans, friends, foes, managers, mudslingers, peers, puds, laymen, label execs, et al) were afraid and apprehensive when you first heard of this mysterious, diabolical apostasy. "Oh dear God!" they exclaimed. "She's singing a beautiful song with an incredibly wonderful message about self-love and self-acceptance. Well," they deduced, "she's obviously gone mad. Mad I tell you! Completely, utterly, and absolutely bat-s--t crazy! People will never go for it!" they proclaimed! "Otep can't sing about loving one's self! What is she? Some kind of troublemaker? She can't sing about individuality when it's society and the mainstream that dictate our every thought and whim. They tell us who to be, who to love, what we all must look like, who we should admire, what god to worship, they pick our friends, they scale our value! Free-thinking? Self-love? Dear God! It would be pandemonium. What she's singing about is nothing short of cultural blasphemy!"

Indeed it is. But so what? This song slid inside my mind during a very dark phase. In fact, when I think back to those days of doom and shadow I begin to feel the dreaded fear creeping over me. I won't tell you how close I came to doing who-knows-what back then because I am ashamed that I even considered surrender. I hate who I used to be, who they tried to make me. But no one is perfect, right? Right. To me, this is not a metal song or a rock song, it's a saga of personal victory under a mantra of "Life is more than what we are born into."

Perfectly Flawed appeared to me like an angel of mercy. Lying there, in the dust of all my insecurities, patching my wounds with little notes of excuses, my angel shimmered from the umbra and showered me with a halo of syllables disguised as tiny kisses. Slowly, the message assembled: I didn't need to be anyone but me. I didn't need to live up to anyone else's standards, expectations, or concept of beauty. I am I .... as the gods made me. Ever seeking, ever evolving, but still --- PERFECTLY FLAWED.

Selfishly, I needed to write this song for me. I needed to create something I felt was beautiful, to know that I was capable of it, but to also use this opportunity to do something good. To speak softly to all the bits of me that I see in all of you, so that no one ever feels alone, unwanted, devalued, or unnecessary. Perfectly Flawed is my attempt at celebrating the joy of taking charge of our destiny, and living life on our own terms... All Shapes and Sizes.

With few exceptions, radio refuses to play this song. They scoff, "OTEP? Oh no. We can't play that. They're too heavy." I am told that others have merely dismissed the song because they don't want to endorse whatever it is my band and I stand for. Others only want to promote "cock-rock" and won't support female fronted music -- especially some Los Angeles based band of lunatics fronted by a heretic political poet with a fondness and strange preoccupation with mysteriously pretty things and taboo wisdom. I know some of you continue to contact your local station asking them to play "Perfectly Flawed" even though it's a long-shot. But so be it, this is nothing new, obstacles have always been there and the odds have always been against us. Indeed, it might take a bit longer. But no one can stop the movement.

For those that don't understand why I wrote this song, I hope you can appreciate that this was song written out of necessity. Its message and motive are as authentic as it comes. Now, never you heathens fear, I will always create volatile art, but, to be clear, I will also always fight for what's right, even against the whole world, I will call to all things infinite to assist me in silencing the liars -- "there are no victims, only survivors".

Thanks to everyone who actually listens to the message and chooses to stand with us -- you know who you are.

"Do more than expected, expect less than deserved" -- Emma Elb (The Conqueror's Creed)

Before the philosopher sage Emma Elb launched herself into self-imposed abstractionist dementia, she was valued as the foremost authority on how to tame, cultivate, and forge the fires in the creative spirit. Indeed, her writings were considered sacred to her many dedicated and (some say) cult-like fans, supporters, and crusaders. Sadly, most of her work perished when her publishing house burned to the ground one winter night (on the same historical day as the great fire in ancient Egypt that destroyed the libraries of Alexendria).

The circumstances surrounding the fire are still unexplained and no one was ever captured or blamed. But the volumes she authored on the ethos of being a successful, (somewhat) satisfied, and powerfully productive "arteest" gave rise to an eruption of new and dangerous thinkers, speakers, artists and provocateurs. Only a few copies of her work remain and only a few lucky souls have had their eyes and minds feed on her syllables. I am one such lucky soul.

Born to an Irish father and Tsalagi (Cherokee) mother in the super suburbs of San Francisco, she was privy (early on) to the subtle breach that exists between realities. Her mother's family moved from Oklahoma in the early part of the century and settled in Northern California. Emma's grandfather, Vincent, was an electrical engineer who studied the conducive powers of sea salt and in the process discovered a new kind of mollusk with a particularly powerful venom with astounding pain killing properties. It would later be synthesized and used as an anesthesia, and in the treatment of certain types of bone cancer.

With the money he made, he was able to buy the biggest, most level row house at the steepest part of Swanky Hill. Vincent raised his family to be scholars and musicians. He and his wife, Jules, raised their only daughter, Bonnie, to be a scholar, dancer, and part time pastry chef. Bonnie went away to boarding school for a few years before being kicked out for "sassing." She lived at home for a while, helping her father document and catalog the sexual habits and reproductive processes of all his mollusks. Bonnie met her future husband (and Emma's father), Winston, at the Winnfield National Bank & Loan during a robbery. As luck would have it, they ended up next to each other when the assailants were lining up the patrons, face-down, on the ground. Their eyes met, sparks flew, and true love was born.

Winston's family was, as they say, "straight off the boat" from a small shire in Northern Ireland. They stowed away on a Chinese fishing vessel and after arriving in New York City, hitched across America until they got to San Francisco. Not much is known about Winston's family. His father is rumored to be a mass murderer who barely escaped capture in Ireland. Others say he was a retired boxer and butcher who just wanted a better life for his family. Most scholars agree that Winston's mother was a mute who lost her tongue in a brawl over a rather dubious soccer match. Her name has been lost to history. Winston's father died in poverty in the slums of Dublin after being forcefully deported back to Ireland during the great anti-immigration movement which sparked many memorable ethnic rants such as, "If the Irish invasion is not ceased, our children's children will all be eating potatoes, smelling of stew, and worshipping shalaylee wielding drunken dwarfs who may or may not be hiding pots of Gold!"

Winston was a handyman who did odd jobs for a minor loan shark named Bennie the Blue. He was fond of drinking a pint (or 12), painting with watercolors and rebuilding small gas powered engines. He and Bonnie married shortly after they met and, using the generous dowry from Bonnie's father, bought a grand house on the water. Soon after they settled, Emma was born and the world has never been the same.

Emma's parents forged a world of fire and ice, love and hate, wealth and poverty. She went to the best schools, was taught all the things one needs to be a productive citizen, and met all the 'right' people of high society. But, in all of this, they propagated a strong sense of the bohemian spirit. She was to find her own way in life, choose a unique path, and learn self-sufficiency. Emma spent much of her youth studying the transcendentalists and surrealists, and poking fun at her less inspired friends and associates in such intellectual manners that the rubes rarely recognized the insult.

She could quote William Blake, Walt Whitman, Oscar Wilde, and Fyodor M. Dostoevsky on a whim. She spent her teenage years studying abroad and sneaking back to indulge in the decadence of sweet San Francisco summers. Sadly, she was one of the thousands who were caught up in the ether craze of 1958 and spent some time in a Belgian sanitarium to get clean. She never spoke of the methods used during detox, but most recognize that it had a profound effect. Upon her return, she began writing with the mania of a zealot.

Her work first appeared in a small poetry magazine called Beat Heads published anonymously in the Bay area. It was primarily an experiment in free-verse but was well received. Her passion, though, was the many essays she scribed on what she saw as "the laziness of the American artist." She could not abide the complaints her artist friends had of being "misunderstood" or how they were being driven insane by writer's block especially when she observed they did little else but drink, dance, sleep, hangout and experiment with a variety of hallucinogens.

She began writing profusely on the habits of being a bad artist and denounced any lay-about, ragamuffin, or riff-raff who only sought to call themselves artists to get out of doing any real work or having any real responsibility. She hated charlatans, copy-cats, half-asses, half-wits, simpletons, and close-minded fossils who were terrified of change. She believed art was a living muscle that must be exercised everyday in order to make it stronger. Creativity was a lover that must be caressed, coddled, kissed, poked, prodded, provoked, nourished, day in and day out. The artist must be "a sponge absorbing the world around them, taking in everything until there is no choice but to abate the pressure of all that has entered you. Art, like sex, must be a sacred event."

She believed that artists must produce everyday. "Writers write, painters paint." In the end, she wrote over 6,000 essays and poems and authored almost 250 books. She never married but there were rumors that she had a lifelong love affair with a lady known only as Mia. She was rumored to be the daughter of a very prominent Ambassador (last name of Wallace, I believe) and the affair was kept quiet for his safety and protection.

Her eventual madness was brought on, I believe, to maintain her sanity. "Only could a crazy person choose to continue in a world such as this," she wrote. For years, she would cover herself in full length red veil and walk about San Francisco handing out chicken bones as flowers and telling everyone, "Smile, you're dying. Live it up." She ceased writing professionally, though many believe there are many, still undiscovered, private journals and diaries. I believe the onslaught of TV sitcoms, celebrity cookbooks, and the growing illiteracy in this nation numbed the fire burning inside her. On her 92nd birthday, she moved to French Polynesia and disappeared into obscurity. Her vast fortune has been left in perpetuity and untouched for decades.

I leave you now with one of my favorite quotes by Emma Elb, mother of all invention:

"Art does not exist in commerce or in fiscal realities, but in the blood, bones, flesh, and souls of those who are mad to create it"

The world owes you a big debt, Emma. Thank you for teaching us to burn.

EMPOWER YOURSELF
Anyone who reads this blawg with any regularity might remember the last time I constructed a quick feast (for those of us who suffer from any sort of attention deficit disorder) where I scribed a bunch of quick paragraphs and centered one on the idea of RESPECT. Well, recent activities have jolted my consciousness to a state of urgent lucidity. Allow me to clarify a thing or three. Now, I still believe any decent living soul should offer respect to all those who have EARNED it, but if I may elaborate on that to state that this gift should be rescinded if the other entity is not reciprocal and their behavior violates your liberty.

A few nights ago, we dove heart-first into the crusty bowels of the bible belt where sisters are porked, Jesus is white, the earth is flat (& only 6000 years old), Bush is right, Jagermeister & chewin' tobacky are essential food groups, denying scientific truth is celebrated, overalls are formal wear, fear tactics brutalize and influence the weak, and (of course) on every tongue is an undying belief that the world is safe (and pure) as long as free-thinking & free expression are smothered to a minimum.

It was a Sunday night in Abilene and the promoter of the show had moved us to an outdoor stage in the back of the venue. It was a last minute addition to the tour (to replace the cancelled Lubbock show after the club lost its liquor license) so we weren't expecting a huge crowd but the outdoor stage looked like it would be fun and we were ready for anything. About an hour before the show, we were told the cops had warned our Tour Manager that we were to keep the volume down and no cursing was to be allowed on stage.

I listened, I smiled, and a devilish twinkle flashed in my American eye.

I remember walking out on stage and seeing the hopeful faces of our audience. I remember feeling their warmth, overcome by the power of their screams, touched by the passion for our music. And I remember looking out and seeing the dark shirts of the mustached, cropped-haired police officers, their eyes (filled with fear and disgust) shooting daggers at me in icy stares that sought to destroy me with every passing moment.

The show erupted with the first song and any hope the "official authorities" (aka moral police) might have had of a peaceful, god-fearing, safe-fest ended quickly and violently. Before the second song began, I addressed the crowd and told them what I knew of the limits and restrictions that were placed on us. I told them, "I understand that Abilene is supposed to be the big ole buckle of the Bible-belt, but this is still f--king America!! Land of the FREE! And though I am not a Republican or a Christian, I am still a certified, card-f--king-carrying, proud American citizen protected by the f--king First Amendment of the United States Constitution which governs FREEDOM OF f--king SPEECH!"

Amendment 1 - Freedom of Religion, Press, Expression.
Ratified 12/15/1791.

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

(Writers Note: It occurs to me that this entry is a grand paradox as the editors of this blog tend to censor curse words. Oh, the horrors of contradictions! Well, feel free to leave all the smug, pug-ugly comments you want. It seems, in this case, to be extremely and excessively warranted. But I digress.)

Well, they didn't like that one bit and soon cut the PA speakers. I noticed the sound level drop so I kicked over the monitor speakers (that we use on stage) toward the audience and we finished the show. It might have sounded like a local band at a State Fair, but we did the best we could with the circumstances presented to us. The cops came looking to intimidate us -- but we had the law on our side and in the end, we were victorious.

"We're here, we're weird!! Get used to it!!"

I am proud of everyone who came to the show despite the best efforts of the moral police. Feed your head everyone. Know your rights. Know and VOTE.

Empower yourself.

CROOKED SPOONS
A new video, you say?? Crooked Spoons on every wall, you say??? INDEED FRIENDS!! We are proud to announce that a new video for Crooked Spoons will be unleashed on May 15th! We are honored that Headbangers Ball will be the first to WORLD PREMIER the video! It will include live footage and dramatized expositions from the new film by Thomas Mignone called ON THE DOLL. We are very proud of this video and this song is one my all time favorites.

PILLS & PANACEA
Many have asked, and now it is known. Art has saved me and this is truth. But there are times when I have succumbed to my own fears and frustrations, slipped into a strange world where if one pill could do the trick, then 6 must be better. A place where it is easier to numb my affliction than actively work on making it go away. It is no secret that I have had my bouts with anxiety and depression. Nor is it any secret (though, at times, disappointing) that I sometimes enjoy (a little too much) the bliss the pills can conjure. We are told to pill our pain away, a quick fix for a systemic affliction. On every channel, on every hour, we are saturated with commercials and promotions of new medications and narcotics that can swoop in and save the day! The song Noose & Nail (on our new album) describes my plight (and certain members of my family) with this conflict. It is a typical American story of self-medicating and over-medicating. I am not proud of it but it, too, is truth.

MALLS & HOT TOPIC
When we tour our off-days become holy days where we finally find time to ourselves and can turn off the world and just exist. The guys do their thing while I (usually) seek out a large shopping mall (with a bookstore and a GNC) so that I can walk and walk and walk (be anonymous) and be alone with the emptiness of consumerism. I will usually find a nail salon and get a manicure (short and shiny - no color) and pedicure (tour feet are not a pretty sight) then move on to GNC for a quick check of protein powders, aroma therapies, and all varieties of health food. If I'm lucky, there will be one of those chair massage kiosks and I will spend 22 minutes getting my back and neck worked on to combat the rigors of ritualization. Next, I enter the Shangri La of my day -- a book store. I will spend hours seeking, searching, feeding, feasting, and escaping in the words of poets, philosophers, authors, et al. Here, I find bliss. Words feed my head. Kisses on my soul. Spiritual intercourse just for me.

If the mall has a Hot Topic, I will give it a look for any new jewelry or novelty items they may have (and to see if they carry our album and shirts). I know some of you wisenheimers have a strong distaste for Hot Topic, but I deem it admirable. What other national retail chain supports, endorses, and focuses (solely) on the counter-culture? None that I can think of. Hot Topic helps bands get noticed when (most of) these record labels do little to nothing with regards to promo or exposure. Is there a risk of trivializing the culture? Sure, but it's worth the risk if some squiggle in small town USA wants to break free of the square mentality. And as we slip further into the sick of a pop-vomit culture, at least there's a store out there where you can get a spiked bracelet, high-heeled sneakers, a Nirvana t-shirt, some Family Guy doodads, a nipple ring (or 3), hair dye, a velvet vampire journal, goth pants (with those weird hook-on strap type thingies), a skinny black tie, skinny black jeans, overly colorful shirts and blouses, living dead dolls, domo-kun, patches, zombie devil duckies, wickedly witty buttons with phrases like "THE ONLY BUSH I TRUST IS MY OWN", cheap corsets, fingerless gloves, SWEENEY TODD tote bags, NAPOLEON DYNAMITE accessories, plaid mini-skirts, neon plum nail polish, INVADER ZIM shoelaces, sweet scene-ster bandanas, suspenders, & sunglasses, 4 foot wallet chains, and (of course) all sorts of A Nightmare Before Christmas merchandise, thinga-ma-bobs, whatcha-hoozits, and doohickies. I mean, seriously. It's gold, Jerry. Gold!

OTEP TOUR - THE CIRCUS OF DEMOCRACY
May 10 -- The Whisky, Los Angeles, California (8 p.m.)
May 11 -- The Boardwalk, Orangevale, California (6 p.m.)
May 13 -- Club Underground, Reno, Nevada (8 p.m.)
May 15 -- Rock N Roll Pizza, Portland, Oregon (6:30 p.m.)
May 16 -- El Corazon, Seattle, Washington (8 p.m.)
May 17 -- The Big Easy Concert Hall, Spokane, Washington (8 p.m.)
May 18 -- The Big Easy Concert Hall, Boise, Idaho (8 p.m.)