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$$| ;$| $$ ;;| ;; ;;| MAGAZINE!
_$$!_ _$$|_ _$$_ _$$|_ _$:_ _:$|_ '#$$$#'
"We don't need to try to change the world,
only our perception of its boundaries."
____________________________________________________________________
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PA1N MAGAZINE VOLUME NUMBER TEN MAY, 2004
____________________________________________________________________
[- -- ----- --------[ P A 1 N S T A F F ]--------- ----- -- - ]
i Editor In Cheif - alienbinary
I Co-Editor - Turnspike
| Deputy Co-Editor - angel ice
- - --+-- Editor - Red Dragon
| Editor - Nemisis
! Editor - Mephyt
| Loki Editor - Danger Girl
! Contributor - Artemis
Editor - Manuel O'Kelly
! Contributor - Kello
| Follow the... - White Rabbit
| Bandwidth Warlord - Cheezi
Back from the Trenches - Rumbling Sky
WASTE Distro - Jibkat
distro vigilante - c4rc4s
Guidance - Cimmerian
GUEST STARRING - Sean Kennedy,
The Fucking Man.
------ -- --------------------------[ TABLE OF DISCONTENT ]------ -
- PA1Nv10x01 - Letter from the Editor alienbinary -
- PA1Nv10x02 - Letter from the co-editor Turnspike -
- PA1Nv10x03 - The Noise Inside My Head alienbinary -
- PA1Nv10x04 - A Look through Different Lenses alienbinary -
- PA1Nv10x05 - The Scabbed Wings of Abbadon Sean Kennedy -
- PA1Nv10x06 - Unification: Diversity of Thought Mephyt -
- PA1Nv10x07 - Scream of Consciousness alienbinary -
- PA1Nv10x08 - Water Water Everywhere alienbinary -
- - Artemis -
- PA1Nv10x09 - Get your KIT in GEAR alienbinary -
- PA1Nv10x10 - College Life alienbinary -
- PA1Nv10x11 - Rantradio IRC Rantradio IRC -
- PA1Nv10x12 - Segments alienbinary -
- PA1Nv10x13 - Outro alienbinary -
-- - ------------------------------- ------ -- - -------- - --------
contact? email alienbinary at: pain@e-lite.org
email Turnspike at: turnspike@spfd2600.org
email angel ice at: angel_ice@e-lite.org
[ for maximum reading ] ----------- - --------- - -- -- - - - -
[ pleasure, please ] 1. http://www.rantradio.com/rr-industrial128.pls
[ tune in to one of ] 2. http://www.rantradio.com/rr-industrial24.pls
[ the streams. - ab ] 3. http://www.rantradio.com/rr-punk128.pls
[ ] 4. http://www.rantradio.com/rr-talk64.pls
[ ] 5. http://www.rantradio.com/rr-talk24.pls
[ introducing... ] 6. http://www.nocturnalradio.com/listen.pls
[---------------------] ----------- - ------------- ---- ------ -
mephyt (6:49:37 PM): we have a huge pipe on one box
alienbinary (6:50:01 PM): now that's a funny sentence.
- ----- --- - ------ ----- - - -- -- --- - - ---- -- -- -
Download "Covered in Porn!" ---> http://www.pornonbeta.com/audio.php
Track 1. Halorazor feat. Cimmerian - One
Track 2. Porn on Beta - Everything is Automatic
Track 3. Porn on Beta - Father Figure
Track 4. Porn on Beta - Stand By Me
Track 5. Porn on Beta - Round and Round v1.3
- ----- --- - ------ ----- - - -- -- --- - - ---- -- -- -
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv10x01----------------------------------------------------------------[ 1 ]
[ Letter From the Editor ]
[ alienbinary ]
[ 1 ]----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv10x01
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
"If you don't live for something, You'll die for nothing.
Through the best and the worst. The struggle and the sacrifice.
For the true who've remained and the new blood...
...Every drop of blood, Every bitter tear. Every bead of sweat.
I live for this."
-- Hatebreed, 'Live for This'
The above quote is from a song I heard performed live a month ago. It was
possibly one of the greatest performances I've ever seen, I actually felt my
eyes water when they dedicated "last breath" to their departed tour manager.
Surveying the punkers around the arena, moshing and screaming, I realized a
paralelI. The hardcore scene is the closest to the hacktivist cyberculture of
any other model I can think of. Hardcore is a lifestyle, it's something you
eat and breath. It consumes you and boils your blood, pumps you full of
adrenaline, so you can learn to fight back. I don't claim to subscribe to any
particular counterculture movement or faction. I don't care to be labeled. In
fact, I don't like being labeled at all, but few people do. There were so many
people in this arena, and I watched as at least one song during the set struck
a nerve with every single person. Someone, somewhere, was always setting their
priorities and beleifs in line. It was as if we had washed in our own blood,
and been reborn hard; hard enough to take what's coming at us every day of
every month of every year.
There is a storm coming, there's no mistake about it. We live in a society
that must soon choose who to serve. Who is a better master? Society or
yourself? I would rather be my own master any day. The world is not too fargone
to begin to heal, but it will take tremendous amounts of strength and
determination on the parts of everyone who is a part of this movement, who is
tired of seeing the world turn to shit. I, like many of you, have seen enough
violence and hatred in my life. Maybe just for once I would like to see
something amazingly beautiful, to restore my hope in humanity. What have we
lost, so we have become such hedonists?
We live in a world where being an active member of some sort of
organization or cause is frowned upon; where being different is acutely
painful, and where it seems like no matter how much time you put in to whatever
your cause may be, the sitation only gets worse. But we're used to that. The
online community has grown in numbers beyond the realm of most explanation. No
where in geography or history have this many people from so many backgrounds
become involved in trying to work with eachother, instead of fighting with one
another, to make the world a better place. This is what we do. Rantradio, PA1N,
spfd2600, we try and squeeze out some semblance of sanity into this world.
About this issue. It took a long time to put this bitch into print.
Everyone and their cat seems to be busy these last few months, and I've been
scraping the barrel for material-- I was at least-- until I talked to some
people who are dedicated to the cause. You may have noticed, the "Scabbed Wings
of Abbadon" is on the table of contents. Yes, our very own open source
celebrity Sean Kennedy, the fucking man has completed his first publically
available book and true to the open source roots this zine is based on, we're
printing a teaser in this very issue. I hope, well I know, but I hope you'll
enjoy this special surprise as much as I.
Now that the lean months of spring, a phrase I've never heard coined
before, are over, the submissions are flooding back in. We're just as strong as
we always were, maybe stronger. I suppose it's just like everybody in the
rantradio community has learned; "it's not how hard you can hit, but hard you
can get hit." As usual, my life seems to have taken pelase in beating the shit
out of me, but I'm still standing, and I present to you the proof of our
perserverance.
Thanks for reading the 'zine guys. It means a lot to me, and it helps. I
hope you learn something, because that's what it's all about. It's about
keeping the knowledge alive. Without further ado, I give you PA1N Magazine X
(that's 10.)
- alienBinary, 2004
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv10x02----------------------------------------------------------------[ 2 ]
[ Letter From the Co-Editor ]
[ Turnspike ]
[ 2 ]----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv10x02
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
This weekend I was at a local amusement park that is holding a festival that
features entertainment from groups all over the world. I was sitting in the
front row of an outdoor theatre, enjoying a steel drum band from Trinidad, and
I thought to myself that I would really like to hear more of this kind of
music. This thought bubble burst and I became lost again in the rythmical
melodies of the drum. After the set was over my geek senses came back to me and
I realized that thanks to the different distribution forms of music over the
internet, that I CAN listen to the steel drums, or anything else I would hear
that day,at home. I tend to forget this after I get all wrapped up on how the
RIAA is suing file traders, or how government rulings are changing the face of
internet radio, or how the record labels are protecting their holdings to such
an extreme that it is stifling creativity. But whether you stream or download
your tunes, it is still possible to get your fix of anything you want to hear
on demand. And if you don't know what you might want to hear, this freedom
allows you to experience new artists and genres without fear of wasting your
money on bad purchases.
It is commonly known between traders of music files, that we will often
download music that we would never buy because we won't hear it on the radio,
and we are not willing to drop money on an album without a clue if we are going
to like the content. In fact, I used to have a folder marked "Bad Music" where
I would purposely download the worst stuff availiable to play for my friends.
And while looking for bad music, I would hear some very cool artists along the
way, including bands like The Shaggs, and singers like Eilert Pilarm and Mary
Schneider. And if you haven't yet heard The Shaggs, I really must insist. Frank
Zappa declared that they were "better than the Beatles", but if you heard them,
your first instinct would be to wonder why. But again, it's no loss if you
don't like what you hear. Delete it, forget it.
If you are interested in hearing a particular genre of music, and not a single
song, there are thousands of servers that stream mp3 feeds accross the net. At
www.shoutcast.com there is over six thousand stations availiable with
everything from Hindi to Reggae to Bluegrass there for you enjoyment. And our
friends at RantRadio have three stations listed with shoutcast: RantRadio
Industrial, RantRadio Punk, and RantRadio Talk. All this noise is dammed up
accross the net, waiting your you to experience, enjoy, and becomed influenced
by. Try something new. Expand your mind. Music is as accessable and free as it
is ever going to be. In 30 years you are going to be telling your grandkids
about how great it was when Napster ruled the earth. Well my friends, that sun
is setting so soak it up.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv10x03----------------------------------------------------------------[ 3 ]
[ The Noise Inside my Head ]
[ alienbinary ]
[ 3 ]----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv10x03
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
"It won't give up, it wants me dead,
goddamn this noise inside my head."
-- 'The Becoming', Nine Inch Nails.
It's different every time. It starts in that place you can't scratch in the
back of your mind, and creeps over your body like an infection. It's dirty, you
feel unclean, you feel foolish. You want to be in somebody else's arms with no
responsibilities. The world is suddenly disgusting and dirty and you want to
clean it. Sort of. You think you do, but you know you don't-- are you confused
yet? The tile grout has little microbes with deadly bacteria and you're now the
only one who can stop it, and you're the only one who knows just how fucking
crazy you really are up there.
Flash back to first person. I'm the kid you know that's a little bit
strange. Maybe I have an apartment alone, and I act a little bit eccentric
sometimes. I'm always giving off the appearance that I'm on the verge of a
nervous breakdown, and it kind of scares you. Or, perhaps, it looks like I'm
always just fine, because you can never see what I'm doing inside my brain so
that I can get up in the morning and do what I have to do to survive the simple
things that everyone takes for granted. I'm not an idiot, at least I'm told.
I'm not insane, you'd know that by how I write. I'm obsessive compulsive. Don't
offer me your sympathy, I don't want it, and it's not going to do either of us
any good. I want you to listen, I want you to hang on every word of this so
that maybe you can understand that some things just aren't that easy; even for
the kid with the 4.0 and the hot girl. I am that kid. That guy, rather. I'm
twenty one, I've been dealing with this for more than half my life.
Let's take it apart piece by piece. Why am I writing this? What does it
matter to you if you have no idea what it's like and ultimately never really
will? I'm not sure. Maybe you'll be a little bit more compassionate and realize
that you have it pretty good only having to do some of the things you do every
single goddamn day yourself once. I went to the shower five times today. I only
took two showers. If this sounds familiar to you, then realize you're not a
freak. I look around at the world we live in some days and I marvel at just how
ridiculous it is that I even get out of bed in the morning. I have a good life,
I'm more than well adjusted, I'm the person that you trust. Just because you
know this about me doesn't mean you shouldn't either. We all have something
wrong with us. All of us. And by "us," I mean every single person who reads
this, and also every person who doesn't. Simply put, no one's perfect, and that
whole word should be annihilated from the dictionary. Perfect. Fuck perfect.
I've been writing for my whole life that I can remember, and it's always
been this amazing solace and escape. I jump into the piece and I mash the keys
until my mind is a little clearer. Sometimes what I write, actually, most of
the time, very little of what I write, will ever make it to ink or even be
saved in a file. I write about ten pages a day at least, and some people, if
they're lucky, get to see one or two. It's frustrating like I can't explain. I
have thoughts, ideas, and things I want to do with my life and with other
people and to help the world just like everybody else. Unlike many of the
millions of other Americans with OCD, I live a very normal life, because I work
hard at it. I spend hours every day going through mental exercises to make sure
that I won't go back into a rut that causes me to withdraw from society for a
little while. We all have our battles, and this one is mine.
Think about this for a minute or two: I'm walking down the hallway, and I
realize that I've just gone a new route than the one I always travel to get out
of the building to a college law class I have in less than three minutes. It
takes me an average of five minutes to get to the class, and every time I'm
late I want to hit myself over the head with a sack of books for being so lazy.
Still, there's that route I just followed. All of a sudden I can't remember
which way it was that I went. Maybe I did follow this route and my head is just
fucking with me, it's possible... yeah. Sorry chief, doesn't make a difference.
With OCD, the trademark of the obsession is that the thought is irrational, the
person having the thought is aware that it's irrational, and yet they still
cannot get past that stupid "what if" clause that exists in everybody's brain,
obsessive compulsive, or not. What if scenarios are categorized by doubt, which
is pretty much the best way you could summarize my entire thought process from
sunrise to sunset. I doubt everything I do, and I don't know if there's any
reason why I do what I do. Yes, I get positive feedback. Sort of. Yeah, I think
I'm an okay guy, and I have good times like everybody else, but there's that
wardrobe thing. It's okay, you don't know what the wardrobe issue is do you? Of
course not. This is an entire world of extra problems and parameters
superimposed on my behavior by my brain because I have an imbalance of
seratonin, the neurotransmitter in the brain that transmits impulses. The
mechanics of OCD can be broken down in layman's terms pretty easy, and I'll do
that for you now. Maybe I'm doing it for me, but it's not what matters.
In the brain, there are billions, well, presumably more than that, neurons;
axon and synapse pairs that rely on a neurotransmitter, a fluid that conducts
brain impulses such as thoughts to the rest of the brain. The process of the
average thought is exactly like an electric impulse should be. It pretty much
goes one way, and if there's a circuit, it's that part of your brain that tells
you that you have accomplished something and it's time to move on to another
task. Remember that the brain runs on electric impulses. In an imbalanced
brain, there's a lack of certain neurochemicals that act as conductors for the
thoughts. This being the case, thoughts get cycled around and around in the
brain like a washer dryer on it's tenth roll of laundry quarters. There's the
well known symptom of the person who washes his or her hands a hundred times so
that his skin is raw and exposed. That happens because the part of the brain
that says that you've completed the task, in this case, of washing your hands,
sends the signal to move on to the next task, but the nerve impulse just
doesn't make it. Instead, it gets caught in a loop, trying to find a
destination, because there isn't enough seratonin to travel to the proper
synapse to complete the thought process. This can result in a myriad of mental
responses, but the most famous is to keep on doing whatever you're doing until
you get that "all clear" signal from that part of your brain. That signal isn't
actually on it's way to your consciousness, because it's lost and gone. Newly
diagnosed people often think that if they just do something enough, eventually
their brain will give them the okay. That's not how it works. If it did, then
it would be a matter of slower thought processes. This is the antithesis of how
the average obsessive compulsive brain works.
My brain fires so many thoughts a second, I sometimes give off the
impression that I'm on some amphetamine making me think too fast. I can deduce
complex problems as soon as all the data makes it into my head, and I can read
encrypted information like it's plain english. This is because in fact, my
brain works a hell of a lot faster than the average person's. I don't know why,
but this is characteristic of OCD. But there are huge implications with that,
things that are definitely not good and they can really make your entire day,
week, life, whatever, really hard to live. See, when your brain is firing off
responses that fast, the information can get overlapped, or, more likely, you
can take everything to the next level. By the way, never play chess against
someone with OCD if they have their disorder under control because they have
the whole game, and I mean the entire game mapped out in their mind. So take
that tile grout I was talking about.
I'm in the shower. I'm wearing these new Etnies shower shoes because I'm
tired of stepping in second hand water and wondering what diseases the person
before me might have left on the fresh tile. After all, did you know that the
most common way of transmitting diseases in a domestic setting like a dormitory
is via the soles of the feet? I bet you didn't. If you did, good for you, but
don't pat yourself on the back. The water is lukewarm which I'm not too happy
about, because I realize instantly that if there had been ice water coming out
of the shower nozzle, then it would have been at least an hour since someone
last used the shower stall, and the germs have probably fucked off and found a
niche in the drain. But they haven't. I know they haven't because the water is
warm and I realize this immediately along with the fact that there's a sliver
of soap on the floor that's too jagged to be old, so it probably came off the
body of someone really recently. More than that, the beer can, empty and
deserted right outside the stall tells me that someone was a little drunk in
the shower at some point in the last 24 hours between the housekeeping rounds,
which means they presumably might have had to take a leak and possibly did;
possibly right where I'm standing. Are you getting frustrated yet? Is this
starting to seem ridiculous? It is. Believe me, it is. But for me this is like
the simple old hack obsession. I can deal with germs. That's fine. It's the
newspaper.
Every single second someone is probably dying or someone is getting into a
car accident, and every second another species disappears from the face of the
earth before I got a chance to see it one last time, if indeed at all, and
every second I'm aware of this. I can't go a single minute without thinking
about everything I know about the world and following the thought process
linearly, like some twisted surrealistic snake of tragedy wrought out in pure
logic. When I open the newspaper, and I see the headline about the man who
killed those kids, any man, any kids, let's face it, it's grotesquely common in
this hedonistic world and no one seems to care anymore. Anyway, those kids
deaths, even though I obviously wasn't there when whatever went down did in
fact go down, will be constructed and reconstructed in a thousand different
ways in my mind and I have no say in the process. It's contrary to my very
nature too, so I get edgy and I start to sweat. I feel like I might be a bad
person because I'm so morbidly curious about the most disturbing things. But
I'm not, not really. I'd rather not focus on the trauma and the tragedy and the
diabolical. I'd rather move on with my life, whatever of it I have left to hold
on to, but I can't. I can, but while I'm at my job, or keeping up that
beautiful 4.0 grade point average and earning the respect of my peers and
professors, I'm also going over the details of what I read. It'll pop up when
I'm in the shower. It'll become the foremost dominating thought when I'm trying
to write, and it's nothing I want to think about.
So I have to do something, right? That's the compulsive side. A compulsion
is a ritual that rids you of the feeling of discomfort by putting whatever it
is that you feel has gone wrong right, and all vice verse. It can be anything,
but the chances of it being something that has anything to do with the
obsession are pretty slim. I may take a shower three times in a row, but that's
not because I'm trying to get dirt off of my body. I'm trying to purify myself.
I'm cleaning my skin as hard as I can because I can't scrape the grime off the
surface of my own brain. And this is not unusual for millions of people in just
the United States alone.
There are struggles within the everyday struggle that you will never know
about because you don't have to, or the person going through it is too
embarrassed to talk about it. But that embarrassment has kept me and so many
others locked up inside ourselves, convinced of our own freakish nature, when
we should be just accepting that we were handed the cards we got and that's how
we have to play the game. I get up every day knowing that every minute will
probably bring a new obsession and compulsion and that I'll be doing my best to
fight; also knowing that no one will be any wiser.
I hope if you read this, you learn something. I hope maybe one day it'll be
okay to be a freak or a misfit. I hope that maybe some day I can openly say to
my professor that I got to class as fast as I could, and I was rushing it. I
hope that one day I won't be worried about being like everybody else, just
concentrated on being me to the best of my god given ability. Even in the
middle of hell, you can find hope.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv10x04----------------------------------------------------------------[ 4 ]
[ A Look Through Different Lenses ]
[ alienbinary ]
[ 4 ]----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv10x04
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
What do you say to someone who printed out thirty issues of your magazine
and handed them out to people, cost of ink, paper and time all footed pro-bono?
I didn't expect that to happen when I started this magazine. I didn't really
expect anything to become of my ideas. In this world, we're lucky if anyone
actually notices that we've done anything at all, let alone recognizes and
supports it. I was in the rantradio IRC, polling if anyone had feedback on
issue 9. Someone asked why I was asking, and I admitted that I was a little
worried. I'm sort of impatient when it comes to certain things, and I have a
bad tendency to look at trends, even when I haven't got all the datum in front
of me. c4rc4s brought me back to planet, well, wherever my brain usually is, by
flooring me with something he had done, not even emailing me for credit. It
happens that he printed out 30 PA1N volume 9s, in laser quality, and gave them
to people he thought would read it. You can find the transcript in the IRC
section of the zine. I was incredulous, to say the least. Someone had bothered
to distribute PA1N in print? Yes, they did.
I had to do a real quick reality check after that, and realize that just
because everything seems to be going downhill in my life, doesn't mean it is. I
needed a severe change of perspective. I think I've been walking uphill for so
long that I lost my frame of reference, and forgot which angle I was looking
down from. When our legs are burning and our minds are screaming, we can look
at it from whatever angle we want, but sometimes it helps to get a second
opinion from someone who's looking through different eyes.
I had something for school I needed to do the other day, it was a wild
errand and no one wanted to come with me. I had to go to harvard square to pick
up some gaming supplies used in Warhammer modeling as a medium for an art
project. It sounds stupid, and it may turn out to be stupid in the long run,
but I had to give it a shot. I don't like backing down, it's not something I'm
good at. Instead, I just aim myself in the direction of the most resistance and
throw myself like a bullet into the arena. The shuttle apparently had stopped
running one o'clock rides to the train station without telling anyone, and I
was left with the fact that I have no car, no license, actually, that I
couldn't afford to keep taking cabs if I was to have any money left to pay for
my supplies, and that all my friends were either sick or in class. No ride, no
trip, right?
The guy with headphones on must not have actually been listening to
anything, because he overheard that I was shit out of luck, and told me what
direction the train station was in. He added that it was several miles roughly
in "that" direction. People thought I was crazy, I was walking through an area
with one of the single highest violent crime rates in the country, a place the
police don't like to patrol. I was walking alone, and I wasn't worried. I hate
social stratification, I really do. For those of you who don't know what
stratification is, it's the severe socio-political boundary setting that
divides people into what's more or less a caste system. There's always a poor
section of town, and a bad section, and a dangerous section. I was in the poor
part of a dangerous area in a bad section of a violent city. But I wasn't
worried. I probably should have been, but I wasn't. Thing is, you can play your
cards right until you're old and shaped like a prune, with nothing to show for
it. You can never set foot in the water, and never drown. At the same time,
have you even lived? I hazard to say that someone who avoids everything
"dangerous" at all costs isn't living life at all, but hibernating until some
time they imagine when it will all be better.
Listen up guys. It won't get better until we cut the shit. I'm an upper
middle class white boy from the suburbs, and although I dress in mostly surplus
clothes, like army/navy, I dress well. I look like a freak, perhaps, you've all
seen pictures, I'm sure; but ultimately, you could tell that day from my new
doc martens, my camoflage dickies bag (complete with Skinny Puppy patch) and
the zippo case at my side, IGNORING the fact that I was covered in cases
containing electronics, and know that I wasn't packing light. But all people
want is respect. I went through that area like I did stupid shit like that all
the time, because I wasn't afraid. If I was gonna get rolled, I was gonna get
rolled. It can happen any time, and the only time I remember having a gun
pulled on me was in the suburbs, not the projects. So fuck the hype. Let's
leave all that bullshit aside and venture out. Don't be afraid because the
corporate media told you to be afraid. Don't shy away from the homeless guy,
just because he's unshowered. Show some respect for your fellow human beings,
and maybe, just maybe, we'll start getting some respect back.
"Get busy living, or get busy dying."
- the Shawshank Redemption
I don't intend to come off as being on a high horse or anything of the
sort, and I don't think I'm some tough guy because I take long excursions on
foot into bad neighborhoods alone. I just know that I'm tired of being afraid.
Don't you ever get tired of being scared all the time? We're so fucking afraid
of the world because of the nightly news, that we wouldn't be able to tell the
screen from the real thing sometimes. Guys, it's time to make your own
judgement call. If you see for yourself, and you don't want to take that risk,
cool. Fine. But understand that it's a personal choice, not a rule of living.
We are, at least at the moment, free to wander. There's a lot to see and do.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv10x05----------------------------------------------------------------[ 5 ]
[ The Scabbed Wings of Abbadon ]
[ Sean Kennedy ]
[ 5 ]----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv10x05
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
-- -- ------- --------------------- ------- -- --
PA1N Editor's Note: The following excerpt is from "The Scabbed Wings of
Abbadon," specifically, Chapter 13, as chosen by the Author, RantRadio's own
Sean Kennedy (the fucking man.) This is not the entire chapter, as I've taken
the liberty of taking the first half of the chapter, which is right before it
gets incredibly graphic.
I'm an avid reader of horror, because as a genre, it's able to go beyond
any other genre into the realms where others avoid. Even through horror stories
as benign as "The Lottery", which is taught quite a bit in New England school
systems, we learn to see perspectives on the unrivaled brutality that mankind
is capable of. Horror is a parable, a very powerful one, and it shows us things
that we don't want to see, but ultimately, we must. "Abbadon," as a work of the
imagination, remains in the mind of the reader totally real, all boundaries
between what we know and what we accept pushed aside. This is what literature
does, or at least, this is what it can do, and I hope generations from now,
literature will be looked at as highly as it once was.
Download the book in it's entirety-- for free!-- here:
http://www.rantmedia.ca/files/sean_kennedy-the_scabbed_wings_of_abaddon.zip
- alienbinary
-- -- ------- --------------------- ------- -- --
"There are enough good people doing nothing."
- The Truth
The relationship that had developed across the last few hours
between Sasha and Clarence could be called a friendship in the same way that a
raft was an ocean going vessel. It wasn't ideal by any stretch, but it was the
only thing she had.
Clarence tapped her on the shoulder, raising her attention from his diary
notes. "We should be on our way. We've been in the open far longer than we
should."
Sasha was pondering. "But, wait. If we die here in this world, won't we
just go somewhere else?"
Winker was gathering his pages back into the book, putting his belt harness
around it. "Actually, no. There is no death here, as such; there is only
consumption in Abaddon. Your essence is consumed by predators, parasites, other
Wraiths, or the city itself. There is nothing beyond here. This is it. Your
consciousness ends here."
Sasha felt frustration welling up within her. "Well, if there's is no way
out, and we are all dead, and life is hopeless, then why do even bother? Why
not just let ourselves be consumed and end it?"
Clarence paused for a moment after slinging the book onto his back. "I say,
I have often wondered that myself. I should think we should ask that of a
trout."
"A trout?" she asked, shaking her head.
"Oh yes, most definitely! A trout is a beautiful creature, swimming about
in lakes or streams, and is usually killed and eaten by man or some other
predator. I wonder why they carry on. Why don't trout everywhere just say, 'Oh
bother! This is rather bally being a trout!' and fling themselves up onto the
land."
Clarence leaned forwards and whispered, "I think it's because there are
things that trout are not meant to know."
The two walked through the dim, twisted streets, examining the dark
dwellings and haunted houses. Clarence would try to answer each of her
questions as best as he could before she flashed a new one. Sasha was still
trying to keep it all in check, trying to make sense of an insane plane of
existence.
They turned a corner and a chair had been placed in the middle of the road.
A symbol had been scratched into its back and it stood, like an ominous
tombstone, facing them.
Sasha recognized it. It was the same one she saw on her apartment door.
Clarence was nervous, already backing way. "I'm afraid we shan't be going down
this way."
"What is it?" she asked, feeling the fear creep up again.
"It's a glyph, my dear, the Danger Glyph. A warning from another Wraith.
There's no time. Come on then," he said and broke into a careful run.
They ran for a few blocks, Clarence continuously looking for more glyphs. A
waterless fountain approached them from the middle of the street. It was wide,
maybe thirty feet across, with four stone creatures crouched, holding a wide
bowl on their back. This fountain from some European town center that had
seen marriage vows and funeral processions was now a fountain of dogma, flooded
with holy pages where water used to be.
Clarence stopped for a moment to catch his breath.
He puffed and sat down on the fountain's edge. "There are a series of
symbols that we Wraiths use in order to warn other fellows of danger. No one
knows who started it, but it's carried on longer than even the Ghosts can
remember," he said as he scooped, from the pool, an Old Testament page.
Retrieving his quill from his coat, he began to draw. She watched the glyphs
appear from the end of his quill, and their meanings became clear.
Danger Cats Thespians
Hallows Wulves
Things that she never paid attention to, the scratching on doors now had
new meaning. Each gash was trying to tell her something, if she only knew how
to read it. Seeing the symbols gave her hope. Even in this place, the human
will was present. These scrapings on buildings and furniture were the vengeful
slashes of those who had nothing else with which to fight.
They rested long enough for Winker to catch his breath and then carried on,
going nowhere in particular but appreciating the action of movement. Clarence
was still explaining, in further detail, his theories and ideas, feeding her
illusion of progress. He explained that she shouldn't worry so. In Abaddon no
matter where you were, you were lost. You got used to being lost.
The wind picked up fast. "We had better seek cover. This is going to be a
storm!" Winker turned to a vacant building, a small storefront made from
ancient brick. The loose holy pages in the street were spinning into devils as
Winker scanned the bricks for glyphs.
"How do you know?" she called over the growing wind.
"There are only storms here!" he said.
It was hard for Sasha to say what kind of building this had been. It was
older, but more North American than European in design. Sasha made the general
shape of the architecture out in the green gloom. It reminded her of an old
western saloon. The door was only a little cracked, the lower corner on the
doorknob side splintered.
They took cover inside. The empty window shutters had been thoughtfully
tied shut with the strings from instruments. It did the job. Peering out
between the cracks to the chaos in the streets beyond, she saw papers
everywhere, swirling like fish dodging sharks. Clarence took up a position so
that he could peer out into the street and watch the approach of anyone or
anything. Sasha watched his poise in vigil; he was like some feral creature
awaiting the shadows of beasts. With his pointed nose under his top hat, at the
very least, he looked distinguished, and at most, he looked mad.
The wind continued to build, pressing around the outside of the dim
building as though seeking shelter itself. Over the moaning came a sound, a
scream. Over the rushing of the pages, she heard the cry of a newborn child, so
faint it was a memory. Sasha was sure she heard it.
"Did you hear that?" she said, turning to Winker.
"I say, yes. I most certainly did," Clarence said, only mildly interested
and still peering out the cracks. "A Chyld, in some distress, from the sound of
it."
Sasha could feel her blood hot with anger. Clarence had written about the
Chyldren, how strong they were, how they could look after themselves, but she
didn't care. The sound of an infant in distress did something to her. She
didn't know why, but right now, she wasn't stopping to question it. To his
surprise, she walked out the door he was guarding so carefully.
"What? Where are you going?" he asked. No time to answer. She walked into
the swirling papers of the street, waiting to hear the sound again.
The wind began dying down the moment she stepped outside. Within seconds,
all that could be heard was the rustling of the papers as they settled. She
stood, senses honed as moments passed.
A desolate wail, the sound of a Chyld in fear and pain, came from a street
just few blocks over from where she stood. Half a heartbeat later, she was
running. None of the intersections were nearby; she'd have to use the alleys to
get there quickly.
Sasha's combat boots were becoming comfortable. The reassuring slam of the
boots' soles against the cobblestone rang out, building strength within her.
They were a war drum against any who would harm a child, a child like her own,
only damned to this place. She wasn't this child's mother, but she was
someone's mother. Enough fear, she thought. 'Build the hatred;
time to learn killing. I can't let this child suffer!'
Winker was yelling from behind. "Wait! You can't do anything! You'll just
get yourself killed!"
Nothing new there, she thought to herself and left him.
"Oh bother!" she heard him curse, then a scuffling. He was following.
Down the tight, cluttered alleys she ran, towards the now more frequent
screams. She focused on the sound. There wasn't much room to maneuver, less
than a meter in some places.
Mother's coming.
She was growing in power. If she had time to think, she would wonder where
this building inner power was coming from. She would wonder why there was this
terrible rage that had her. It's not that she wouldn't stand up to help anyone
in need, most certainly, she would, but this was more than just concern.
Clarence had learned long ago to avoid the alleyways. You were most certain
to find a Wulve den, or perhaps worse. This was far too dangerous for his
liking.
A chair attempted to trip her up, but instead, shattered on her shins.
Sasha ran through it, no matter what it was. She didn't notice the chair. She
had the pure conviction of a soldier flowing through her, a killer. Absolute,
pure and merciless; it was the perfect rage of a woman.
Mother's coming!
Sasha's legs were alive with power. One corner, another, and then another,
leaping over the broken piles and clutter in her way with ease. Another corner,
and the street came into view. This one was a modern but cracked concrete
street. The ever-present toys, papers, and larger stacks of furniture were
everywhere. It might have been a freeway, wide, but with no paint on it. A
crowd was gathered in the middle of the road.
Thirty vaguely humanoid creatures stood in a scattered circle, with a
large, heaving, screaming mass in the center of them. The mass was a Chyld; it
had to be. A huge humanoid with bulging muscles, at least fifteen feet tall. It
stood like an unfinished gorilla. Its swollen muscles had no definition and the
whole bright pink form was as smooth as a newborn, fleshy and fresh.
The face was devoid of features and the head longer than normal, but with
no mouth, nose or ears. It did have eyes, however. Large, terrified, blue eyes,
the size of diner plates, were staring wild as the terrors around it circled.
The screams were somehow coming from its head, making it a howling drum of
fear.
It was caught in a web of ropes that were wrapped around the Chyld. Some
were around its arms, one around its neck, the rest lashed its feet and hands
out to these things that taunted.
These thirty figures were Hallows: twisted shapes of sexual torture, no two
of them alike. They were everything Clarence said they were, and worse. They
were the demonic visions that came to masturbating perverts in sacred places.
Words are powerful, strange things. Often people forget what a word means, or
worse, they will use the word without the correct respect for what it truly
represents. It takes a situation, tailor-made for a specific word, to really
understand a word's full meaning. Sasha now knew the true meaning of the word
'vulgar'.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv10x06----------------------------------------------------------------[ 6 ]
[ Unification: Diversity of Thought ]
[ mephyt ]
[ 6 ]----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv10x06
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
Unification. A simple word. Dictionary.com describes it as
"To make into or become a unit; consolidate".
A simple definition for a complex idea.
I've spent a lot of time thinking about this particular topic, namely,
because it is very important. It seems that everyone has an idea of what they
want to happen with a million different things, yet no one seems to be able to
make any real change. A big reason for this is because we tend to squabble over
petty details and semantics. We spend all of our time arguing about the small
things, and completely overlook the bigger picture of it all.
So what are we attempting to accomplish?
We hope to accomplish a million different things, and we all have a million
different ways of doing each thing. The end result or goal is often the same,
but once again, we stop ourselves before we had a chance to really get started.
We allow for all the outside distractions to bog us down and to interfere with
what we hope to do. An example of this would be getting caught up in a debate
over the prices of tea in China, instead of looking at issues that actually do
make a difference to us, such as our need to do the 'right thing', or to
improve everyone's' quality of life.
We all see many things that need to happen, yet we don't allow ourselves to
band together to create change. We sit and squabble often, arguing semantics
and details. While details are important, it is more important to say that you
are actually creating change for the good of everyone instead of just 'getting
your way'. While concessions do need to be made occasionally, you can't let the
petty differences of people get in the way of doing something positive.
I am a part of many things. I am a member of Nocturnal Radio, Rant Radio,
and a writer for PA1N, to name my favorites. I do all of these things because I
agree with them. I think that we, as a community have great potential to
influence change. I studied KULT (Kennedy's Uber-Leet Terrorists) and why it
fell to what it is now. I studied governments, particularly our own (United
States). I have tried to learn as much as possible so that I could try to be a
part of an educated group, able to make intelligent decisions on what needs to
change. I can only hope that there are others out there that think the same way
that I do.
When I look around, I see so many people in these communities whose talents
could be used to help create change. I see that someone from one group, could
aid another person, and together they could do something important. They could
do something that might give us a kick-start. They might be able to get all the
information we have out to the masses. All of the tools we need are there, but
we don't have any real direction to dump it into. We individually bumble
around, trying to find our way in a dark room. If we worked together, we could
get so much farther; we could find that magical door that would let us all
start moving down the hallway into something new. We could start moving
forward. We could progress at a faster rate and impact things while there is
still a chance of being able to make real progress.
The point that I've been trying to make, is that we have all the potential
in the world when we work together to do something productive. We could do
anything. If we stay divided though, our capacity is significantly reduced.
Individually, Rant radio and Nocturnal Radio aren't much. Just a couple of
online radio stations that hit a narrow base of people. Even as two groups,
with more power than just one individual, they still don't have the ability to
fully facilitate change. They both have good points, but they lack the
structure to handle a greater purpose. They have the ability to do a lot in
their spectrums, but they are still somewhat limited. At the end of the day,
they are still just two stations with a good message. This is where PA1N comes
in.
PA1N has the ability to fully unite people because it shares the thoughts
that are on everyone's minds. For me, it shows that I'm not alone in life with
my beliefs. It shows me that other people are out there that I can relate to. I
can read the thoughts of someone else, and I can empathize with them. At that
point, they become less of a 'someone' and more of a person, an individual.
Through PA1N, alliances are being formed that will help to unify us, and take
us into something greater, something that we can all stand for.
As an individual, I understand that I can't change the world. As an
individual, I can't do it by myself, even if I wanted to. I don't have the
strength, the dedication, and the perseverance. With PA1N, I read and am
reminded that most people feel the same way. I am reminded that there is still
hope that this world can become a better place through our own torment and
hurt, if we choose to make it so. Life will always have pain, and PA1N will be
here to help us come to terms with it.
If we make use of the tools we have set before us, we have the ability to
do something that no one else in our time has done. We have the dedication; we
have the skills and the talent. Most of all, we have the compassion and empathy
to understand what is happening, and create change through caring, to create
change through unity.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv10x07----------------------------------------------------------------[ 7 ]
[ Scream of Consciousness ]
[ alienbinary ]
[ 7 ]----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv10x07
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
[ scream: the antidote. ]
Some people will never put up a fight, they just watch as the world rolls
all over them, kind of wondering, but not really inquiring, if it's the way
things always have been. Humanity is at a very definite precipace right now. We
are standing over the cliff, wondering whether or not we should jump, or if we
already have, but just haven't felt the full impact yet. Wars dominate the
entire globe. That's nothing new, but the means with which wars are carried out
now are. Civil war is imminent everywhere you look, and the economy keeps
floundering like a fish out of water. So why bother with the fight? Why do we
keep distributing the antidote called rantradio to the masses, and why do we
continue to put out issues of this magazine? Why do I bother to spend entire
weekends, weeks even, to put the layout together every month or so, just to
make sure the magazine is always in constant flow? Why bother? Because if we
don't keep going, we're lost.
I went to a shopping mall the other day, and I walked around feeling like a
specter. Everywhere I went, I was almost tripping on someone's children. People
walked in and out of stores, dumping money on the counters for kitchy easter
gags, because they wanted to be remembered as good parents, or to be invited to
the office party again. People spend way too much time doing things they don't
really want to do. So why do they do what they do? Because they refuse to admit
that they have already lost. They have allowed themselves to be bagged, tagged
and thrown in the mix with the rest of america.
* * *
[ scream: off with his head? ]
The world is a fucking scary place right now, but for all the wrong
reasons. Recently, footage was released concerning the mistreatment of
prisoners of war from both sides of the debacle in the persian gulf. I never
thought that I would see a beheading on primetime television, though. That's a
little bit too bizarre, even too riske for the modern media. Currently, the FCC
is filing little docket after docket and rallying for the Freedom of Speech to
be abridged, ignoring the whole constitution deal. On the chopping block for
free speech includes violence and sexuality in entertainment and broadcasting.
Well that leads me to question the rationale of rebroadcasting torture,
decapitations, humiliation, beatings, etc. etc.
What a lot of people don't know, is that the news is exempt from many of
the rules that other broadcast media are subject to. As long as something is
deemed newsworthy-- which is a whole new argument in and of itself-- it is
protected by the first ammendment. This means that should the PTA, PMRC, ACT,
and all those other groups rallying to ban anything entertaining from the
airwaves get their ways, the news will still be able to show sex and violence.
Pretty neat, huh?
Well, that brings me to my actual point, because contrary to what you
probably expected, there is a point here. There are many people who have
pointed out the increasing difficulty in differentiating between the news and,
as jello biafra compared the news to, "Entertainment Tonight" (which should
never have been declared as fit for tv, and should have been deemed obscene for
it's involvment in the fascination with stupid shit like "Survivor" and who's
fuckign whom.) The news, you have to understand, is now the only pulpit from
which the major networks can air anything they damn well please. You'll recall
the superbowl, as much as I hate to bring it up. Although I never watched the
superbowl myself, apparently Janet Jackson took it upon herself to expose
herself to the public, or at least, one breast. This sparked an uproar and the
FCC declared war on Viacom and CBS and pretty much everyone who even touched
the halftime show.
But how did I find out about this, if I didn't see it? Well, I simply had
to let the news agencies air the sequence again and again until I could almost
draw a diagram of the occurrence from memory. See, the news was able to show
the incident without penalty because an infraction of federal broadcasting laws
is a newsworthy event, therefore it's not held to the same restriction as the
event itself. Don't think I'm correct? Well, before I tell you to pull your
head out of your ass, I suggest you recall the last time a "may not be fit for
younger viewers" screen appeared with white letters and black backdrop for ten
to fifteen seconds preceeding a violent television show. It's probably the last
time you saw one. Now tell me when you last saw that before a News broadcast.
You didn't. If you did, consider yourself lucky for having a self-regulatory
news agency.
Now, with this all in mind, realize that there is phenomenal power for
exploitation in the video of a perported execution by beheading of an American
civilian overseas by our current enemies during wartime. I am not suggesting
that there is nothing newsworthy, or illegitimate about the reports or the
video itself. I've not had a chance to watch it carefully, and even then, I'm
no expert on video editing. I do know propaghanda though. I have a collection
of WWII propaghanda on my LaCie D2 78 GB harddrive, which I use as a library.
Beleive me, there is a lot to say about parallels here. For those of you
fortunate enough to be educated in the Chinese Revolution that put Mao Tze Tung
in power as chairmen of the Chinese Communist Party, you'll remember the fliers
that were wallpapered around the cities and in the farm communities depicting
the horrors of capitalism. Using that as a springboard, the Red Chinese
depicted life under communist rule, showing a contrast that appeared, at least,
favorable. Obviously nothing was said about doctors and schoolteachers being
forced to wear sandwhichboard signs while they head their grey matter dispersed
by a red soldier.
It was the horrifying imagery in these posters that caught the eyes of the
farmers and the lower class. This is precisely what the horror of watching a US
citizen lose his head provides us with. It's an eye grabber. Whether we like it
or not, we have to accept that the news has taken something really horrific,
and turned it into a cashcow. This is not acceptable when it comes to the right
to privacy we should afford all our citizens.
* * *
[ scream: sullivan all over again. ]
"it's not hard to reach back to her smile, when she
received the letter. The letters they sounded generally
the same, they said they couldn't be home, at least
they were together."
- 'Sullivan', Caroline's Spine
In November of 1942, five brothers died on the USS Juneau. This sparked a
worldwide controversy, in which the Dept. of the Navy and the Dept. of War sent
a personal apology to Mrs. Sullivan, who had as of then, officially lost every
member of her family. If you've seen the movie "Saving Private Ryan," you'll
remember that Pvt. Ryan was being rotated back to the states, because his
brothers had been killed in battle. The War Dept. had implemented a policy
never to have an entire family in battle again, and the job of those in the
search team was to locate Private Ryan, and return him to the United States, to
his family. The death of all 5 Sullivan brothers was the cause of such a
mission.
So why do I mention it here? Why does it matter? Because 20,000 US troops
have just had their tours of duty extended. Of those twenty thousand, a handful
of them are my friends. I feel like we're on the brink of another Vietnam, and
that I will have no choice but to wait it out as everyone is killed for no
reason. I asked a friend of mine what they were fighting for, because I've
since forgotten, and all he said was "exactly."
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv10x08----------------------------------------------------------------[ 8 ]
[ Water, Water, Everywhere ]
[ alienbinary + Artemis ]
[ 8 ]----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv10x08
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
Artemis turned to me at the local store 24 the other day, with one of those
quizzical looks she gets on her face when she's not quite sure if the question
on her mind even makes sense before she actually decides to ask it.
"Now, seriously, tell me if I'm wrong, but I could've sworn that
water used to be free. When did this happen?"
She asks as I start to look at the one liter bottle of poland springs that
I've got in the crook of my arm. She was absolutely right. When either of us
were younger, we used to be able to go into any store and just ask, politely,
for a glass of water. Someone, somewhere always had cups and water was free. It
was just something you did for someone.
Then, who the hell knows when, watercoolers weren't just a convenience,
they were a necessity. Suddenly, water was unsafe to drink out of the tap.
Sure, they pointed out that there was lead piping that had to be removed, and
sediment would also leak in when the pipes were being replaced... but this has
all been done. No where in my house is there a single lead pipe that I know of,
so why, exactly, am I unnacustomed to just getting a drink of tap water? If I
had to put a time frame on this whole thing, I think I'd say it came in a
couple of stages.
The first stage was when companies like Brita filtration systems started
putting out a line of tap-cleaner products. Next, it was the bottled water for
convenience, and now it's a straight up cultural taboo to get water from the
tap. This being the case, why the hell do we have faucets in our houses? Why do
I use the water from the spigot to fill my ice tray, when I know it will
eventually melt into whatever I'm drinking? Sadly, the answer is that I've been
reindoctrinated to beleive that water comes in different forms. Not only ice,
water, steam, but it seems to have it's own caste system now. Chemically, water
is water. It's one hydrogen atoms bound to two oxygen atoms forming the
molecule for water. So where the hell does geography figure into this? It
doesn't.
I turned to Artemis and I laughed and pointed to the Dasani display behind
her. Dasani is a coca-cola product, incidentally, and it's no more or less than
just purified tap water. There is nothing special about it whatsoever. It comes
from no special reserve, there's no special ingredient, it's just plain,
simple, basic building block of all life on earth, water. So basic, in fact,
that it wasn't outlandish when she asked me how long I estimated that we had
before we had to buy air over the counter. We already do. Oxygen bars,
respirators, dive tanks... the basic components of human life are actually
being packaged and sold to the general public and no one seems to think this is
wierd.
But what's with the dollar twenty five price tag for 20 ounces? That's
certainly hefty. It is. The average soda costs 75 cents and I can't get a
bottle of plain water for less than a dollar. Why? Because it's become an
industry. Our health conscious, and freshly thirsty society has become
indoctrinated to beleive that water, as valuable as it is, is not so universal
as to exist beyond the possibility of a price tag, and people are paying
whatever they have to in order to get the water they want. Think about this:
there are designer water suppliers. C'mon, Evian, Poland Springs, Belmont
Springs, Dasani, need I go on? Noticing something peculiar? The bottle of water
has replaced the pack of cigarettes in it's brand specificity. Instead of
having to have a certain brand of smokes, now people buy packages of their
brand of water. This is in a word, completely and utterly, bizarre. But it's
true.
Of all the possible things that could have been commercialized, something
that literally rains down from the sky is not one of them, yet here I am,
there's a bottle of water a few feet to my right, and a fridge full of it to my
left. Oh, and in the walls around me, water mains snake around the entire
building. The water bottle can legitimately be seen now as a definitive measure
of how far the media and the advertising bigwigs on madison avenue have gone to
insert their wishes into our minds and actions. We have been duped
as a society
to beleive that even though our bodies are 70 percent water already, it's only
good stuff when it's sealed in a container with the right brand label stuck on
the side. Seeing as water is ejected from our bodies, then eventually recycled
naturally, it's never not been ours to begin with. That being the case, forcing
someone to pay a decent amount of money for a bottle of it is on par with
making someone buy back their own car keys after you picked their pockets. And
still, as a society, we're fine with this.
Sadly, I couldn't not buy the water. I needed it. It didn't dawn on me the
entire time that there was a whole refridgerator full of these waterbottles
waiting for me at home, only a mile or so from my house. So she was right.
Water, the most vital component for human life next to oxygen, simply isn't
free anymore. What are we going to bottle up and sell next?
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv10x09----------------------------------------------------------------[ 9 ]
[ Get your kit in gear ]
[ alienbinary ]
[ 9 ]----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv10x09
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
Kit is essential. You never know when you're going to need to "jam," to
"crash" or to just make a break for it. The world is a crazy ass place, and
it's important to have something easily accessible, preferably in a small case
luck a pistol clip portfolio with lots of pockets. This way, in any emergency,
just throw the kit in your backpack and jet. Always be prepared. Chances are,
this will be a part one of many articles just listing gear that you might
consider packing with you in the case of an emergency, or just to have handy
when you need it. I know that not everyone who reads this magazine is going to
be interested in my take on the several dozen items listed, but for those of
you who are, I hope this is helpful.
[ index of kit in this article ]
High Intensity Diode Multitool Bactine
Zippo Lighter Adapters Neosporin
Cellboost Charger Parachord Bacitracen
PDA and Accessories Space Pen Hydrocortisone
Folding Knife Mirror Shades Gold Bond
Rolled Sterile Gauze Chloroxylenol benzalkoate Chloride
Ammonia Smelling salts Benadryll Laser Pen
Handkerchief Butane Torch
[ choose your gear. ]
[ Part 1. gadgets and gizmos ]
High Intensity Diode - This is key. An HID or LED flashlight can be used
for many purposes other than just a flashlight. You can signal for help using
these, you can temporarily stun an attacker, and the batteries last pretty much
forever. I have one on a Smith & Wesson tactical watch with a black face. It's
come in handy probably a lot more than it should. If you ever get seperated
from a group, you can raise the light in the air and continuously flash it,
believe me, it will get everyone's attention.
Cellboost - Emergency Cellphone charger. I'll include a photo, if I can.
This will provide you with extra battery time on your cellphone in case your
batteries are dead and you need to make an emergency call. As far as I'm
concerned, a cellphone is sadly necessary these days. Especially in a car
accident, or when you're lost, you need to be able to contact the outside world
reliably. The models are color coded, and should say on the package what brand
the chargers are for. In theory, they add an extra sixty minutes. These are
disposable, so carry a couple. They do actually work though, at least as far as
I've tried, with a Motorola 120c
PDA and Accessories - PDAs are necessary. If they aren't for you, then so
be it, but I would recommend something from the Zire line. If you do spring for
the Palm, definitely get an external flash storage card for it. This will
insure that your data is safe, even if your palm isn't. Should something happen
to your PDA, you can either put the card in a new palm, or you can load it into
a flash memory card reader, and your important information will be accessable.
This may seem extreme, until you actually have to use it.
Zippo Lighter - Now you might think I'm just dropping brand names. I'm not.
A zippo is a very basic tool. I've heard that some zippos can handle kerosine
or alcohol as fuel just as well as the actual lighter fluid sold for zippos.
This is goood emergency lighting, too.
Laser Pen - This is probably the one item that will strike everyone as
going overboard, but that's okay. Those of you who have studied escape and
evasion, and surveillance, know why it's here. Before I explain why I put a
laser pen on this list, I should note that most states (US) have laws requiring
a photo id, and the person buying the pen, or in possession of such a device to
be 18 years of age or older. This is due to the fact that many kids were
shining the beam into eachother's eyes when they first hit the market cheap.
The beam from a laser pointer will scorch your retina, and it is considered
assault by many states to shine a pointer at someone's face. That being said, a
laser pointer is handy to have if you need to get somebody's attention to a
specific area, such as a camera, without moving your hands too much. Also, you
can throw the aperture of a surveillance camera off by shining the beam into
the lens. This, however, isn't a joke. You can find yourself in a world of shit
if you do this, so watch out. Additional uses of the device will surprise some
people. For one, if someone has released a spray or mist that could be harmful,
you want to avoid the cloud at all costs, obviously. However, most tear gas or
mace is not visible after the inital jet. A laser pen will trace a line through
the mist by refracting off the drops of the vapor, illustrating where NOT to
go. In addition, you can use this to tell if something is smoking, such as your
engine block in your car when it's too dark to see regularly, same principle.
And since a laser pen is unidirectional, it will create a straight line. If
you're in a deep fog at night, you can show your position by beaming the light
straight into the air. This will create a thin red column of light pinpointing
where you are for people to find you.
Folding Knife - It's always a good idea to have a folder handy. Make sure
it's of high quality and that it applies to the laws of your state or province.
The best knives for safety purposes, such as cutting line or a seatbelt are
probably the 1* line from Columbia River Knife and Tool. If you have the cash,
however, I would definitely spring for a Benchmade. Remember, you aren't using
this as a weapon, it's a tool. Think practical.
Multitool - Always have one of these on hand. You can either go very
simple, and opt for the swiss-tech utilikey, or the 8 in one swisstech, but I
would go more towards the Leatherman line. SOG, Gerber and Victorinox also make
respectable multitools. Never, and I mean never, rely on a cheap multitool,
because if it breaks, you can be in a world of hurt. Of course, luckily you'll
have the first aid kid listed below, so you should be pretty set.
Adapters - It's always handy to have adapters at the ready, be they for
electricity or audio. If you're going to kit out your iPod, I would recommend
either the Belkin Tunecaster or the iTrip. As far as electrical converters go,
make sure that you bring ALL the adapters. You can never be sure which one
you'll need.
Parachord - This is some of the greatest stuff ever invented. Parachute
chord is compact, lightweight, and hold up to 5,000 lbs. This stuff is
inexpensive and has more uses than I could list. You can find this at any army
navy surplus store.
Handkercheif - now this is absolutely imperative. You obviously know of the
advantages of air filtration through cloth, but some of you don't know just how
effective it can be. The US army and the British army both had an emergency
method for countering airborne toxins like chlorine. In the event of a gas
attack, when the soldier couldn't get a gas mask, they were encouraged to take
off their socks, urinate in them, and then breath through them. Certain
components of urine are capable of neutralizing agents like chlorine and
mustard gas.
Butane Torch - Now these come in ranges from welding and soldering quality
to gas station ripoff gimicks. The torch is useful for all the practical
purposes a lighter is, as well as sterilization, cauterizing, and punching a
hole through thick reinforced rubber and plastic. Rubbermade's only real flaw
when it comes to their trunks, should you need to forcibly enter one, is that
they are using a polymer for the most part. While the majority of industrial
polymers have an incredible tolerance for high temperatures before combustion,
they are polymers, and therefore, plastic. For those of you who don't know,
plastic is a synthetic polymer, derived from raw petrolium. If you have a
cheap, but well made knife, life a Dexter-Sloyd utility/art knife, you can
superheat the blade, and cut a hole around the lock.
Space Pen - You're probably thinking that I'm just throwing that in their
for the hell of it. I'm not. If you ever find that you have to write a note
down quickly in the rain, you will understand just how amazing these really
are. On a rainy day, a space pen (Fisher Pens) uses pressurized waterproof ink,
and writes pretty well too.
Mirror Shades - The sun is getting fucking brutal out, and for anyone who
spends a good amount of time in front of the computer screen, these are
essential. Make sure you have 400 UV Protection, which is 100%. Anything else
is pretty damn near worthless.
The first and foremost thing you need to have, when it comes to a good kit,
is a decent First Aid kit. These come in all varietys, from drugstore models to
army surplus. You want your kit to include enough gauze and antiseptic to treat
a severe injury, as well as some simple over the counter drugs to take with you
just in case.
[ Part 2. First Aid ]
note: I'm not a doctor, and my red cross certification ran out a long time ago,
and I've had no time to get recertified. Therefore, do NOT take everything I
say as absolute fact. I'm doing my best to relay what I know, but I may be
mistaken on some things. As with any media, you should always look for a second
opinion. I'm just getting you started.
"BACTINE! WHERE THE FUCK IS THE BACTINE?!
SOME OF THIS BLOOD IS MINE!"
-- Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
[ first-aid ] Bactine - This is the "original antiseptic" according to the
[ antiseptic ] bottle. It's really not, but that's okay. Bactine is often
bottled with a little bit of lidocaine, and acts as a topical
[ I would ] anesthetic as well. Does wonders for those really irritating
[ suggest ] cuts.
[ carrying a ]
[ small tube ] Neosporin - This is probably my favorite first aid cream,
[ of at ] because it works really fucking fast, and it's effective. Also,
[ least one ] it's a lot closer to petroleum jelly in consistency than hand
[ of these ] lotion, as a lot of antiseptic cream is.
[ antiseptic ]
[ creams and ] Bacitracen - This is an ointment that works on the same basic
[ lotions. ] principle as Neosporin, but isn't as popular any more. It's
[ You'll be ] pretty much as effective as neosporin, so it's handy to have
[ glad you ] around. A quick visit to a college health clinic will get you
[ did. ] all set for small foil packs of this stuff.
Hydrocortisone - This is for burns and irritated skin. It's absolutely
imperative that you treat a burn as quick as possible, or the cells will
continue to die off. The quicker you treat it, the less bad off you'll be.
Gold Bond - This is that fungicide associated with jock itch. Go for it,
laugh. However, if you're living in the same clothes for more than a couple
days at a time, this can greatly reduce the chances of you getting sick, or of
fungus developing on your clothing, especially during rain season.
Chloroxylenol - This is a type of lotion soap that's given to people who
have fresh piercings or tattoos. The concentration in the brand name "Provolon"
that I was given when I had each of my cartilage peircings had a concentration
of only 0.6%. Surprisingly, this is the active ingredient in most restroom
lotion soap dispensers. It's an anti-microrbial agent, so be careful how much
you use, but it is definitely a good thing to have handy, and it's not cheap,
which is why I mention the lotion dispensers. On the underside of many
dispenser casings there is a release catch. Depress this, and pull the face of
the cover towards your body. Now take the bag, which antimicrobial soap being
dispensed in a soap dispenser will be in, and find the nozzle. Make sure that
this isn't the part that touches anybody's hands, or you're kind of making it
all pointless. Anyway, fill up a small travel shampoo bottle, peel the sticker
off the bag, adhere it to the side of your bottle, and replace the dispenser as
it was. You now have approximately 6 bucks, USD worth of medical quality soap.
This is especially usefull if you have to shower in a place where you don't
know how clean the area around you is, such as a public shower.
Rolled Sterile Gauze - This is key to any first aid kit. Rolled gauze is
super absorbent and can soak up a lot of blood. If used properly, some gauze
and medical tape can make a really strong makeshift bandage.
benzalkoate Chloride - This is an antiseptic towlette you can find at any
hospital and in most first aid kids. This is used to sterizile an area before a
needle is used, or to clean out an abrasion.
Ammonia Smelling salts - these are incredibly important should you find
yourself in a situation where you might need to help someone out of a
concussion. These, when used properly, can keep someone awake after a
concussion until the EMTs arrive. Use with caution.
Benadryll - Benadryll is an incredibly effective antihistemine and can be
used clinically to treat anything from insomnia to an allergic reaction. With
all the crap being pumped into the atmosphere lately, I would recommend having
some handy. Be advised, however, that Benadryll can knock you on your ass if
you aren't used to it, so don't drive on this.
[ part 3. And I pack this arsenal of whatever the hell this is in what? ]
Army surplus stores are the best place to find good kit packs. You have to
remember that anything made military is intended to be lightweight and durable
as all hell. If it's a choice between a beat up canvas bag and a nice new
designer satchel, get the beat up bag. The satchel will come apart in days. The
case I currently carry is a Fox Outdoor Products personal travel portfolio, and
it's got places for everything I need. You want to consider what your lifestyle
is. If you're someone who carries a lot of fragile gear, like a PDA or an mp3
player and a digital camera, you need the case to be armored. A reinforced case
is important for the really wired, so consider actually going for a case made
by a company that caters to the cyberpunk lifestyle. Beleive it or not, there
are a few companies out there that have begun to recognize the fact that kids
are walking around with pricey electronics. If you're a wired geardo, look into
some of the Timbuk2 or Belkin line, as well as inCase. These are companies that
make a living out of providing a line of easy to use, hard to break cases.
On the other hand, if you're not likely to carry more electronics than a
walkman, I would look into something like an Israeli Paratrooper bag. These
have plenty of seperate storage pockets, they are lightweight, comfortable on
the shoulders, and battle tested by paratroopers. You'll know it's legit by a
logo with a red parachute surrounded on both sides by wings. It's a typical
airborne logo. Nice touch.
For those of you in the middle, see what's out there. SKTFM talks (almost
all the time...) about Eagle industries. Although I've never used any of their
stuff that I'm aware of, I'd take his advice, because that man is a walking
bazarre. There is nothing he doesn't have with him. I mean, for chrissakes, he
just bought titanium hair clippers. Who the hell do you know that carries tools
in case they need to perform an emergency haircut? [ note: I'm not making fun
of you Sean. If you read this, drop me a line... ] Other things to consider are
Camelbak water backpacks. these are like small, thin backpacks with a catchtube
for water. Kind of reminds me of something out of dune. These are imperative if
you mountain bike or hike. Trust me. Besides, they also have mesh pockets and
can hold more gear than you might expect.
Otherwise, you can't really go wrong with a NATO surplus rucksack. I have a
black one that's survived hell and highwater, and the thing is just like new.
They run about 20 USD, which is peanuts for what you get. You can fit pretty
much anything in there.
[ for now... ]
I hope this at least entertained some of the survivalists out there. I'm no
expert on survivalism, I just know from experience that it helps to pack for
strange situations. If you look at the weather forecast lately, you might
notice that it's almost impossible to know what you'll need on a daily basis.
One minute it's sixty five degrees, the next it's snowing, and as soon as you
have your boots on and parka, it's 90 out. Don't necessarily be a boy scout
when it comes to being prepared. I'd pack more like a paratrooper, but that's
me. If this gets positive response, I'll do another edition, so let me know
what you think.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv10x10---------------------------------------------------------------[ 10 ]
[ College Life ]
[ alienbinary ]
[ 10 ]---------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv10x10
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
It was about 4 o'clock last night when they started to use bigger pins.
They were bowling, sort of. Whatever it was that they were doing, it required
rather large couches and pieces of oblong furniture to be unbolted from the
lounge, and hurled down the hallways. I think the object was to hit a trash
can, I suppose that if you knocked something over you got a strike. I'll be the
first to admit that there is some sort of physical prowess required when you're
bowling using hardwood furniture, but I don't think that redeems them from the
enormous consequences of such activity.
I went to pay my bill and my room deposit at the office of residential
life, but I found out I couldn't because I owed them a whole two dollars and
forty five cents in damages. The small figure alone warrants an explanation. We
have about a hundred people in this dorm. It's a rather new facility, mostly
underclassmen, but a few upperclassmen who attempted to take bartending as
their major; despite the fact that this particular school has never offered
bartending. So, at about eleven o'clock every thursday night, lovingly referred
to as "thirsty thursday," a few hundred gallons of fermented hops are smuggled
onto the south side of campus for the weekly vomitarium. These kids can't
handle the smallest amount of liquor, but at least they give it their best
shot. I swear to god, there was no pun intended in that statement. They give it
their all? Fine, that works. So these drunken olympics begin after each
participant is loaded enough to effectively handicap them to the point of
qualification in the damage bill games. If I had to devise a scoring system, I
don't know whether punching out a public safety officer or breaking open a
vending machine for a single candy bar would score higher. Either way, we end
up paying as a group.
The cost of the damage is divided up into the tuition and housing bills of
everyone in the dorm. Therefore, every time someone pulls a fire alarm, it only
costs about fifteen to twenty cents per person. This, apparently, makes it okay
for some of these really really special contestants to barrel through the
hallways with athletic gear and baseball bats, taking action against any EXIT
sign to bright for their newly photosensitive eyes.
Friday mornings are always interesting, but they depress me. Was I that
ludicrous in my antics when I used to drink? I hope I wasn't, because I still
reserve the right to become infuriated with the moron patrol every other night.
On each friday morning, you can assess the night before's damage by the
bilingual shouts of obscenity reverberating through the halls from our
housekeeping staff. Sometimes I wish I could speak Portuguese, just so I could
hear the nasty things they say about my alleged peers.
It's not that I don't think this is funny. A part of me likes this, after
all, I'm the one who thinks that Loki should have a holiday and that Jello
Biafra's creative crime diatribe was one of the most beautiful and insightful
audio commentaries on contemporary art that I've ever heard. In December, for
example, I rode the handicap elevator for the first time since I had arrived at
school. I did this, because a friend of mine was too tipsy to climb the two
flights of stairs to his room, where he would later lose all of the dinner he
had just robbed from the vending machines onto his roommate's stuff, the
bathrooms (both of the ones he could stumble to,) and out the window of the
second floor lounge. When we got in the elevator car, one of the most peculiar
sights I've ever seen was right there, begging me to ask questions and scratch
my head. I was riding up and down the elevator shaft with an entire christmas
tree, root structure intact, with the frozen soil that had encased it carved
out of the ground outside and relocated into the elevator. The next morning, I
went downstairs to get some sort of caffeinated beverage since the nights
antics hadn't left much room for rest, only to find a group of the buildings
and grounds people, as well as the housekeeping staff, taking what seemed to be
rather professionally done photographs. It was as if they had called the candy
striped medical examiner down to document the scene. There were about five or
more janitorial staff, men and women, with polaroid cameras, clipboards,
notebooks, microcasette recorders and even digital cameras, taking pictures of
the scene as they had found it when they arrived at work that morning. I
learned a couple of days ago that buildings and grounds actually files the
snapshots into a dossier, whenever they want whatever it is that they are
bargaining for when they address their superiors.
Still, that tree, as funny as it was, was going more than a little far. I
offered to help a very articulate, albeit vulgar, groundsman lugging the tree,
root structure and all back outside, where it had presumably come from.
Wondering if they were going to throw it into a refuse truck or something for
evidence of how ridiculous we have become as a class, I looked outside to find
a crater had been dug out of the ground where, quite likely, the ex-tree had
once lived a far less tortured existence. I offered my help, but the guy was so
sure that I was part of the crew that had taken the piece of shrubbery hostage,
that I was denied, and I left in pursuit of something stronger to drink.
Eventually, I resorted to instant coffee, for which I'll always hate whoever
pulled that prank, because the fight that was to ensue with my digestive system
after the first cup was so epic it lasted half the semester.
This is, in a few words, the modern college industry. You build housing for
people that don't realize they have to pay for what they break, and you reap in
the benefits by charging double or triple the cost of the repairs to every
individual student in the building. It's not a bad business plan, I would
admit. Unfortunately, really neat business plans don't mean dick when I need to
get rest before a midterm or final examination, and some squadron of ubermorons
has taken it upon itself to dislodge all the furniture in the building, not
necessarily excluding, but not limited to, my dorm room door frame. A couple
days ago, a friend of mine was taping black construction paper over the
peephole on her room door, because some clever inebriate had bothered to
unscrew and presumably pocket the peephole covering that prevents one from
looking in the wrong way.
This is college. This is the great big nonevent I was saving up for since
infancy, and I've learned more about crowd control than visual arts, one of my
intended majors. I don't know if I should complain, yell, throw some of these
simian assholes across the dorm, or just laugh until it hurts at the stupidity
and hopelessness of it all. Either way, it's still costing me a ridiculous
amount of money for the fine services of being assured I'll not sleep well
except during classes, and that when I get up in the morning to urinate, I'll
never know what I'm going to find stuffed in the bowl. If these are the best
four years of my life, I'm so unbelievably screwed for good times that I might
as well try something else. I won't though. Somehow, amidst all this chaos and
narcotic behavior, there's a charm here I can't find other places. Welcome to
college, my friend. You know how everyone says you'll find yourself here? I'm
almost halfway done with my "college experience" and I'm more lost than found.
The good news is that I'll get a really fancy piece of paper to frame once my
mind is completely blown saying that I've completed the necessary torture
required by the state of Massachusetts for a Bachelor of the Arts with a
Concentration in writing and visual arts. I can hang it on the rotting drywall
of my next temporary housing. How neat.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv10x11---------------------------------------------------------------[ 11 ]
[ Rantradio IRC, April 2004 ]
[ Rantradio IRC ]
[ 11 ]---------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv10x11
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
---------- Straight to the fucking point. --------------
<Manuel_OKelly> Thats good... The american people will tolerate being
lied to, the american people will tolerate having their rights taken, But to
hell if we
are going to stand for 2$ a gallon
<NoyzMaker> They tolerated PATRIOT Act
<Jay_Haggard> fuck mcjobs...ppl that have half a brain wont work at
mcdonalds
because they wont support a masive internationl corporation
<alienbinary> dude, that's not it. they won't work there because they
have dignity
<Jay_Haggard> that too
<SpaceRabbitRogue> back in college. yup, me too
<alienbinary> but I think if you need a job, take what you can get
<Coign> Hey, I like McJobs. I need someone to make my cheaply made basic
foodstuffs.
<Zophiel> Well, I think there'd be a lot more dignity in a job that paid
a living wage
<SpaceRabbitRogue> i like having my lungscoating in frygrease
<Cimmerian> 'Jesus died so I could have a day off. Who do I gotta kill to
get another one?'
<aliens|EVE> so they give it to a bunny that shits chocolate creme filled
eggs...
<cabbit> i lost a lot of money in the Hope or Pope deadpool
<cabbit> fuck you, bob hope
<cabbit> couldnt hang on just a little longer, could ya?
<cabbit> alright, conversation killa!
<Soulphonate> lol
?1;33maliens|EVE/#rantradio shakes fist at cabbit
<Soulphonate> It sure was
<cabbit> i rule
----------- 'Avril loves PA1N Magazine' ----------
<bl00d> Wow.. in 1987, the US had more shopping malls than high schools.
<cabbit> roffle
<aliens|EVE> lol
<cabbit> that rocks
<Rage> haha
<aliens|EVE> bury me face down so you can use my ass as a bicycle rack
<Rage> malls
<Rage> the 90s called, they want their hangout back
<cabbit> lol
<cabbit> too late, its Avril territory now
<cabbit> the 90s have been ousted
<alienbinary> avril was what, 5 in the 90s?
<cabbit> something like that
<cabbit> but seriously
<cabbit> i went to the mall last month
<cabbit> decided to see what was new over at place d'orleans
<cabbit> theres like five cop cars outside every entrance
<cabbit> wtf
<cabbit> ok fine so i go in and no one stops me, must be fine
<cabbit> seems normal
<cabbit> go upstairs to the second floor
<alienbinary> she's there?
<cabbit> packed, cant move
<cabbit> wtf? its fucking wednesday afternoon!
<alienbinary> a sign my tits session?
<cabbit> can not fucking move at all, packt like sardine in a crushd tin
box
<bl00d> Radiohead
<aliens|EVE> perfect time to rip one
<cabbit> so i go back down and resume shopping
<alienbinary> lol aliens
<cabbit> some radio station is next to hmv peddling crap
<cabbit> someone stuffs a sign into my hands
<cabbit> im like what the fuck?
<cabbit> look at the sign 'Hot 89.9 Loves Avril'
<cabbit> "explain this"
<bl00d> By the age of 20, the average American has seen over a million
advertisements.
<cabbit> so yeah
<alienbinary> damn....
<cabbit> she was doing a fucking MALL TOUR
[11:03pm][+alienbinary(+iw)] [#rantradio(+mnt)]
<Jibkat> http://www.cnn.com/2004/LAW/04/14/martha.stewart.ap/index.html
The fuck
<Jibkat> They are attacking the jury?!
<alienbinary> of course they are.
<alienbinary> First defense in an appeal, or a motion for one.
<tank> ok i found the shirt i want but dont know if anyone is selling it
cool though
<tank>
http://www.rantradio.com/shows/sktfm/pics/photoshop/show065/65-shade-rr-ts-node
.jpg
<alienbinary> because if they can prove, or at least set reasonable doubt
in the mind of the person hearing the appeal that the jury was not one composed
of
"her peers", it's not a legal trial.
<Jibkat> Bah
<alienbinary> Only scum would attack someone's private life though
<alienbinary> they dug up dirt on his kid?
<alienbinary> that's fucking sick
<Jibkat> Those convictions had nothing to do with anything about the
trial
<alienbinary> Seriously, that makes my stomach turn. People make mistakes
that are long since PAID FOR.
<Jibkat> I could see reason if one of them lost money cause of the bitch
or somthing
<Jibkat> But not that
<alienbinary> notice the words "convicted"?
<alienbinary> if they're gonna bring up prior convictions on the jurors,
then I think it's fair to say that they beleive the justice system is fair
<alienbinary> therefore the ruling should stand.
<alienbinary> how come they bring this all up now, and not AT THE JURY
SELECTION?
<alienbinary> that's the point of the selection.
<alienbinary> the ENTIRE point.
<TyrranzzX> because she lost?
<alienbinary> yeah, no shit.
<alienbinary> but if they dug all this up, so fast
<alienbinary> they should have used it
<TyrranzzX> yup
<TyrranzzX> but they wanted to see if the jury was going to say she was
innocent
<alienbinary> but they didn't. they thought they KNEW that they would say
"innocent."
<TyrranzzX> heh
<TyrranzzX> hopefully the judge'll say she can't have a 3rd trial
<alienbinary> She can appeal all she wants. that's democracy. what's
important is that the judge declares her lawyer's conduct contemptable
<alienbinary> if they ever pull this again.
<TyrranzzX> heh, true
<alienbinary> These lawyers are PISSING off any potential court of
appeals.
<Jibkat> They still have to make the conection between pior convictions
and saying she was guilty
<alienbinary> and to piss off a federal court of appeals judge is really
not smart.
?1;33mTyrranzzX/#rantradio doesn't understand why this conserns him anyway
<alienbinary> Jibkat: they want revenge.
<alienbinary> these legal clowns thought they had the world's easiest
case.
<alienbinary> they wanted to buy justice.
<alienbinary> but the jury wants to see it paid out in blood.
<alienbinary> I'm taking some law courses, and this is a fascinating
trial. She actually was convicted of something very serious
<alienbinary> you ahve any idea what that conviction means for her, if
the ruling is sustained?
<TyrranzzX> ?
<TyrranzzX> what does it mean?
<alienbinary> It's Securities and Exchange Fraud. Check the Homeland
Security act and the PATRIOT acts under "economic terrorism."
<alienbinary> I shit you not.
<TyrranzzX> LOL
<alienbinary> SEC fraud has been moved to a form of terrorism.
<TyrranzzX> L-O-L
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PA1Nv10x12---------------------------------------------------------------[ 12 ]
[ Segments ]
[ alienbinary ]
[ 12 ]--------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv10x012
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I watched him move accross the pavement. The water was an inch deep, a
drowning pool for the pallid former caretakers of the land. We had unearthed
their habitat years ago, we laid down asphault and concrete. We coated their
world in tar and rocks and gravel, yet we expected them to survive. There was
no explanation for this genocide. We simply moved in, took what was theirs and
made no bones about it. Now, every time it rains, and the earth swells up, they
crawl out of the gravel and bark mulch debris that dominates their old
landscape and gasp for air. Inching determinedly at first, they make it through
the sand, then as their outer skin tissue is torn up and chafed, they lose
speed and momentum. Finally breaking the surface, they find that it is no
better on the topside than their watery would-be graves down below.
Our world is dying now, for we have killed the old regime, the hierarchy of
the kingdom that went before us, the old aristocracy that maintained and
governed the land. We were superior, we had opposable thumbs. We stood erect,
proud, seemingly intelligent-- we were arrogant. We are God's forsaken, no one
knows who turned their back on whom, but there is no regard for the proper
order anymore. We build trenches, carve canals, and pave the rainforest so that
people in expensive houses can have habitats lined with the looted remnants of
another specie's demise.
He slinked over the rocks, tearing his side. Fresh blood mixed into the
rainwater that was pooled all around, as far as the eye could see. His skin had
turned from a beautiful mahogany to an atrophying pinkish white. To say "he" is
a misnomer, for I know not the gender of my charge. I simply looked down after
the struggle, as he was wallowing around in his own misery, drowning ever so
slowly, as the carcinogenic byproducts of cars burned and scalded his
waterlogged skin. He stopped struggling once he reached his shallow grave, a
concave spot in the gravel were the water had unmercifully collected.
I stared down, unsure of what to do, for I was one of them. I was one of
the many who had participated in the eviction, because I said nothing to the
contrary. They told us they would fix the roads, and we cheered. They told us
the machines were coming in to finish the roadwork, and we were glad. None of
us had considered the natives of the land. Was my role on this earth, in this
particular instance to simply follow the course of human history and allow this
creature to swell up and decay? As I watched, perplexed at my own confusion, I
saw his tail, or maybe it was his head, move once. It was so pitiful. I imagine
if the creature could have vocalized, and was capable of speech, the great
acheivement of mankind, proof of our superiority, it would have been his death
rattle.
He was asphyxiating before my very eyes. I had no idea what to do, it was a
non-issue ten minutes ago. Ten minutes prior, I had been watching a video on
the death penalty, the cruel and unusual way that we treat the lot of our own
kind that we cannot tolerate. The horror of the scenes were burned into my
mind, like the radiation flare of a massive hydrogen blast. The shadows of the
executed were burned into my retinas for long after, like a coroner's polaroid
shots before the autopsy. Superimposed on these images, now ten minutes later,
where we begin, I was staring down at this small animal, wondering what the
difference was.
I'm not a vegan, a hippie, a tree hugger, a vegetarian, I don't eat kosher,
and I don't protest the radioactive isotopes being transported by night in
unmarked trucks, and I don't necessarily break for anything. Somehow, though,
this was so profoundly different. I felt stupid and silly for having bothered
to even break pace and look down at this forlorn worm. I wondered briefly what
the difference was between the worm in the puddle and the thousands we
dissected as schoolchildren while still alive. The geneva convention has ruled
out vivisection, the cruel practice of opening up a body while the occupant is
still alive. The distinction is made for creatures we consider high up on the
scale of beast to man. We will protect the dog, but not the deer. We will save
the whales, but slaughter the sharks. We have created our own rules and
regulations for playing god and our actions are derived from them.
It hardly entered my mind that the earthworm is crucial to the process of
death and rebirth in a temporate climate. If asked why the worm was special,
I'd be at a loss to say, because the worm wasn't special. It was divine. It was
alive like every other creature, just as I was alive, and it had a right to
defend itself and survive. There was no defense against the onslaught, though.
This pathetic creature was dead from the start, and nothing was going to change
that. The soil was too alkaline in one place, and too acidic in another, and
the pH change alone had caused lesions to form on the segmented body.
I tried to use my fingers, almost dropping a cigarette into the puddle.
Perhaps it would have been the most merciful thing to do; for nicotine was once
the poison of choice. His dermal layer was so permeable that it would absorb
the concentrated toxin at once, and he would die instantly. I didn't, though. I
didn't have the guts to take the worm's life. Full of cognitive dissonance from
head to toe, I mused on the concept of what I was doing, as I put a pine needle
under it's body, and hoisted him onto some dead leaves. My dissonant feelings
were understandable. I was on the way to a doctor's appointment, and I had
somewhere to be. As I said before, I don't generally bother with these things,
these hopeless attempts to save the life of one of the lower caste in the
animal kingdom were going against a generally held superiority complex. I was
the hunter, and it had become the hunted. Smaller fish are eaten by larger
fish, such is the way of things.
I set a stone marker from the broken asphault nearby where I left the body,
so that I might check it on my return to my dorm room. An hour later, the
creature was stark white, every trace of life gone, and it's body was
dissolving into nothingness. This, somehow, didn't upset me. That was the real
way of things. It died with dignity, in it's own habitat, around the decaying
leaves that it used to patrol, and now it would rejoin the earth.
It's peculiar what makes an impression on you when you have something on
your mind. When the weight of the world feels heavy on your shoulders, any
simple thing to make the world a better place can lift the burden slightly,
evening up the odds in the war of you against the world. I felt kind of
embarrassed for a moment, when someone observed me staring down, clad in combat
fatigues and a black thermal longsleeve shirt, looking at the body of a dead
worm. They probably assumed that I was morbidly curious, or that I had squished
it myself. I rolled the thought around in my head, and I determined that I
would write his eulogy here, to put everything in order. Nothing in me says to
run out during the rain and save the worms, I know that people will do that if
they are so inclined, if they aren't, the pinkish squiggles are mere obstacles
in their way. I only seek to relay this story, because the thought of it still
sends my mind into a sorrow.
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PA1Nv10x13---------------------------------------------------------------[ 13 ]
[ outro ]
[ alienbinary ]
[ 13 ]---------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv10x13
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It's not easy being one of the few independent media outlets when you have
a billion things on your mind, and all you want to do is talk about that, and
only that. Sometimes, the world gets so confusing, as I try to monitor it and
track patterns, that I lose track of which way is up and which way is down. I'm
sorry that this issue has taken more time than usual to put together, but there
are things that simply cannot be helped, and we have to accept that. For one,
we are independent, so we make no money. Personally, I lose money and time
every issue, because of the costs involved in producing something with quality,
which is what I try and do every time. Also, I'm not the only one who makes
this shindig happen, and that's both good and bad. I've had some time on my
hands lately, but that doesn't mean that I can then pump out an issue because
of it. Instead, it means that I just have all the time in the world to obsess
about the current issue in front of me, and wonder when the other submissions
will roll in.
I've had some feedback on the issues that I'm pretty pleased with. In
particular, though, mephyt had a suggestion that I do a breakdown of every
article in the issue like I have in the past issues in this section. It's not
an unfeasible idea, and it's a reasonable request. So, I'll start off with an
explanation of "the noise inside my head," which may have surprised a lot of
you with what I laid out there for the world to see. The truth is, I've been
trying to determine when would be the right time to put that down for a while,
to talk about it freely and encourage other people to read about it and
understand what OCD is all about. In this society, which means any society at
all where you can find this publication, you'll notice that there is a stigma,
a taboo about sharing things that may cast you in an imperfect light. It's a
really stupid taboo and it stems from ignorance and self doubt. I don't like
either of those two ideas, so I decided to finally get off of my ass and put my
writing were my heart was. I wrote that peice, it should be noted, during an
anxiety attack, and it may be at times hard to follow. That's a good thing. I
wanted to convey exactly, or at least as well as I possibly could, just what
it's like to panic for reasons that only make sense to yourself. I expect some
people to judge me, some people to offer me advice (which, while I appreciate,
I do work with doctors to educate people on the subject, so I'm pretty well
taken care of...,) and I expect some people to even exploit this truth that
I've revealed as a weakness and use it against me.
So why did I do it, if I expected some negative results? What the hell is
the point of living if all we do consists of things that have no consequences.
I could choose to live a meaningless life, or I could choose to take a fucking
risk every once in a while and see where it takes me. So far, it's done me some
good, and I hope that everyone who reads this will learn something. There is
absolutely no reason for people with disorders or imbalances, whatever you
choose to call them, to be embarassed about them. To make someone feel inferior
because of an incidental characteristic that they have no control over is
criminal. If anyone is interested in hearing at length where a lot of influence
for that philosophy was drawn, download Malcolm X's last speech in Detroit, in
which he talked about the "yardstick used by a Muslim to judge another person,"
which he explained had only to do with someone's conscious behavior, not their
appearance or any other incidental characteristic. He pointed out that these
are things we cannot help, and are born with at birth, in his speech he focused
on the subject of race, but the point is universal. Nevertheless, I hope some
of you will look into that speech, it's something they'll never play in grade
school, because it doesn't paint Malcolm X in the villain portrayal they always
teach. I don't know about outside of American schools, but here in the states,
children are discouraged to respect Malcolm X, irrespective of what he really
stood for; something which changed for the better as he got older.
Segments was a peice I wrote while it was raining outside, and I think we
can all understand the correlation. Rain is a powerful element, to watch the
sky weep is an experience unto itself, and if you so happen to have had a bad
day, it's hard not to identify with the behavior of the clouds outside. I had
been studying the systematic execution of the Native Americans in the Plains
regions, and I was on my way to visit a doctor when I happened upon that worm.
The class I had just been dismissed from was focused on the death penalty, and
the sight was different for that one time than it ever had been. I suppose when
we start using our heads to break beyond the boundaries of conventional
thought, we expose ourselves to very abstract notions of right and wrong; even
what constitutes an ordinary event from an extroardinary one. Regardless, when
you read that essay, I want you to think about how the analogy of the unearthed
worm applies to so many scenarios, be it the Native Americans, the slave trade,
the homeless population, war refugees... it's a universal analogy, and for me
it was powerful enough to put down in text.
Mephyt blew me away with his latest submission, and for all the right
reasons. For one thing, I should note that he was under the impression that it
was his fault the issue was delayed. Such is not the case. Regardless, I rarely
receive submissions that so strongly voice what I beleive and reinforce what
I'm trying to do. Everything he said in that, I agree with. Rantradio is a very
powerful community, we can do an incredible amount. But we must remember what
happens when we let extraneous issues divide us into factions. We become
distracted, like the rest of the world, and we lose sight of what matters.
I'm going to be brutally honest, and say that I was told by a lot of people
that I should branch off, seperate from RR, not necessarily to join another
group, but because they felt PA1N was strong enough as a publication to stand
alone. Yes, we are. But that's not the point. Unity, as Mephyt pointed out, is
integral to success in acheiving noble goals. I want to be able to say "yes, I
am a member of rantradio," or "I am a wog, and I beleive in the movement." I
want to, because I do beleive, and I have faith that by banding together we can
be stronger than ever before. We are formidable opponents to anyone who would
seek to silence us; NOT THROUGH INTIMIDATION THOUGH, but through our
SOLIDARITY, and sheer PERSERVERENCE.
I want to thank Cimmerian especially for this issue, or rather, for help
with it. Cimmerian started a small studio over five years ago, and it became a
counterculture movement with enormous strength. Much of what he and I have
discussed in private lately has galvanized my beleifs. I admit, I get concerned
quite a bit with this magazine, how will it be taken? How will it be
interpreted? Does anybody care?-- This last question was answered right away,
by Cimmerian offering what I consider a very special treat as content, and that
is an excerpt from "The Scabbed Wings of Abbadon." Working behind the scenes,
his energy helped refuel mine, so that I could make the final push and get this
issue out there. Issue ten. Who would have thought?
I'm going to conclude the outro here, because I could write about every
single article for days on end, but I don't think that would serve much of a
purpose. Instead, I'd like to encourage everyone to look around at the world
we're in and then to look inside themselves. There are things everywhere that
we may do that in no way match how we feel in our hearts, and that's a problem.
The sooner we begin to act upon instinct and compassion, the sooner we can make
a positive impact.
- alienbinary, 2004.
