St Louis Sinner issue 18

Issue 18 July 2010

US Crisis Over Oil Spill

The 7 Deadly Sins of

Heidi Dirschuweit

UNMASKED

The Sinful Works of

Chris Sabatino

News, Rants & Politics 2. Fear and Publishing 3. Bye, Bye, American Pie 4. Weapons of Mass Distraction 5. Drugs At War

CrossBows & Status Quos

I found myself on the way to the Immersed Ink tattoo convention last month, a somewhat rare trip for this sinner for numerous reasons. For one, I had been on a sober run for almost a month, neglecting the pleasures of Wild Turkey and cannabis to give my worn-out liver and simple mind a break – a very rare stint for this indy publisher. And two, tattoo conventions have never been my thing, mostly because they’re too often filled with posers and wanna-be hipsters. To say that I was miserable that afternoon would be an understatement. And my thirst for a buzz, well, that felt like a knife wound through a gun shot. When this kind of thirst gets to you, it drives the most reasonable addicts and alcoholics to beg for cash at the off-ramps with signs that “Bless You” from “God” for your meager contributions.

I wasn’t quite there yet, but certainly on the way if need be. And to make worse matters even worse, the wife/partner had bailed on me this particular afternoon, complaining of wear-and-tear from her week behind an air conditioned desk. It seemed as if I was on my own, a rare solo trip – or so I thought. Then, through some strange fate of an answered phone call, I found myself with a side-kick for the day: Jake, the owner of Mama’s Tattoos.

My plan was to pull up in front of his apartment and grab this cat quickly, to head straight downtown with no stops. Under more typical circumstances my flask and pipe would have been full, with a pitstop scheduled at a local dive on the way for a quick snort of some kind before hitting the convention. That’s the status quo for this indy publisher, just to get the head right enough to deal with said posers and wanna-be hipsters. I had no plans to drink, nor smoke, regardless of pain or thirst. But corrupted plans are certainly the status quo in indy publishing. I arrived to find Jake waiting at the door of his shop, waving me in as if my life were in mortal danger from the rain that pounded the worn sin-mobile with drops that landed like cats and dogs and other creatures of such size and weight. My only option was to weather this mad storm and follow his warm invitation to certain madness.

After a brief meet-and-greet I was introduced to the downstairs to partake in a pre-convention buzz. This was not my plan, but as the words, “No Thanks...” slipped from my mouth, I found the warm,green gun ending their life and my short lived sobriety. These kind of events also are the status quo of alternative publishing. There’s not much left to do at this point, other than sit back and let the healing powers of cannabis work its magic on the soul and mind.

Unfortunately for this sinner, I’m a drinker first, and desperately need a few drinks in my system to balance the magic of cannabis. Without such precautions paranoia will set in quickly, even more so when I’m headed to a tattoo convention without the safety net of my better half. And in Misery, you never know which social functions will serve booze.

As I contemplated this conundrum, my new stoner friend became overly talkative. Past drug experiences of all types became the topic, with marijuana being the least phasing for him. Then his rambles turned into tales of CIA training maneuvers he had learned and how he could and would disarm terrorists and other villains if guns or crossbows were ever drawn in his direction. If I had ever needed a drink before in my life, for survival purposes only, it was then.

Luckily, I was pulling into the parking lot before he decided to provide a live demonstrations on me while I was driving.

But enduring the occasional jabber of old drug tales and CIA training for life-threatening cross-bow drills is pretty much the status quo for indy publishing. And that’s probably the most entertaining aspect of it, the unusual quos that you make status – that, and the freedom to break the status quos of standard publishing and twist all the pieces that are left into your own quos, your own format – your own publication. If that’s not the least bit entertaining, then you better stick to the status quo of publishing and boring the hell out of yourself and your readers.

Another status quo of indy publishing is maintaining a full time job, the supplemental income necessary for mere survival and the consumption of said alcohol. Last July I cut grass for a real estate company all summer part time and ran The Sinner full time; the year before I was a foreman for a Seattle-based construction company. So I felt the great American Dream at the end of my fingertips as good as any Red, White & Blue American ever had. I argued fiercely that it was not dead as many nitwit pundits had claimed. I knew the day of throwing all my tools in a burning barrel for their years of torture upon my body and mind was close at hand, a celebration that would be like that of the Fourth. I believed that this great Dream of ours had only slipped into a nightmare, as dreams often do, like the one that ripped Dorothy and Toto from their blue skies and cool breezes. I firmly believed the Dream had a pulse, that through its veins an uncorrupted government and fair capitalist system without corporate hierarchy still pumped. I was sure that in years to come the blue-collar production jobs would return home, bringing back the good-ole days of living wages – and that chance for the Dream we have all dreamed.

As this Fourth Of July bears upon me once again, I find myself wondering whether or not the good-ole days of years long gone will ever return – the luxuries of new cars and homes, college educations, retirements, budgets in the black, not red. I thought the sun was sure to wake each of us from this fright one beautiful morning, drenched in sweat and drool from putting up the good fight against such evil foes. But I now question whether or not the Dream is dead, and myself with it. I wonder if I am floating in some purgatory state of slavery too scared to see the truth, the death of myself and generations to come. That’s the toll of being “uniquely American” today, the taxation on our souls and minds. Of course, those days of having three jobs, coined by GWB as being uniquely American in 2004 on the campaign trail, are long gone, too. We’re left with one shitty job, if we’re lucky enough to find it. That is now uniquely American even though no politician with any sense will admit it, nor boast it proudly on the campaign trail in 2010.

We have once again been reduced to slave labor positions, the same type that unions killed many years ago; you know, no benefits, no living wage, all the hours you can stand, meaning physically stand before falling out. I suffer this whip daily now, sweating in filth to the drum of minimum wage by a corporation that has plants globally, not some mom-n-pop company struggling with their dreams too. It must be fucking pathetic to watch us scramble for change thrown at our feet and beg for more – that is, if you really dare think about it.

It’s hard for many of us to dream of a better standard of living anymore, unless those dreams are filled by national championships, World Cups and puppy dogs and kitty cats. Yes, perhaps the Dream is dead for me, and probably you, too. It seems to have died with the Blue Collar folks that honored yet didn’t have enough sense or fight in them to save it from our two-party system of corporate-loving whores. But don’t worry, not all is lost and sour. Somehow most of us will still find enough money in our budget this Fourth for a few beers, a handful of fireworks, and just maybe that miniature flag to wave for the camera... and if you don’t have the cash, I’m sure you can charge it or take out a payday loan to cover it. Now that’s uniquely American – or the new status quo!

And that, my dear reader, is just another tale of fear and indy publishing in two cities...

2nd Jobs & Slave Labor

6. Piper’s Pit

Music, Film, Art & Entertainment 8. St Louis Brewers Heritage Festival 9. Sinful Nights 10. Ewigkeit 11. Huggy Talk 12. The Livers Poster

14. The Livers Unmasked

15. On The Scene And Heard With Malice 16. Sinfinis 17. My Life In Review 18. The Sinful Works Chris Sabatino 19. Hose For Hope

Bitching with Buddha Lu ci fe r

Religion, Sex, & Other Sinner Shit 7. Mythology and Godhood 9. Our Sinful Community 19. Skin Deep with Stu

20. Campfire Tales

21. Bitchin’ With Buddha 22. 7 Deadly Sins of Heidi Dirchuweit 23. This I Shamelessly Tell You

Publisher: Chuck Foster - Layout: Terri Daniels Cover Art : Chris Sabatino WRITERS, RANTERS, OPINIONISTS & OTHER ALL-OUT FREAKS: Stu Mark Taylor-Canfield Kimberly Peters Rajkhet Dirzhud-Rashid Paul Blow Matthew Gorman Emily Eufinger Lucifer Saab Lofton Gabriel Zolman Gina Simon Malice Henry Nicolle Jason Sibert Bill Oberg The Sinner is a group of contributing writers. Their opinions, rants and ideas do not necessarily reflect the views of The Sinner itself. The Sinner encourages contributions from its readers but retains the right to edit material due to content or length of submission.

For advertising or submission information, contact us at chuck@theseattlesinner.com. Submission deadline is the 25th of every month.

ESSAY | Bye, Bye Amreican Pie

by Henry Nicolle “AS AMERICAN AS APPLE PIE!” the old saying goes. As we enter a summer, which promises to make life in America as uncomfortable as implied by the title “Cat On A Hot Tin Roof”, it is amusing to watch this slow-motion train wreck rumble through the consciousness and vision of the American people without causing a drop of latte to be spilled, the dust of a line or can of an energy elixir left unconsumed.

The “Made in America” cultural icon of Apple Pie has been replaced by the more “balanced” American phenomena of double cheeseburger, fries and an aspartame tainted iced drink. Somebody once said, “You are what you eat.” The singular allusion of America, land of liberty and hope for any man or woman, represented by the iconic and aromatic product of sugar and spice and everything nice of a good naturally grown and harvested American Red Apple has been replaced by the modern idea of diversity embodied by plastic cheese, soy-product augmented factory-farmed and ground flesh, plastic cheese substitute, the gene hybrid tomatoe and virally gene-altered spuds. It is no wonder, then we have become a passive stupid, and as we shall see, potentially suicidal society. The allusion works.

At the end of last month, I traveled by train from the West coast extreme to the East Coast extreme, down to the Gulf of Mexico and back to the West Coast. My journey began in a car of mixed races. The language of conversation was standard middle-class American English.

In Chicago, the world changed. From Chicago to the District of Columbia, to New Orleans and on to Los Angeles, the company and the language was predominately ghetto black, mixed with common American black. Four thousand miles or so of immersion in a bilingual New America. When the black transsexual hookers spilled their bag of manual dildos and associated vibrating, twisting and pulsing toys into the aisle, nothing seemed particularly out of time or place. The conversations often turned religious and the atmosphere was as natural as the toys in the aisle. Southern black Christian content was as inherent in the company’s speech as was the American black dialect.

Humans adjust to their environment. White boys, (excepting “good old boys”), having no natural environment of their own, are particularly adept at “becoming one with their environment” in short order. They have no roots. (I am now reasonably fluent in detecting the nuances of “Where he be?” and “Where he at?”.)

Where is all this going? Well my friends, it’s going to extend the idea implied by the title of this essay, “Bye, Bye American Pie”. Our society and our country are not the society and country we believe to be. I hope this fact to be temporary.

Our country’s society at this time is composed of locusts - locusts of race, religion, greed, control and apathy. Their numbers cannot be counted and their aggregate darkens our sky. They prosper and propagate and leave a devastated landscape behind their travel. A countryside barren and soiled, a condition that only time and nature in its due course can repair. Good fortune, if you can call it that, is that the time of locusts is short and these locusts eat each other.

For about 3 years, I’ve alluded to the times of trouble in our future.

Those times have arrived. We are now able to see, grasp and experience the changes which may destroy our country, our society and possibly, many of us. But we are locusts and we cannot see beyond our immediate hunger and gratification. We will not see our own self-destruction in our submission and complacence. We fear to acknowledge our weaknesses and failures and we refuse to hold ourselves accountable for our submission to the crimes of our leaders. We lack the will, individually and as a society, to be free to determine our own futures, relying instead for others as frail as we, to define our rights, our liberty, and our lives. Yes, fools we are.

Yes, fools. But even fools, when their feet are put to the fire, can learn and grow to meet life’s challenges. Today, we can see the smoke, tomorrow, feel the flame. The trials of our society have now begun and we have but weeks to recognize the work that is fallen in our moment to our generation and bend to our unwelcome and much delayed tasks.

The months which will bring us through the beginning of the next year will place in our hands the future of our country, of our free society and establish the conditions of life for ourselves and our children for decades to come. Be aware, be prepared and act. Do not allow yourselves to be consumed by the fires of change.

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United States In Crises Over Oil Spill atmosphere surrounding the oil spill. According to the EPA’s own official website, polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons have been detected on the Gulf Coastline: “Polycyclic Aromatic Hydrocarbons (PAHs) are a group of semi-volatile organic compounds (SVOCs) that are present in crude oil that has spent time in the ocean and eventually reaches shore and can be formed when oil is burned.

The oil that has reached the shore is commonly called ‘weathered oil’. PAHs present in the weathered oil evaporate slowly over a period of weeks or months.

PAHs come from other sources as well. They are formed during the incomplete burning Nostradamus - Century I, Quatrain 29: of gas, coal, garbage, or other “Its form will appear strange, oily and horrible, organic substances and from Coming by seawater very steadily it shall climb the motor vehicle exhaust.” walls as an enemy.”

In air sampling for PAHs on shore in the Gulf region, the EPA ow that the truth is finally coming out about the British Petroleum oil spill in the Gulf of is focusing on the following compounds:

Revelations 16:13 “And the second angel poured out his vial uponthe sea; and it became as the blood of a dead man: and every living soul died in the sea.”

N

Mexico, prophetic warnings are now being quoted in the mainstream media. The disaster is obviously of “biblical proportions” (metaphorically speaking) even to those who have never subscribed to any particular religious point of view.

To be perfectly frank, poison is pouring out into the earth’s oceans, killing millions of life forms and destroying an entire fishing and seafood gathering economy in the Gulf states in a way that has never been seen before on this planet.

The US government has allowed BP officials to police the area while conscientious citizens attempting to clean up the area and remove dead animals have been threatened with arrest by a private corporation. The US Coast Guard actually apologized to the crew of at least one boat who had tried to help clean up the mess, explaining that they could not do anything to assist the volunteers since a corporate representative from BP was on their craft. Reportedly, the BP official had been given complete control of the Coast Guard vessel.

How could this happen in a supposedly democratic country? Some civil libertarians say recent accusations that the United States has become a corporate fascist state are now being borne true by the situation in the Gulf of Mexico.

Apparently, British Petroleum has been given complete control of the area affected by the oil spill. One is reminded of Blackwater’s abuse of power in the aftermath of hurricane Katrina, and their activities in Iraq. In this case, corporate interests not only rule the national legislative agenda, they also seem to rule the Gulf of Mexico.

President Barack Obama is now perceived as a friend to corporate raiders and corrupt oil executives. Within 48 hours of his decision to allow more offshore oil drilling, the BP disaster began to threaten the entire ocean ecosystem. The so-called “green president” is now responsible for helping to create the world’s most dangerous biological disaster.

In a rarely reported study, the US Environmental Protection Agency has detected potentially dangerous chemicals in the

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* benzo(a)pyrene, * benzo(a)anthracene, * benzo(b)fluoranthene, * benzo(k) fluoranthene, * chrysene, * dibenz(a,h)anthracene, * indeno(1,2,3-cd)pyrene, and * naphthalene.

The EPA is focusing on these pollutants because they are present in weathered oil and are also released from burning oil, and, at elevated concentrations, could potentially cause health problems, including long-term health effects such as cancer.

Meanwhile, former US Vice President Dick Cheney’s corporation Halliburton has been accused of failing to construct an effective concrete cap for the BP oil well. Oil company representatives were successful in lobbying US government regulation agencies to stop their efforts to require back-up systems that would have stopped such an apocryphal environmental disaster. Apparently, this is only one in a series of disasters caused by faulty engineering on the part of Halliburton executives and engineers. The destruction of an entire ecosystem can be blamed on two unaccountable multi-national corporations – BP and Halliburton.

The most frightening fact is that the spill continues to pour millions of gallons of crude oil into the Gulf of Mexico with no end in sight.

There are predictions that the spill will hit the eastern coast of the US. Combined with reports of corruption and greed among BP exec’s, these facts have left the US public cynical and mistrustful of the government and BP’s promises to address the problem. As each day passes, oil continues to spill out across the gulf, threatening to annihilate a significant proportion of the planet’s sea life.

Environmental activists decry the offshore drilling, calling the policy insane and unsustainable.

The deepwater Horizon oil spill began after

an explosion killed 11 platform workers and injured 17 others on April 20, 2010. Experts have estimated that somewhere between 35,000 to 60,000 barrels of oil are being released into the ocean each day. That’s equivalent to 1,500,000 to 2,5000,000 gallons of oil. The spill area covers over 2,500 square miles. It’s the largest oil spill in the history of planet earth.

So far, all efforts to stem the flow of oil have failed miserably and the possibility remains that BP will never actually be able to stop the flood of oil pouring into the sea. BP has repeatedly underestimated the amount of the flow, resulting in accusations of deliberate misinformation and corporate propaganda.

Scientists claim that one million times the normal level of methane gas has been found in some regions near the spill. In addition, the depletion of oxygen may be enough to create a dead zone in the Gulf. Most residents of the US do not realize that there are already major dead zones in the world’s oceans where life is being threatened. Perhaps as much as one third of the oceans may become sterile. Actually, potential dead zones already existed in the Gulf of Mexico even before the latest disaster. Now, an additional 400 miles of coastline from Louisiana to Florida have become contaminated with petroleum. The Gulf Coast’s fishing and tourism industries are suffering from a severe economic crisis that may threaten to damage the entire US economy.

Unbelievably, a recent Reuters poll shows that 56 percent of Americans still favor offshore drilling, despite the current disaster! The public and the corporate infrastructure are still acting like slaves to the oil industry. Illegal wars and widespread pollution of the natural environment have been the result of the US addiction to petroleum. You would think that we would have learned our lessons by now and switched over to alternative energy sources, but instead, the same old military industrial oil interests continue to rule in the US. The resulting environmental disaster on the Gulf Coast has caused many consumers of petroleum products to begin to challenge the status quo. However, offshore drilling continues, despite President Barack Obama’s moratorium on any new deepwater drilling sites. Presently, District Judge Martin Feldman in New Orleans has rejected the Obama administration's request to stay his decision allowing deepwater drilling to resume. (By the way, Judge Feldman at one time owned stock in Halliburton and another company involved in the Deepwater Horizon drilling project in the Gulf.)

Now even some die-hard conservatives are beginning to question the ethics and practicality of drilling deepwater oil wells.

Despite the neo-con chants of “Drill, Baby, Drill!,” it has become evident that an oil-based economy is not at all sustainable in the long run. Indeed, the oil industry has the potential of destroying our entire planetary ecosystem.

In spite of record profits in the billions, oil companies are now

written by Mark Taylor-Canfield suffering from a bad reputation as a result of this latest spill. The Valdez incident in Alaska is now dwarfed by the biggest spill in history.

It is not just the conspiracy theorists who are predicting a world-wide environmental disaster.

Ocean currents are expected to spread the oil spill up the east coast of the North American continent.

Soon residents of Myrtle Beach in South Carolina may also be inundated with tar balls, dead sea life and a damaged tourism industry. Some scientists are predicting global environmental damage. And the sad thing is, no one has yet discovered a way to stop the toxic oil flow. In fact, there are many experts who say the well may never be capped – oil spill ad infinitum…

Economic analysts have predicted another increase in oil prices. British petroleum’s stocks may have fallen as much as 34 percent since the spill began, but other oil companies may actually experience a windfall due to the disaster.

Most Americans do not believe that US president Barack Obama has done enough to alleviate the situation. He was the one who decided to support an increase in offshore drilling at the behest of the oil industry in the first place. His general acquiescence to corporate interests when dealing with the national economic meltdown by granting billions to bail out the banking and insurance industries has left many with the distinct impression that he owes his loyalty to big business and to Wall Street, and not to the average US citizen. His political and economic compromises with large corporations when dealing with national healthcare insurance also left most progressives disillusioned.

Questioning the status quo is now more important than ever before. We are being led down a path to potential destruction by a few powerful corporations. Each one of us must do what we can to challenge the status quo in our own homes and communities. Then we may be able to bring that spirit of dissent to a national level by joining together for positive change. This oil spill should be an historic wake-up call to the entire world.

We need to develop sustainable energy sources because obviously, oil is dangerous to life on earth…

A beach after an oil spill

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StoptheDrugWar.org Marijuana: California Decriminalization Bill Headed for Assembly Floor Vote

Custom Edge Photography

Possession of less than an ounce of marijuana is already quasi-decriminalized under a decades-old state law, but now, a bill that would complete that process has passed the state Senate and on Tuesday was approved by the Assembly Public Safety Committee.

The bill will now go for an Assembly floor vote and, if passed, will then head for the governor's desk.

Under current law, people caught with an ounce or less of pot are charged with a misdemeanor, even though they are subject to a fine of no more than $100. The bill, SB 1449, would maintain the maximum $100 fine, but would downgrade the offense from a misdemeanor to a civil infraction.

The bill was introduced by Sen. Mark Leno (D-San Francisco), and passed the committee on a 4-1 vote with no discussion.

Mark Leno Similar measures have been introduced at various points over the years and have passed the Senate three times, only to fail in the Assembly. This time around, sponsors are hopeful that, given the cost savings in the bill (no court costs), the state's ongoing budget crisis, and the support of prosecutors and the court system, the Assembly will finally approve the measure.

This Week's Corrupt Cops Stories Greg Correll Photography model: Clarissa

SINNER

A Virginia sheriff is under investigation for dipping into asset forfeiture funds, a Dallas-area narc's credibility is under question, a small-town Missouri cop gets caught buying coke to replace coke he pilfered, and, of course, two more jail or prison guards get busted.

Let's get to it: In Chesapeake, Virginia, the Middlesex County sheriff is under investigation for embezzlement. Last week, investigators filed search warrants for two bank accounts, one a personal account for Sheriff Guy Abbott; the other, the sheriff's asset forfeiture account.

Investigators said they found evidence to support allegations of embezzlement and misuse of county and state funds. No charges have yet been filed.

In Garland, Texas, a Dallas County judge last Friday threw out two drug indictments after coworkers challenged the credibility of former Garland narcotics Detective Dennis Morrow. Two co-workers and a police supervisor testified that Morrow lied in police reports to strengthen his cases and that the lies were part of a pattern of behavior by Morrow.

In Winfield, Missouri, a Winfield police officer fired last month was charged June 17 with evidence tampering and theft of evidence for stealing cocaine and marijuana from the department's evidence room. Former officer Bud Chrum's career unraveled last month when he and his brother were arrested as they attempted to buy cocaine to replace some of what Chrum had stolen from the department. During the arrest, police seized two evidence envelopes from Chrum's vehicle. According to court documents, the evidence bags were supposed to contain a black pipe and marijuana and cocaine. At the police chief's request, the Missouri Highway Patrol is now investigating departmental evidence-handling policies and procedures.

In Atlanta, a Fulton county sheriff's deputy was arrested Wednesday for allegedly bringing marijuana into the Fulton County Jail to sell to inmates. Deputy Raheim Lowery, 30, was arrested when caught with pot as he arrived for work on the night shift. He is charged with possession of marijuana with intent to distribute and crossing the guard lines of a jail with prohibited items. He is now an inmate in the jail and will be fired Friday, the sheriff's office said. He was a probationary employee hired in December.

In La Tuna, Texas, a guard at the Federal Corrections Institution there was arrested June 16, accused of smuggling heroin into the facility. Guard Randy Smith, 28, went down in a sting after agreeing to smuggle an ounce of smack into the prison in exchange for $5,000.

He was arrested after taking money and heroin from an undercover federal agent.

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The Future of Humanity’ s Economy written by Saab Lofton “Money is a terrible thing. Why do people work at jobs in Star Trek? Why does someone become a baker? Because the family is going to starve to death? No. People become bakers because certain people love the smell of things baking.” – Gene Roddenberry, from Yvonne Fern’s book, The Last Conversation “By the time I joined TNG [The Next Generation], Gene [Roddenberry] had decreed that money most emphatically did NOT exist in the Federation, nor did ‘credits’ and that was that. Personally, I’ve always felt this was a bunch of hooey, but it was one of the rules and that’s that.” – Ronald D. Moore, a writer and producer of several Star Trek episodes I got your "hooey," right here, you fucking bastard...

Why am I so upset with Ronald D. Moore?

Because Star Trek's fame enables it to reach the masses on a regular basis (something everyone to the left of Dennis Kucinich dreams of) -– and seeing as how capitalism has raped us since Day One, we the people need the relief Star Trek can provide; by depicting a future Earth in which money went the way of the dinosaur, a supposedly lowly TV show instills a little thing called HOPE. Unfortunately, Roberto Orci, one of the screenwriters behind the 2009 Star Trek movie, has defied Gene Roddenberry in a major way: In a recent Q&A with fans, Orci stated that, "there's money, or some kind of credit system in this universe."

Here's what Orci meant by "this universe": In the 2009 film, a villain from the far future slightly altered how Captain Kirk and Mister Spock first met, so the storyline's version of the mid 23rd century was changed somewhat – mainly to keep anal retentive fanboys from foaming at the mouth... ...however, trivial details about which ship Kirk served on first mean less than nothing compared to the loss of a source of hope for the poor. Star Trek becomes just another sci fi franchise without its vision of a future devoid of poverty and I will NOT tolerate this.

Star Trek can't simply be a means by which Paramount Pictures/Viacom can rake in billions; it must also serve something greater than itself.

Star Trek is usually set about a couple hundred years from now.

Well, go back to 1810, grab the first white man you see, tell him someone half-black-and-half-white is President of the United States and watch what happens. That 19th century white man will find Obama as unbelievable as this modern world finds Star Trek to be, so an absence of money only requires the same combination of imagination and action that it took to get Obama elected. Professor Noam Chomsky wrote in his essay Language and Freedom that, "social action must be animated by a vision of a future society," so get to it.

Ironically, our past holds a clue insofar as how one can live like a Star Trek character: In The Book of Lists #2 by Irving Wallace and David Wallechinsky, it says that, "[George Washington] refused the $500 monthly salary offered him,

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accepting payment only for expenses. He came out almost $400,000 ahead of what his total salary would have been for 1775 - 1783."

In other words, George Washington's meals were free so long as he was president (this was affordable because there weren't any nuclear missiles to pay for in the 1700s). Likewise, on the future Earth Roddenberry envisioned, people only work their dream jobs (in terms of economic evolution, asking Captain Kirk to flip burgers to pay the bills would be the equivalent of asking today's Africans to pick cotton) so everyone's labor of love provides, via barter, everyone else with whatever they desire. Like America's founding father, the expenses of Star Trek characters are covered – and the following exchange best illustrates how this works...

Jake Sisko: I'm Human, I don't have any money.

Nog: It's not my fault that your species decided to abandon currency-based economics in favor of some philosophy of self-enhancement.

Jake Sisko: Hey, watch it. There's nothing wrong with our philosophy. We work to better ourselves and the rest of Humanity.

Nog: What does that mean, exactly?

Jake Sisko: It means we don't need money. ...Scandinavian countries have BOTH free expression AND free social services AND their poverty rates are rock bottom low, so if you want a glimpse of Roddenberry's future; visit Northwestern Europe.

Even I come fairly close to approximating what's seen in Star Trek: I'm on food stamps and I live in subsidized housing so I can afford to write full time...

And if anybody got a problem with that, tell the corporately-owned mass media to stop censoring me, hire my black ass and pay me enough to buy my own house, 'cause I'd rather die like a samurai than stock shelves at WalMart!

I've dedicated myself to bringing Roddenberry's vision to life.

In contrast, those who worked closest to the man have betrayed him. Aside from Ronald D. Moore and Roberto Orci, it's often been pointed out that producer Rick Berman possesses a small, desktop bust of Roddenberry's head but regularly blindfolds it! What a statement! That's exactly the sort of shit Stalin would do to Marx...

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Mythology and Godhood

By Jason Sibert

T

he mythological tales of ancient societies fascinate us even though we no longer believe in them. When I was growing up my fifth grade music teacher Mr. Miller put us through lessons in Greek Mythology. I enjoyed the tales of Jason of the Argonauts, due to namesake, and the tales of Perseus and his struggles against the Gods and monsters of Ancient Greece.

These tales have their roots in a different time, a time before the scientific mindset took hold and humans still believed that Gods, demons and other supernatural beings were a part of their everyday lives. The stories were compiled, some say out of fragments of real life, to give direction in a world that people of the time couldn’t figure out. What couldn’t be explained by the naked eye could be attributed to some sort of supernatural forces – the God or Goddess that controlled the sun, or the mountains, or the streams.

The scientific mindset makes it hard for us to believe in the Gods and heroes of the ancients, and they no longer provide us with a story to organize our lives around, but we regularly create narratives that explain the events of our lives – our career choice, our marriage choice, or our latest automobile purchase. In a way most of us are modern day myth makers, as we weave tales about and for our lives for our own and others consumption. Our modern day myths give us stories to organize our lives by – similar in concept to the ancient myth. Like the ancient myths these new myths require the use of imagination, or a supernatural force. In observing human behavior we are often amazed by the people who like to act like something only they’re mind says they are – the ladies man who never seems to have a date, women who try to convince us of their natural beauty but who lack the looks our society defines as feminine beauty, the brilliant inventor who never seems to register a patent and that wonderful novelist who never seems to publish a novel. All of these types are creating a story in their own head, but it’s a story that

friends and acquaintances don’t buy.

But being different is something that can be truly beneficial. Were Henry Ford, Thomas Edison and Albert Einstein considered strange by some?

Yes, and they’re universally recognized for their genius today. They were storytellers in a way, as they penned ideas that changed society for the better. We might call Einstein a God in the world of physics, Henry Ford the God of the automotive industry or Edison the God of invention. They worked with the knowledge that had been compiled before them and added something new from the realm of their imagination.

The aforementioned geniuses won our respect because their new ideas worked and benefitted us as a people while our friend the brilliant but undiscovered inventor or novelist doesn’t posses much we use.

A free society like ours gives us the chance to become a God if we only have ideas which are accepted and beneficial to other people. Many of us strive for divinity but we never find it, as we spend our lives delivering the mail, raising children and doing any number of ho hum things. In a nutshell, most of us end up playing the role of tragic hero in ancient myth. Even though few of us earn God status that doesn’t mean that we have to live lives of quiet desperation. For the miracles of the imagination – or divine if you must call it that – occur in solving the problems of everyday life. Starting a new career or business, helping a friend or relative through a tough time, or simply striving to be a better person requires use of the imagination and we must all congratulate ourselves on the small victories in life because we have few chances for big ones.

We can all write a story on the little things we do to make our world a better place.

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Text and Photos by Emily Eufinger

T

he St. Louis Brewers Heritage Festival, Brewfest for short, has been open to the public for four years. Much about the festival has changed with each successive year, but one thing remains the same: this city’s love of beer.

St. Louis has been known as Beer Capital USA since before Johann Adam Lemp created the city’s — and possibly the country’s — first German-inspired lager in the 1840s. The limestone caves underneath the city, along with ice from the Mississippi River, created natural beer cellars ideal for the brewing business.

This year, several local brewers gathered under an enormous Bavarian beer fest style tent in Forest Park. Years past saw separate tents for Ales, Lagers, Specialty, and Homebrews; however, this year brought more breweries with fewer beers from each. In addition, a dining tent featured local restaurants Vin de Set, Sqwires, Harvest, Companion, and Lorusso’s.

Each year, a homebrew is chosen as the Festival Homebrew, and several of the local breweries attempt to recreate the original brew, but with their own spin on it. This year’s Festival Beer was a Bavarian Hefeweizen brewed by Dave Roesch and Joe Orsa.

The Festival Beer itself tasted flowery, almost like a triple or double. Anheuser-Busch’s attempt at the brew fell flavorless and flat; Augusta Brewery’s version had a solid wheat taste; Schlafly’s contained light flower notes; 6-Row Brewing Company produced a light yet spicy blend; a bright and flowery drink came from Hill Brewing Company; and Amalgamated Brewing brought a flowery beer smelling of fruit.

There are a few downsides to attending the festival: first, heat gets trapped in the tents very easily. Despite the mounted fans, most patrons were dripping with sweat within minutes of their first beers. Also, even if the skies are clear, all the foot traffic mixed with a few spilled drinks quickly turns the area into a mud pit.

In years past, a major personal bring down was the cheesy cover bands, but this year — during the Saturday afternoon session at least — the band livened the day. Most memorable for me was their cover of “Uprising” off of Muse’s most recent album The Resistance; their incredibly complex guitar melodies make them a difficult band to imitate.

And — without fail — mixed among the true beer enthusiasts, a few amateurs are bound to appear: people who shell out $30 a ticket simply to see how many beers they can chug in one four-

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hour session.

However, it’s worth the trip and the cash simply to hang around the homebrew taps all afternoon; there are a limited number of taps for the homebrews, but a seemingly infinite number of beers that flow through each. They don’t refill with the same kind of beer; once a keg runs dry, that beer is gone, and they replace it with a new style.

The Garage Brewers Society (GBS) brought a delicious Cherrywood Smoke that, unlike most other smoked beers that tend towards the heavier styles, was pale in color and light on the palate.

GBS also provided a tasty Hefeweisen that contained an atypical ingredient for beer: banana.

Among other notable brews at the event, Square One offered a spiced beer with slight ginger notes, and Mattingly Brewing Company provided a light and crisp Belgian Wittbier heavy on the hops with a coffee aftertaste. Morgan Street Brewery’s Honey Lager was worth trying a second time, as well as the earthy and pleasantly bitter Specialty Ale from Cathedral Square Brewery.

My favorite for the day, as a lover of dark beers and all things summer, was the Coconut Vanilla Porter from East Side Brewers: a thin yet creamy brew with just enough sweetness.

Beer is a St. Louis tradition, and an important part of the city’s history; an incomparable brewery tour rolled into a single weekend, the St. Louis Brewers Heritage Festival is a celebration to be proud of.

myspace.com/stlouissinner

sinful nights Below is a rare appearance by Drunkabilly, one hell-of a farewell for The Saw!

Featured aboveare the from The Saw is Family’s almost last show at The Crackfox... Who’s still your Family? The Saw, bitch!

Featured above are the one and only CRIPPLERS! We caught these wild fuckers at The Way Out Club. WOW! What a show!

Featured above are The Hail Mary’s from The Way Out Club, one of my personal favorite bands and a past Sinner Featured artist! It doesn’t get much better than these cats!

EXPANDING THE REALITY TUNNELS OF EXTREME MUSIC

By Gabriel C. Zolman Earwig Kites? Dirty hippies? Dimmu Burgers? It’s all in a day’s work for England’s newest left-field sensation (and Earache Records’ latest crowning achievement), EWIGKEIT. Front-man James Fogarty (aka Mr. Fog) explains the art of dreaming, and why reality is what you can get away with, afterall.

Conceivably described as “King Crimson meets Arcturus,” many bands claim Pink Floyd as influences, but it would appear this band is actually doing something about it—and while spacey prog-rock influences are not uncommon for gothic or doom-oriented metal bands, it is highly unique for a blackened post-death band…

And while Mr. Fog and co. may be humble about their influences and artistic success, upon successive listens, it becomes clear that there is nothing to be humble about at all: Nothing sounds like EWIGKEIT, and very little could even if it wanted to. EWIGKEIT is the sound of consciousness expanding…forcibly. Explore…

GCZ: Fnord? (NOTE: This is an in-joke; fans are implored to seek out Robert Anton Wilson’s Illuminatus! Trilogy, from which EWIGKEIT take some of their lyrics.)

EWIG: (laughter) Fnord? Oh yes! I’ve read the Illuminatus! trilogy recently, actually. I’m very into the whole conspiracy thing—not just since 9-11, but just generally…

Before we kick into high gear, some of your fans wanted me to ask you a couple of questions…

I have fans?

Yes, you do. You actually have quite a few.

Oh my God…(cynical laughter) Well, I asked your fans what they wanted to know— and hopeless optimist that I am, I assumed it would be something deeper that what I had in mind. (laughter) For starters, give us the proper pronunciation of your band, and its meaning.

It’s pronounced “Evy-kite”: if you’re from southern Germany, it’s pronounced “Evischkeit.” It’s German for “Eternity.” Some seem to think there’s something “fascist” about the name, but it’s complete bunk. There is nothing “fascist” about eternity, no matter what language you put it in.

Well, your “fans” also wanted to know the following: 1.) Are you a dirty hippie?

(Much laughter.) Well, I wouldn’t say I’m a hippie… but I am a big fucking hairy guy with a huge beard and dreadlocks. I keep a steady job, and a rather boring one at that. I live in a decent area.

So why “Mr. Fog?” (I’d think it’d be rather obvious, personally…)

Well, many of my relatives were called “Foggy” as a nickname…

So it was like the Blackadder episode with the jailkeepers all named “Ploppy?”

Ah, yes! Very funny comedy. Very funny, indeed.

Would you say, “Nothing on this album is true, but it’s exactly how things are?”

I would say ‘yes.’ Definitely. As far as how things “are,” I would recommend our fans come see us live.

Well, then, speaking of “live,” Timothy Leary suggested that every time we move on to a new land, our consciousness expands—hence why he supported the US going to Mars. Would that imply that touring is the path to enlightenment?

You know, I was actually talking to someone about this

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last night! I think so, actually.

Definitely. But it’s the fans who’ll find out, won’t they?

Will Earache be reissuing your previous releases?

No…I doubt it. I’ll probably be doing that myself.

The lyrics to “Esc.” (pronounced “escape”) imply you don’t believe in Death as a natural state. Leary once suggested that Death and Aging was a learned response.

Care to comment?

That wasn’t really where I was going with it, but I think what you’re saying is very interesting. I definitely see what he means. I think you have to have that level of optimism—e ven if you know that it’s wrong.

So, what are you actually trying to accomplish with EWIGKEIT? Catharsis. This is my therapy.

Are you aware of how much it rules?

How does it feel to be one of the most original voices on the Earache roster?

It has to; it’s useless otherwise. Obviously, I’m not satisfied with the first few albums, no…but I think this one holds up quite nicely.

Powerplant: Salvia Divinus or Psylosiben?

Indeed, the plant is highlighted…very good. It has very much to do with the Carlos Castaneda “power-plant.” As to your specific inquiry…I’m not so familiar with the former, so I would have to say the latter. Everything in moderation.

Would you describe EWIGKEIT as “Headphones music”?

There’s certainly an element of that. I want to push the music forward. There was a scene in the 80’s that was very much like that in the 60’s—very similar to your rave culture of today….there was something very dangerous about it all back then… something very exciting, really. But where is it now? Where is the danger, now?

Everything is so…so…safe. Even Death Metal—it’s not threatening anymore. It’s all speed for the sake of speed. I mean, 90% of people who play in grindcore bands don’t even know why the fuck they play blast-beats half of the time. I do it to push the music forward.

Would you agree that the War on Drugs (and its “Just Say No” rhetoric), like Sexual Abstinence programs, only rob young voyagers of a proper handbook?

Yes, absolutely. I mean, I’m not very into the drug thing anymore— despite what the album might imply.

I don’t even drink anymore. I used to drink heavily, but I quit for this album.

It was like a pile of bricks being lifted off my shoulders. I know what you’re saying though—a manual for naughty girls and boys…

Without encouraging the use of ANYTHING, what would be the first piece of advice to someone who “just said yes”? Safety tips?

Make sure it’s natural…like mushrooms, pot, or alcohol—I wouldn’t go any further than that, personally.

The lyrics to “Journey To Ixtlan” are significantly darker than other songs. Was this a bad trip or a bad day? (laughter) Those lyrics weren’t actually written by me.

They were written by my co-writer. He’s actually ten years older than me—he’s actually a charted psychologist. But he’s had his rock n’ roll days. That’s more his thing.

Referring to “Conquer the Fear,” how might one make “weakness their crown?”

That’s a good question. I was raised Roman Catholic… the song was really about integrity. It’s not how physically strong you are—that doesn’t count for shit at the end of the day.

“When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”

Is the world ready for EWIGKEIT? Would I be the student or the teacher? I mean, was the world ready for Napalm Death? When they started out… what they were doing was, at the time, very different— it was anarchic, and very new. A lot of the bands now, they’re aping what they did years ago—as well as bands like Obituary, Morbid Angel, and so forth. But these bands started in 1987 or 1988—and yet we’ve got these bands aping what they did back then, what was done fifteen years ago, in the year 2000’s. It’s time to move on.

You’re obviously a Carlos Castaneda fan… How did the “art of dreaming” play into the creation of your new album?

Well, it’s actually been three or four years since I’ve read the Carlos Castaneda books, but I’d say it played quite a large part.

Is “Radio Ixtlan” a pirate station? (laughter) Yes! Well, “Ixtlan,” in the Castaneda mythos, would be the place that you could never get to. It’s the place where you can find peace. Maybe it’s death, maybe it’s something else. There’s no time there.

Interpret it however you like.

What went into the creation of “Radio Ixtlan?”

A lot of work! By that time I’d stopped smoking and stopped drinking. I was quite ill.

So this album had a sobering effect?

Actually, it was quite the other way around. I was able to record because I’d stopped these things…originally, I wasn’t intending to record another album. But the label that released Land Of Fog were saying “we want another album!” But I only wanted to do it if I could make it a particularly strong release.

Well, it’s definitely that…it really makes a person want to explore your older material.

Well, the first album is shit. The second one, I produced that one myself. It was a very deep album…but still quite immature, musically. Now the third album (Land Of Fog)—that’s closer to what I wanted. That’s the one to check out.

So you feel most “extreme music” has just become “extreme” for the sake of itself, having become a bankable entity? Like mall-punk or “commercial” black metal?

Exactly.

Like Dimmu Borgir…or Dimmu Burger…it’s prepackaged McMetal for your convenience. Take a totally unrelated genre—hip-hop, for instance. When it started in the 80’s it was all about the message—bands like Public Enemy or N.W.A., both very political bands. Now you just have guys grabbing their crotches, bragging about how many bitches they have.

What would you say to those who might initially pass on your band due to its unusual moniker?

If there are people who want to do that, I don’t think I’d really want to have them as fans, because they probably wouldn’t get it anyway.

Well said. So tell me about your influences.

Recent? There isn’t too much terribly recent that I like; I’m mostly influenced by the musicians I play with, to be honest.

Anything else you’d like to impart to your fans before I let you go?

Print some blank lines. Let them fill it in themselves: ____________________________________________ ____________________________________________ ____________________________________________ ____________________________________________ ____________________________________________ ____________________________________________ )+(

myspace.com/stlouissinner

by Paul Ace Diamond “Huggy” Blow

SUMMER TIME is coming and it’s time to get into shape so you will look sexy hot on the beach in your bikini or thong. A lot of people join gyms, but those can be expensive and you really DON’T need gyms or their fancy machines to get into and stay in sexy shape. With the Paul Diamond Blow Workout, YOU TOO can get into and stay in sexy shape with only a 20-minute-a-day commitment.! All you really need for the Paul Diamond Blow Workout is some comfortable workout clothes, a good pair of running shoes, AND dedication! Here’s how to get into sexy shape in only twenty minutes a day...

1) Half-mile jog: To get into sexy shape you need some good cardio exercise. Jogging is so gosh danged easy to do, you can do it anywhere, any time. I really have to laugh out loud when I see people in the gym on those fancy-pants running machines, sweating away and not going anywhere... I mean, why pay to walk or run on a boring machine when you can do it for free in your own neighborhood or at the local park where you can get some fresh air and see some sights? All you really need is a good half-mile jog once a day – a mile would be even better – but just a half mile a day jog is enough to loosen you up and get the blood pumping, and a half-mile jog will take maybe fifteen minutes at a steady pace. A nice jog in the outdoors will also clear your head, and will increase your stamina and energy level, I guarantee it.

2) 100 sit-ups: After your jog it’s time for some quality crunches to work the abdomen and get you that six-pack and abs of steel. I recommend 100 sit-ups a day, or 50 a day when you’re just starting out. Seriously, 100 sit-ups a day WILL tighten up your abs, guaranteed! You don’t need to do them on some fancified gymnasium sit-up board either, the floor will do just fine. 100 sit-ups will take maybe three minutes tops.

3) 40 push-ups: Okay, I have to admit, this is the part of the Paul Diamond Blow Workout that even Paul Diamond Blow hates. I don’t care much for push-ups, but they are a necessary evil to work out and strengthen your upper body, mainly the arms, shoulders, and chest. You DO want nice pecs, don’t you?? I recommend two sets of twenty push-ups a day. Do one set before doing your 100 sit-ups, and the second set after. You do NOT need to go to the fancified gym for the bench press machine, simple push-ups at home will do just fine, and in the privacy of your own home nobody will see you squirm and grimace as you try to do those last five push-ups. Two sets of push-ups will take just a few minutes.

Heck, when you’re in sexy shape you should be able to do one per second... Tip: to increase your motivation for the push-ups I recommend saying, “ROCK IT AND SHOCK IT!” before your sets... saying this will pump you up.

Now let’s all get sweaty and work out. ROCK IT AND SHOCK IT!!!

HUGGY BLOW’S ROCK STAR OF THE MONTH: Johnny Ramone: Hey ho, let’s go! Johnny Ramone may not have been one of the best guitar players in rock music but he was indeed one of the coolest guitar players ever thanks to his totally awesome, high-energy, blitzkrieg style of buzzsaw guitar play... plus he was in the Ramones, one of the coolest rock bands ever. As far as I’m concerned, Johnny Ramone invented the art of “downstrokes picking” and was indeed the fastest downstroker on record. Believe it or not, most “good” guitar players have a lot of trouble trying to play with downstrokes like Johnny did – they just plain lack the energy. Johnny Ramone put plenty of energy into his playing, and was one heck of an exciting performer to watch. I would go so far as to say that it was Johnny Ramones’ guitar style that invented punk rock, and he has inspired countless scores of youngsters to buy guitars and start punk rock bands.

Even though Johnny Ramone was said to have been a super control freak and a right-wing conservative, and nobody in the Ramones circle seemed to like him much due to his mean-spirited nature, his super cool image – the scowling face, the blue jeans, the black leather jacket, and the bowl haircut (a look that never changed in over 20 years) – and his super-exciting Blitzkrieg bopper Johnny Ramone blitzkrieg style of guitar play makes Johnny my Rock Star of the Month..

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UNMASKED written by Chuck Foster

T

here are few live acts who tangle the minds of audiences with awe and sheer pleasure like The Livers do. Of course, I know of no other act, local or national, that do what The Livers do on stage, basically taking the spotlight as a four-piece yet only being a two member band. Is your mind a bit tangled? It should be.

Scot Freeman and Luke Roulston are the dynamicduo behind the witty audio and trippy visual effects of The Livers, specifically the concept of performing with themselves on stage with a prerecorded video. And if your mind is still tangled now, don’t worry – it should be.

Most music enthusiasts form the St. Louis area are quite familiar with The Livers. In fact, it was in April of 2008 that Jaime Lees of the RFT featured Scot Freeman and Luke Roulston. So a lot of folks from this area may already know that the two began this venture “trying to find a way to multiply their sound without adding any extra people... a band with clones of themselves to fill out the empty instrument positions.” And many of you may already know that their virtual counterparts have names, Karl and Merl, who posses “distinctive personalities and sassy attitudes.”

Well, there are a few things about The Livers that only a few may know and even fewer may have ever

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thought to ask. For example: How many of you fans know how their name was created, who their top 5 St. Louis’ bands are, or their best and worst shows, etc.

You could say that they’ve been officially unmasked for the first time, right here – right now!

The Livers came into existence at a time when Scot and Luke were both semi-retired from music and getting bored, a time when they needed something to do besides working out and eating weight gain powder.

Scot credits Luke with the general concept of the name from when they were writing a short movie, saying the band idea was a more efficient way to be narcissistic and self-congratulatory. Scot says the name “The LIVERS” came to him in a dream actually, where he saw Luke standing under the “L” and himself under the“S”.

In this dream he remembers accidentally murdering a homeless woman after the show, but admits that was a kind-of fucked-up dream now that he thinks about it.

Luke disagrees, saying that it was when he looked up “alcohol” in a quotation dictionary and found an anonymous quote: “Is life worth living? It depends on the livers.” Then he farted.

The band’s favorite songs to play live are always whatever is the newest, even though Luke is partial

to “2 legs to Dance”. They say that the video production tends to get more elaborate as they go so it’s always a blast to show off their newest cat video or greenscreen trick. Scot does admit to getting a little jealous of the screen in those moments, adding that he’s been lifting every day and putting on some serious mass and everyone just stares at the screen when they present something new.

The Livers’ wildest show: Tom Huck’s Evil New Years Bash. Scot tells that near the end of the show hay was flying everywhere and the two were sexually assaulted on stage. He says that it took days for people to recover from that show... physically, emotionally, spiritually.

The Liver’s worst show is when Scot fell over while playing at a X-mass party at Flamingo. “They got us good and snockered and basically watched us drool and stammer with a shiny thing behind us. At one point I think I looked behind myself and thought, ‘What is this big screen thing doing here? This TV show sucks.’

I’m sure I would have laughed my ass off if I could have seen the show, but for all the wrong reasons.”

Scot’s top five St. Louis bands, in absolutely no particular order, are The Humanoids, Blind Eyes, Incurables, Bunnygrunt, and Sleepy Kitty, who shot right into the top rankings after their recent show together at Off Broadway. However, Luke on the other hand says that his are Not the Blind Eyes...too confident...Not the Humanoids...too arrogant...Not Bunnygrunt...too old...Not Sleepy Kitty...too cute...Not Celery...too irrelevant. While Scot believes that Shattermask could be St. Louis’ next big band, Luke says it will be...The LIVERS, The LIVERS, The LIVERS, Nelly, Gravity Kills, The LIVERS. He then retracted that statement with, “Oh shit, that’s too many...cut out The LIVERS.” The two are prideful sinners, admitting to the guilt of sloth and gluttony. And when it comes time for The Livers to unwind, Scot enjoys a chardonnay or two from time to time, while Luke goes for the classic Mojito. They’re also huge suckers for bad Television every once in a while, and as before mentioned, they are huge health nuts Their favorite book/movie/TV show is always changing, but it’s always whatever cool, smart people like! They believe the biggest misconception about being in a band is that it’s in any way fulfilling or rewarding – and that there’s tons of chicks. But it’s the exoneration from the consequences of continued irresponsible behavior that makes the experience worth living for The Livers. “When people see our shows they just assume we are a little

bonkers. It’s a very expedient way to convey to a room full of people you don’t know, that you are crazy.”

As for touring, The Livers love going out of town.

They are presently working on some trips right now, with hopes of going over-seas. All they need to do is find some people abroad who will drink with them and let them sleep on their floor – oh yeah, and book all their shows [minor detail].

The most important fact to know about The Livers is that their soon to be released EP is only a couple of songs away from being completed. The only piece left then is for the guys to play around with the mixes, throw in some bells and whistles, and after its finished, decide that it needs to be re-recorded entirely – the fun part. And then there’s the cover art, which Luke says is up in the air. He does throw some love Tom Huck’s way, saying he would like for him to produce their art because he owes The Livers at least $20,000 in gambling debts and it’s really coming down to the wire. “Does he lose his right thumb or his left testicle? Only his family can decide...at gunpoint...”

To find more info on their EP, you can go to www. thelivers.net, which should have all the links and show info one could ever need. Scot has one warning though: “Most of the photos on the website are from a period where Luke and I were battling obesity. It’s pretty fucking disgusting. We should update that website.”

Is your mind not a bit twisted now, like a Gus’ pretzel with too much salt? If not, go check The Livers out live and it will be!

myspace.com/stlouissinner

On The Scene & Heard with Malice

photo by Rabid Rabbit

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une was a great month for shows. All of our friends were playing somewhere, but it was difficult to decide who to see and with my work schedule, it was tough getting out. Real life gets in the way, unfortunately, and the demanding world of retail doesn't allow me much free time, especially on weekends. I hated missing The Trip Daddys, yet again. I heard the Mamacita's show was incredible, and just recently Craig proposed to his girl onstage, during a performance - talk about a Grand Romantic Gesture...she's a lucky girl.

One show we did make was at The Off Broadway to see our buddy Joe Meyer ( Daddys drummer #6) with his new project Shooting With Annie -an 8 piece "orchestra" including an electric fiddle, slide and acoustic guitars, and a trumpet. I wasn't sure what to expect, but they play some really good anguished laments. It's always good to see Joe, and this was the first time we've seen him since our return to The Lou. Besides my stalking him on Facebook, you never know what facial hair he'll be sporting; one time will be Wolverine chops, the next Hulk Hogan follicles. And whatever band he's in, it's going to be a worthwhile endeavor. He's got to be one of the most outstanding drummers you'll find in this town. I forget who the first band was, Ashton Knyte (perhaps) but the bass player is David Karns ("the pretty one" in New Soul Cowboys) who is very entertaining to watch. It was a good night spent with good friends, I'm glad we chose this show to attend.

Other happenings on the scene, also at Mamacita's, hometown hero, Ronnie "Elvis" James and his smokin' hottt girlfriend Jade, came back from LA to kick it with his homies for An Old School Party and to get some new ink at Trader Bob's, designed by his friend and favorite tattoo artist Monica, the word "fight" drawn in the pink breast cancer awareness ribbon. I remember first seeing Ronnie when he was the guitar player in Dead Celebrities playing the same night as Ded Bugs and The Trip Daddys in some little bar, I forget where, quite a few years ago. The next thing I know it's 6 years later and he finds me on MySpace, hooks me up with his new tunes. One of his many projects is the immensely successful band Warner Drive – you should check them out for yourself in the usual places on MySpace and FaceBook...every song, from the first note to the last, is completely, totally captivating. If you ever get the chance to see them live, they have this energy that's hugely contagious. I've spent all day watching their videos, clips from their shows, and listening to their CD, Fully Loaded. Two words: F*ing Incredible. But, in spite of his success, Elvis is still the same, from his curled lip sneer to his ponytail & trucker hat, sportin' new ink for The Cause, Southside all the way. Good to see Our Boy MADE IT! He & the guys will be hitting the road soon for another extensive touring schedule.

Upcoming happenings, Thurs Jul 22 at Atomic Cowboy a DOUBLE DOSE OF GREASE, INK, & CHROME: The Psycho Devilles and The Trip Daddys. If you've never seen Hot Rod Walt & his Psycho Devilles, you are missing a three ring circus. They have a new bass player for me to fall in love with – this one isn't merely content with painting flamage on his upright, he actually lights the thing on FIRE. Walt struts on top of bars, dances on top of the upright bass, always puts on a memorable performance. And of course, you know how I feel about The Trip Daddys...after all, it's just not our anniversary without My Daddys

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NN A H T I NG W

I

T SHOO

See you all at the next show.

Your Pal, Malice photo by Rabid Rabbit

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text and photos by Gina Simon

Forrest Blvd Kingshighway

This month I had the pleasure of meeting and photographing the band Sinfinis & Friends. Mary Elizabeth Bell has been the only member of Sinfinis for awhile now, contracting out people to play with her. She has worked with Shawn Telkamp (Vendetta Sonata) on backing vocals and Jeff D’Ambrosio (a New Yorker, formerly of None More Evil/currently of For Whom The Bell Joels) on guitar.

Jason Cook has been playing with her since October 2009. With Jason they play more of a synth-based electronica sound. They are currently recording some new music. You can see Sinfinis and Jason Cook at Off Broadway on July 30th, opening for the Jim Rose Sideshow.

Also, they will be playing at Max Ivers 13 Plagues show at Koken Art Factory on August 13th.

Kai Kennedy- Kai has recently signed on as an official member of Sinfinis! His influences: Massive Attack, Deftones and Radiohead bring a sample-based electronic rock sound with a trip-hop/dub/ jazz flavor to Sinifinis. An eclectic music lover of dark taste, Kai (Hephaestus, Glyph) is a self-taught musician with not only an amazing voice, but he plays guitar, bass, piano, drums and the computer. Currently they are writing and recording at SkyFire Records – owned and operated by Kai. You can see the live set they are working on at Just Bills on Saturday, July 24th.

★

Go to - www.sinfinis.com for upcoming shows, new photos, new music…

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Mon - Sat Noon to 9pm - Sunday Noon to 5pm myspace.com/stlouissinner

a review by Bill Oberg

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f the Hooten Hallers were a man, they'd have big, dragging balls, the not-quite-finishedevolving type of man. One who'd had his heart smashed to pieces by the hammer of life so many times that at last he recognized it wasn't any woman's, or his boss' (though, that guy was indeed a dick), or Jack Daniels’, or even God's fault. Well, maybe it was partly God's fault cuz it sure as shit felt like betrayal on a grand scale. But mostly this poor son-of-a-bitch at last realized he had no one but himself to blame. And that's what made it hurt so bad. Hooten Hallers is the sound of this man raising his arms to the heavens in a surrender doubling as redemption, if such a thing actually exists, and wailing.

Ever do anything you wish you could take back? Me, neither.

Ever wonder what punk rock would've sounded like had it been born out of Kentucky?

Then you're obviously not drunk enough. And when it comes right down to it if you're listening to the Hooten Hallers sober you ain't doing it right.

The specifics of what I did doesn't matter.

Asshole behavior on my part is nothing new. The caring is the odd part. Six months ago you could've kissed my ass. Blame? As good as transferred. It's this Debbie. She sees things in me, good things that I'm not sure are actually there. And sure, there's a possibility she's delusional, but it doesn't change the fact that somehow, someway, she's changing the game. It's like watching a skilled magician. The mystery of her ways is right in front of my eyes. But the harder I squint at it, the less I see.

"Sixteen gallons of boiling water right over my head. OVER MY HEAD? Over my head. OVER MY HEAD? Over my head. When I seen my baby in the kitchen –– she was cooking with another man."

“Sixteen Gallons” is the Hooten Hallers done to perfection. You got your dirty-blues rhythm and your humorous wink on traditional lyric tropes. Simple enough, right? Except they sing it like they hate the bitch.

Is that bearded man winking or crying? As the Hooten Hallers say, "Put a dog on it!" Which I'm guessing is either a euphemism for bestiality, or the sport of dogfighting. And considering how deep in the backwoods of Missouri they hail from, it could mean both.

Enough twisting my arm. I can already see you're not leaving me alone till I tell you what I did. Good christ. Well you see, there was a midget, a bottle of lubricating oil, and a mutual paint by Plastic

photo by Cyanide Studios©

attraction. You do the math. But enough about my ex-fiance.

The Hooten Hallers are not an album band.

Not yet. To get the full impact you need to see them live. On stage, these dudes will kick your ass early 80's Chuck Norris style. They'll put a hillbilly barefoot so deep inside that you'll have to bend over, pull your cheeks apart, and cough while they pull it back out.

"Well, it hit me this morning like a slap in the face. I think it's high time I left this terrestrial waste. I'm going to outer space. Well you can have my money and the keys to my place because I won't be a needing them in outer space."

Substitute the Pixies quiet/loud guitars and drums dynamic with banjos and spoons and you're not far from the Hooten Hallers’ “Outer Space”.

Weird, because the Hooten Hallers are pretty much ALL guitars and drums, yet somehow they make every song sound like the best juke-joint, country-revival, barn-dance jamboree you've never been to. Which is good because it means no one gets raped by Uncle Fred. Consequently, no one gets stuck raising a retarded baby. Not that there's anything wrong with retarded babies –– apart from the physical and mental deformities.

I cheated on Debbie. Early on, but late enough to count. We'd already crossed the invisible relationship threshold. We were just coasting along, casually dating and it happened.

T h e act of holding hands gone from innocent flirting to symbolizing a deep commitment. At some point an "I love you" flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. She took me to visit her grandma in the nursing home.

Her daughter Jenna stopped outwardly hating me.

I feel awful now that Debbie knows. Though I'm not sure if it's because of what I've done or because I'm mad I was busted.

So what do you do when you can't take it back? When the liquid's gone from the bottle but is still pouring out your eyes? You raise your arms to the heavens in a surrender doubling as redemption, if such a thing actually exists, and you wail.

"I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed of the love that would not fade away.

And I'm lying here in bed. Just waiting for the break of day. I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed. Singing Lord won't you have –– Oh Lord won't you have –– Lord won't you have a little mercy on me."

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The Sinful works of

S

Chris Sabatino

ome time ago we found ourselves bruising elbows and shoulders with some of St. Louis’ most talented artists at a past Koken Art Factory event, the typical crowded meet-and-greet where I find artists to feature here. It wasn’t the Koken’s typical crowd, though; hard-core bikers ran this show, as did many local tattoo artists. As much as I retain a deep admiration of the brotherhood which bikers are known to posses, I’m a loner and like to make my presence felt and quietly drift on. As I mingled with members of Hell’s Angels and other local brotherhoods, I decided to make one last round and head out for other plans that deserved our attention. It was then that I noticed a peaceful-looking character sitting all alone, in front of a piece of artwork that caught my attention like a knife in the back would have. Instead of jumping away, I cautiously moved in closer to examine what I believed to be one of the top five pieces of the event. The piece at hand was an alien-like skull with hoses connecting itself to other alien-like skulls through its teeth and eyes – strange shit for a biker show. The quiet looking character was Chris Sabatino, our featured artist this month.

Chris is perhaps one of the most all-around talented artists that I have met in the area, yet his peaceful demeanor lacks the enormous ego too often associated with artists of his nature. Perhaps those roots stem from his humble beginning as a caricature artist at a local theme park or his years supporting himself through college. I really can’t say, but it adds to who he is and how he’s perceived by the community, as well as the character of his relatively new shop at 2617 Cherokee Street.

Previous to owning his shop Chris was airbrushing on Washing-

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wtitten by Chuck Foster

ton Avenue at the infamous Gus’ Fashions. It was there that he began to build his immense clientele that fuels his passion.

But Gus shut his doors after a span of 35 years, leaving Chris with a yearning to move on, to take his art to the next level. His wife, Rebecca, and him set out on a mission to find a location in the St. Louis area – then,“Bam!” they had landed a spot on Cherokee Street, which he says became the first ever Tattoo & Custom Paint shop on the street! But his modest nature quickly extinguished the fire from his voice, crediting the support of his family with his success, saying that without them he wouldn’t be where he’s at today.

While Chris still continues his early trades of caricature art and airbrushing almost anything possible in his shop today, so titled “Art Monster”, his talents now encompass tattoos, body painting, motorcycles, hot-rods – just about anything. Strangely enough, he doesn’t have a particular favorite. They’re all a bit of fun for him, especially when a customer allows him to tweek their idea to what he thinks will look best. And with one foot inside his shop, you’ll know that you can trust his judgement.

Most recently Chris took up a gig traveling with the Warp Tour, starting here in St. Louis on July 5th and ending in Kansas on July 30th. He explained that the tour had caught some of his work and quickly offered him a spot. After he returns he’ll remain pretty busy too. Chris will be making appearances at the upcoming Pointfest on August 14th, the Taste of St. Louis, and SrewedAgain, an art show at the RAC on its August 13th opening.

And if you were remotely curious about the cover piece for this issue, “Unity”, Chris explained that the image is actually part 1 of a 3 part piece created with spray paint, acrylics and airbrushing. Of course, he has tons of other original pieces for sale at Art Monster too, now open daily from 12:00-9:00. pm.

I’ll leave here with Chris Sabatino’s last words: “Follow your MothaF#$!in’ dreams! My kidz are my biggest inspiration, Kadyn and Myla, you guys kickass. And to my Wife and family, all the fans and supporters, Ill keep blowin’ it up!”

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Skin Deep with Stu

Photography by LB Photography (LBfoto1@yahoo.com)

L

et me start by Saying that the purpose of this monthly column is to offer information and a personal view on matters involving body piercing and modification and is in no way meant to put myself above any other artist in the industry. Secondly, if you have a horror story and choose to share it with us, DO NOT give the name of the artist involved as I will just omit it anyway. There are many artists in the St. Louis and surrounding areas that deserve nothing but the utmost respect from myself and supporters of our shared profession. If you have a question about piercing/modification, a story, or just a desire to better understand the culture and would like that answered, please send them to: Stu@StuModifies.com.

Lately I have been talking a lot about, what I call, Individualized Circumstances. The more I go into depth about proper aftercare or the process of healing tissue in general the more I realize that each particular plan needs to be different or slightly modified for each person. Problem with this, however, is that when considering the options in selecting the “BEST” aftercare and procedure an artist must also need to be aware of pretty much all of the clients personal life which is not only intrusive but unrealistic as well. It is simply not likely that an Artist would be able to remember all things about each client and not only that but the process of learning each client before each procedure would take so long that clients would likely become inpatient and just go to another artist to avoid the process all together.

As artists we offer very generalized after care plans shown to heal the majority of clients with as little complication as possible. This is pretty much the mindset of all industries due to the fact that there is not only a lot of liability in explaining things in great detail but also that most people are not concerned with the explanation anyway. This process will work well enough for a time but in the end I think it will just further our disconnection and continue to lower the standards of how we should be treated due to the fact that people will simply be unaware of what the proper standard should be as they don’t even grasp what quality body modifications should look/heal like.

Why is this such a big deal you ask? Think of it this way... before we became “civilized” humans were forced, for fear of death, to know their bodies and surroundings without fail. We knew what foods we needed at what times we knew what plants would heal us and we also performed and healed modification work without the use of modern soaps and adhesives with little to no ill effect. We just knew how to treat ourselves and we healed and survived well.

Over the times we progressed into the beings we are now, relying on technology to keep us safe. Our dependence on civilization lowered our need for a connection to our bodies and we began to loose our instincts. This loss of concern has been noticed. Business has begun lowering standards to provide quicker more cost effective (to the business itself) procedures and a lower price means more clients. This works for the company because many people don’t even understand what the standard quality should be. BUT HEY... THAT $20 SURE DID GO A LONG WAY! The quality artists begin to loose focus or hope in their industry and slowly fall off as the low prices flood our community under a wave of mediocrity. I am not suggesting that we go back to tribal days all of a sudden and discontinue the use of soaps or medicines or any new technology proven to aid in the safety and healing of our bodies by any means. Rather I am simply suggesting that we open our minds to knowing our bodies. Learn your vessel and explore for you the reasons why different things are effecting you in different ways. I suggest that you attempt to make the connection for yourself.

Think about what I have said this month and concentrate on just exactly what “Individualized Circumstances” could be. Knowledge will only raise the standards to which we hold our professionals to, not only in Modification but in all things. Take the time to think and see how your everyday life effects your vessel.

Send me your questions or thoughts about this topic and next month we will take this concept a little bit further...

As always thanks for reading -Stu Modifies

All questions will be answered by email or by a request for you to call me directly and may be in the next issue of the St. Louis Sinner! Thanks for reading!

Stu (Myspace.com/StuModifies - Facbook.com/StuModifies) Self Inflicted Studios (Myspace.com/sistl) 1328 Washington Ave in St. Louis - (314)-621-4660 Stu@StuModifies.com

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ByMatthew MatthewGorman Gorman written by

Boston Evil

I believe that nearly everyone has heard of The Boston Strangler. He’s the madman who terrorized the waking thoughts of Boston’s female population for 18 months between the years of 1962 and 1964, that vicious monster who claimed the lives of at least 11 single women in their own apartments by choking the very life from their bodies. Some might even know that the man who confessed to the murders was one Albert DeSalvo, who is still generally credited with the crimes in any standard compendium of serial killers.

What many do not know is that there is ample evidence both old and new that suggests that DeSalvo was not, in fact, responsible for any of the murders and that the murders may even have been the handiwork of more than one killer. First let us examine the murders themselves and then the mystery that surrounds them.

The first of the murders occurred on the evening of June 14, 1962. The victim was Anna E. Slesers, a fifty-five-year-old Latvian immigrant who worked as a seamstress. Her son, Juris, who had arrived to take his mother to the Latvian memorial services at their church, discovered her body. He knocked on his mother’s door and after some time with no answer he begin to worry.

Finally, he busted through the door only to find his mother’s corpse inside of her bathroom. She was lying twisted on the floor in her open bathrobe, its cord pulled taut around her neck and tied into a bow. It had been the very object that was used to strangle her to death.

Forensics experts reported that an unknown foreign object had been used to sexually assault Slesers as well. The apartment had been ransacked to give the appearance of a burglary but valuables such as a gold watch and jewelry were not taken.

After the killing of Slesers, more murders followed, two in one day, in fact. On June 30, sixty-eight-year-old Nina Nichols was found in her Brighton area apartment strangled to death with her own nylon stockings, again tied in a bow like Slesers’s bathrobe cord. Also like Slesers, Nichols had been sexually assaulted. 15 miles away in the Boston suburb of Lynn, the body of sixtyfive-year-old Helen Blake was found later that same day. Blake had been killed in much the same fashion as Nichols, strangled with her own stockings, but this time the killer pulled her brassiere over the top of the stocking and tied that article into a bow. She, too, had been sexually assaulted. However, in neither instance was any trace of spermatozoa found, a detail intimating that a foreign object was used in perpetration of these two crimes as well. Blake, although not found until later that day, was the first of the two women to be murdered, somewhere between 8AM and 10AM that morning.

A pattern was now developing, the pattern of

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a serial killer. Then Police Commissioner, Edmund McNamara, warned the women of Boston to keep their doors locked and to be wary of anyone seeking admittance into their homes, as there had been no signs of forced entry in any of the cases. McNamara also said that the murderer was likely preying upon older women because of a deep-seated hatred towards his mother.

The next victim was fifty-year-old Willie O’Brien (A woman, despite her first name). O’Brien was found killed on the 5th of July and she was one of the worst off when it came to the Strangler’s sheer brutality. She was tortured before being murdered by having a tennis ball shoved inside of her anus. An autopsy revealed that O’Brien’s blood alcohol level was extremely high as well. Did she perhaps have drinks with the man who sexually assaulted her and then strangled her to death with her own hosiery? God only knows.

O’Brien’s murder was followed by the killing of two more elderly ladies in the month of August, Ida Irga, age seventy-five, found on August 21st and Jane Sullivan, age sixty-seven, found on August 30th. Irga had been strangled with a pillowcase and Sullivan with her own stockings. Irga had been sexually assaulted and although Sullivan’s corpse was too badly decayed at the time it was found, it was assumed she had been sexually molested as well. A broomstick with a bloody handle was found near her corpse.

After that, the murders seemed to stop for a while, and the women of Boston issued a collective sigh of relief. But it was to be short-lived. Just three months later another string of murders began. But this time, something was different.

On December 5th, 1962, Sophie Clark, a twentyone-year-old African American medical student was found strangled to death in her apartment by her two roommates only blocks away from the scene of the initial Slesers murder. They found her nude, with her legs spread apart and her stockings tied tightly in a knot around her neck. However, there were marked differences in this homicide as opposed to the previous rash of strangulations, differences that lead police to suspect a separate killer may have been responsible.

Clark was young, she was black, she did not live alone like the previous victims and for the first time semen was discovered at the crime scene on the rug next to her corpse.

Before killing Clark, it seemed that the killer had initially selected another victim in the same apartment complex. Shortly before Clark’s estimated time of death, a man had knocked on the door of Mrs. Marcella Lulka telling her he was sent by the building superintendent to paint the inside of her apartment. When Mrs. Lulka informed him that it was a bad time as her husband was asleep in the next room, the man became agitated and left. The super hadn’t sent anyone to paint apartments, leading police to speculate that Mrs. Lulka had a face to face with The Strangler (or at least one of them).

Mrs. Lulka said the man was of average height with honey-colored hair and was likely in his late twenties or early thirties.

The next to go was twenty-three-year-old Patricia Bissette, found strangled to death with her stockings and blouse on New Year’s Eve of 1962. There was evidence of sexual intercourse and she was also found to be in the early stages of pregnancy. Bissette had lived on the same block as Slesers and Clark.

Another three-month lull in the murders came to an abrupt end in early March, when the body of sixtyeight-year-old Mary Brown was found in her Lawrence,

Massachusetts (25 miles north of Boston) apartment beaten to death.

Although the modi operandi seemed different there was evidence that Clark was strangled and raped as well. Was The Strangler back to elderly ladies? Apparently not, considering the next victim.

The next body was discovered on May 8th, 1963. The victim was twenty-three-year-old Beverley Samans, a beautiful, young graduate student. Samans was found stabbed to death twenty-two times in her apartment by her male friend after she had failed to appear for choir practice. Eighteen of the knife wounds made up a bull’s eye pattern on her left breast. She had stockings and handkerchiefs tied around her neck, but an autopsy showed she had not been strangled. The Strangler? It’s likely that no one will ever be sure.

Three more victims met their fates at the hands of The Strangler, the last being nineteen-year-old Mary Sullivan found on January 4th, 1964. She was found nude, semen dripping from her mouth, and the handle of a broomstick…well, let’s not go there. By her feet was found a “Happy New Year’s” card.

The police were working overtime at this point, employing psychics, interrogating suspects, but not making much headway. Then a rapist by the name of Albert DeSalvo confessed to each and every one of the crimes loosely attributed (more so by the public than by the Boston Police Department) to The Boston Strangler.

DeSalvo worked as a press operator at a rubber plant, he was married and had two kids. He was also a serial rapist. After being captured by police following an attempted rape on October 27, 1964, and while awaiting trial for multiple counts of rape that would eventually land him in prison for life, DeSalvo confessed to all of The Strangler crimes. It is thought by many that DeSalvo did this to support his family with the money generated by selling “his story”. DeSalvo was never convicted of The Boston Strangler crimes, but was indeed, sentenced to life in prison for a slew of rape convictions despite being defended by the famed litigator, F. Lee Bailey. Bailey attempted to get DeSalvo an insanity plea based upon his confessions to The Strangler murders. It proved unconvincing to the judge, however, and was ruled inadmissible in court.

DeSalvo was murdered in the prison infirmary several years later in 1973.

While F. Lee Bailey was convinced that his client was The Strangler, those close to DeSalvo believed there was no way he could have committed the heinous crimes. In his confession, however, DeSalvo revealed details that only the killer could know, that Sophie Clark had been menstruating and that he had removed a sanitary napkin from her pubic area and thrown it on the floor before assaulting her, that Patricia Bissette had Christmas bells hung above her door and a notebook under her bed, that he had taken a raincoat from Anna Slesers apartment (Slesers had purchased two identical raincoats, and gave one away as a gift.

Desalvo picked the gifted raincoat out of a possible fourteen styles shown to him). The details went on and on. However, before his confession DeSalvo had been cellmates with a sinister man named George Nassar, who may have in fact been the real (or one of the real) Strangler(s). Nassar appeared frighteningly familiar to two separate Strangler witnesses, including Marcella Lulka (Lulka said only his hair was different – Nassar’s hair was black, but it could have easily been dyed the honey color that she had observed, or he might have

worn a wig).

Still, neither woman was one-hundred-percent positive in identifying Nassar. One theory is that Nassar may have coached DeSalvo on what to say, for although DeSalvo was not particularly bright he was known to have an exceptional, possibly even photographic, memory.

Still, Albert DeSalvo got some details very wrong (perhaps these were those from the crimes not committed by Nassar). For example, he claimed to have had intercourse with Mary Sullivan although forensics showed she had only been violated with the broom handle as far as vaginal penetration was concerned.

He also claimed to have choked her to death with his bare hands when it had been determined that she was strangled with ligature, namely her own stockings.

The fact is there was never any evidence, aside from his confession, linking DeSalvo to any of The Strangler murders; in fact, he wasn’t even on the list of over 300 suspects the police had compiled during their two-year investigation!

In October of 2000, Albert DeSalvo’s brother Richard DeSalvo and Casey Sherman, nephew of the Strangler’s last victim, Mary Sullivan, united in a common goal to have the bodies of DeSalvo and Sullivan exhumed and tested for DNA evidence, a technique unavailable at the time of the murders.

It took a year but in October of 2001 the remains of both DeSalvo and Sullivan were unearthed for further testing. The post-mortem (and I do mean post!Yuck!) autopsies were performed by a team of forensic scientists led by James E. Starrs, professor of forensics at George Washington University. Foreign DNA was found on (in?) Sullivan’s corpse. It did not match Albert DeSalvo’s.

I remember being in Massachusetts’s at the time, driving from Marblehead into Salem for the huge Halloween party they throw there every year. It was raining heavily that night as they announced over the radio the exhumation of the man many believed to be The Boston Strangler. It certainly set the mood and made for good, spooky fun. But then again, what it ultimately meant was that the real killer or killers may have never been brought to justice. Maybe we should get O.J. on it.

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Bitching with Buddha Lu c i fe r

DEAREST EVIL ONE, Who are these bastards anyway? I’m talking about BP of course. So the gulf of Mexico is turning into one giant dead zone, so polluted that any animals, fish or birds are smothered to death. This shroud of death is spreading like some nightmare. And while no one knows for sure if any device could have stopped this nightmare while it was just a little leak, a remote valve shut off device might have done just that. They’re required in Brazil. BRAZIL! Since when does Brazil lead the USA in safety? Then I heard that those things cost about a million bucks to install and I thought that someone was getting rich and someone is being kicking himself in the ass. I’m hearing estimates in liability for this disaster for which BP is being held accountable at about 100 Billion dollars. Then I hear that BP has the resources to cover it. It’ll hurt I’m sure but these guys have got really deep pockets. Wow, and I’m thinking a million to save 100 Billion really is a no brainer in my book. So who are these stupid ass cheap skates? A 100 Billion Dollars, that’s like a three bedroom condo with cable TV for every homeless drunk in America. That’s free health care for everybody. So who are these stupid rich bastards?

Cordially, A Soon to be Homeless Drunk.

So you want to know “who” they are or “what” they are? They are the living gods of the 21st century. All powerful and without pity. They can and have brought ruin to countries economies whenever there’s a buck to be made. Even now their hedge funds bet against this countries economic recovery which is like a self fulfilling prophecy. They are the Big People for which you little people serve. Your cities are little more than giant support systems for these Big People. You either work for them, work for someone who works for them, or work somewhere which provides supports services for those who serve them.

These living gods are so far removed from you that you might have the silly notion that they are the president of your local bank, but these Big People are global in their reach.

They have no loyalty to any nation and might change nationality as it suits them, and when they move on they are like a bad guest who steals both the silverware and every last bit of food.

So you once had a job, maybe even a 401k. You saved a little money for emergencies or for your old age. The world is changing. These Big People do not share their wealth or feel loyalty to those who service them. In time you will be replaced by someone younger and cheaper. They may know nothing of your skills, and maybe customers will grumble about the poor service – everyone’s expectations are declining anyway. You’re middleaged and unemployed and no one wants to hire your valuable experience because you cost too much. In time you’ll give back your 401k and any other savings when your unemployment runs out. You are the little people. Bow before the walking gods of the 21st century and don’t bother to try and shake down these Big People. Trust me, if there’s a way to make a buck out of this disaster they’ve already made it.

The Biggest One of All, Lucifer, Lord of the Pit. If you want to talk to God, see a psychiatrist, or email: god@theseattlesinner.com. To intercourse with the dark lord Lucifer, drink a bottle of Everclear, or email: lucifer@theseattlesinner.com.

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THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS OF...

Heidi Dirschuweit

B

elieve it or not, Heidi’s an ex army chick who now bartends and dances at Blondies (6113 Forest Blvd – Washington Park, Il). She’s a gal who just got sick of the bad-ass act and decided to get into a business where she can boss people around and get them wasted. She’s admits to being a total rocker-chic and loves going to concerts. She found her way to Blondies when her buddy opened the club, figuring she had been dancing at bars all the time where people were always trying to cop a feel of her sexy body for free. So she thought, “Why not get paid!”

Heidi has no problem admitting to being a sucker for guys with extreme amounts of tattoos, and guys who can shred on the guitar and then cuddle her later. And like most chics, she absolutely can’t stand assholes... well, guys that is. And she says not to be intimidated by this pretty girl. Come talk to her, but be sure to chew with your mouth closed. Yuck!

She’s passionate about bartending, and enjoys getting peopled hammered. She’s also a huge sports fan, too – Go Lakers! And sometimes she purposely supports the underdogs just to piss people off.

She’s a “Lady in the sheets, and Freaky in the bed” Come on out to Blondies to check her out!

And now, Heidi confesses her sins for your reading pleasure...

GREED

Going out to a bar, club, grocery store and having all eyes on me. Everyone’s undying attention 100$ at all times.

WRATH

Everyone’s got a mouth but mine’s big and can run for days. So you better be able to back it up.

SLOTH

If I never had to get dressed or put shoes on I’d get out of bed and go everywhere naked. The effort takes way more time than the payout is worth.

GLUTTONY

Diamonds and puppies! I want to sparkle and be licked!

ENVY

I’m jealous of rockstars. All that money and tail. Who the Hell wouldn’t be?!

PRIDE

My daughter is the most beautiful thing in the world. I make cute babies.

LUST

Several desires that need to be filled at that exact point and time and no one to fix it but yourself.

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This, I Shamelessly Tell You Little girl goes to the circus, has an epiphany and learns that Seattle audiences are now horrid

by Rajkhet Dirzhud-Rashid Yesterday I had the most amazing ephiphany, one that made me stop in my tracks in the middle of a busy day and thank the Goddess for the partner and naturopath I have as part of ‘team Shani’ (the name I’ve given the group of folks who keep me healthy and thriving in an increasingly crazy world). I suddenly realized that one, I was ‘having my monthly’ on the exact same day as it started when I was a wee horror writer/top of 11, and that anniversary also marked the anniversary of my liberation from my monster of a father at that same age.

Heavy stuff, realizing that as I get ready for my entry into cronehood, I get to look at the events that basically form the core of who I am today.

So, it was from this newly free (and much happier than I was when I really WAS) headspace that I went with my daughter and her beau to see the newest Cirque du Soleil show, Kooza. The show was great, if a little more lowkey than some I’ve seen in the past years (particularly Cavalia, my personal favorite, because it had horses and I love horses), with only a few acts and those being more on the Vegas lounge side than the splendor I’ve come to expect from Cirque shows. I could add that being an eleven-year-old in a 54-year-old woman’s body helped me to enjoy the show in ways that it seemed others, who were younger, around me didn’t seem to.

In fact, I have to point out here, that the audience and their lackadaisical reactions (think: jaded to the point of being disgusting) bordered on something the empire of Rome, before it fell to the Vandals and Goths,

Synchronized Trapeze Picture credit : Al Seib Costume credit : Dominique Lemieux

would have felt a sympatico for. That most people only seemed to react when there looked like a grisly accident involving a first night jitters entertainer was going to happen, which was appalling to my pre-teen in a woman’s body mind.

It made me realize that Seattle, (and perhaps other cities, but I live here) has come so far past the innocent, grunge loving, greasy haired hippie group of folks I found when I first moved to Seattle from Chicago in the late eighties, that they’re no longer able to enjoy something as beautifully simple as a circus. Really sad, and even a bit tragic.

What I saw was such a naked brutishness (folks hollering out like Roman citizens at an arena watching gladiators die in centuries past), that at one point, I felt almost unable to keep sitting through the rest of the show. Still, the little light of that eager eleven-year-old, and the realization that this show was exactly what was missing in my more than awful childhood when we still lived with my father, kept me there, and buoyed me over the empty heads of the stone faced crowd. I was going to enjoy my little experience of ‘pretty’ damn it, no matter how heinous the people around me were behaving, and I did. It almost made me glad that my financial situation is such that small pleasures still mean something. That the crassness of having things and money hasn’t destroyed my ability to find miraculous the joy of watching folks bend into pretzel shapes in gorgeous outfits.

Today, as I sit writing this, my life partner/slave sitting near me, busily writing his own stuff on astrology and the world, I’m still in awe of how the audience last night was so different from the audience of moneyed Seattleites pre-bank crashes. Nonetheless, I took some of the crepe paper confetti home, put it in my special ‘secrets’ box, put the new mask I’d bought at the Cirque store on my slave, along with my red, feathered, baby doll gown and had one of the most intense and fun scenes we’ve ever had. Not what I might have done when I really was eleven and the world was just opening to me, a new and terrifying vista after living behind (I kid you not dear reader!) a six foot fence my father built to keep us from the ‘savages’ (that’s what he called the neighborhood kids) next door. I still find it ironic that he thought they were savages compared to his outrageous crimes against my innocent self. Me, I’m looking forward to the rest of summer with new eyes and a clean soul, one that loves a good circus and still finds pretty paper something worth saving.

This, I shamelessly tell you.

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