Issue 20 - 2010
SERIAL KILLER HORrOrSCOPE ARIZONA MEDICAL MARIJUANA INITIATIVE POISED FOR VICTORY
News, Rants & Politics
PAINFUL MISTAKES & CRIPPLING BACKACHES “I can’t feel my legs, god-damnit! What did you put in these fuckin’ brownies?...” That’s the last question you want to hear over the phone from a 30ish, straightlaced friend who’s in the heart of a mid-life crisis. The psychedelic effect of certain brownies isn’t for everyone, especially for those stressed out to the point of keeling over dead on a daily basis from the lack of status, money, love, sex – life. And this was that guy on the other end of the line ranting about laced brownies. Of course, I knew this cat was only tripping, as was I and the rest of our group who had partaken in this hippie ritual. But at the time, all I could foresee was the worst, a bad trip at hand. I could tell this lunatic was only seconds away from calling 911 for assistance. Appearing to be completely out of his mind, rants of laced brownies and paralyzation would send cops and firefighters and EMTs with guns and axes and stretchers ripping through my front door to apprehend the alleged Evil-doer, me, in mere minutes. Luckily we were able to talk him off this ledge, and to take a deep breath and step out of his car, where he soon realized he could feel his legs, and even walk. Taking the brownie was his mistake, but maybe mine was giving him one. But we’re all guilty of mistakes in our ignorant youth. And I certainly have been guilty of many in independent publishing since we began this venture some 8 years ago. The obvious mistakes of typos and grammar issues are usually the result of late night editing with one too many bourbons behind the desk, like tonight. Well that, and the fact that The Sinner’s always been an amateur publication, a stepping stone for writers, photographers, artists – even lunatic ranters. It’s always been surprising though how high some critics hold the bar for us. For example, I just caught a typo on a brochure against “Proposition A” sent out by State Rep. Mike Colona. The quote from St. Louis Dispatch on September 9, 2010 read, “... Rex Sinquefield, a retired investment advisor and freemarket activist, spent has contributed 6.8 million to the campaign...” I don’t think anyone who reads that will really give a rat’s ass about it the next day, but when we miss that minor typo, our critics swing away, usually below the belt right into our groin. Luckily I’ve learned to wear a steel jock strap after print. Some of our critics would even say that our covers are too racy, sometimes too graphic. Perhaps so, if our only goal was to sell ads - but it’s not. Our philosophy with front cover art was to never be mainstream or imitate other publications who choose to run more conservative art, so we understood from day one that our pockets would be where we felt that blow. And I know that some of our conservative critics out there demonize my usage of profanity on the first page, as it should be in the back with the smut, where smut belongs, or is accepted. Perhaps I shouldn’t have used
words like mother–f---ker and c--k-sucker to describe some individuals who have discriminated against this publication over the years with cowardly tales about their worries for the “children who sneak The Sinner home” or the ”seniors” who run away from their establishments at the first sight of it. But those people are cock-suckers. And I don’t think replacing a letter or two throws anyone off. It only insults the reader’s intelligence and my said commitment to totally free speech, which this publication prides itself on. But those minor infractions, or poor choices, are hardly mistakes that cause me to toss and turn throughout the night or beat my head against a brick wall all day. However, what has been is my lack of commitment to sales and generating ad revenue. In my poor defense, I’ve always loathed sales. It’s like going to the dentist for a root canal on acid. It’s my one cowardly act that I have been yet to beat, except for when forced to do so. And that’s the only reason The Sinner has survived where some have failed. It’s also the reason I now find myself in another slave labor position, places where you work your meat to the bones and your bones into dust for nickels and dimes thrown at your feet. But without the pain of mistakes, where would this crazy train called life take us? In some twisted utopia with nitwits and jackasses telling each other how perfect they are? That’s more frightening than the dentist on acid, but maybe I’m wrong, as usual.
TRICKS-N-TREATS & MUCH NEEDED RETREATS Sometimes all we need is to get way from everything, to disappear under the radar – to go MIA. It’s not as easy as it sounds, nor should it be. Last month some critics think that I made my greatest mistake yet: letting too many things and jackasses get to me. I walked away and found Halloween sitting around the corner, a time for freaks and ghouls like us to escape, to play like we were children again. So The Sinner went under the radar, MIA, and didn’t want to come back from our brief utopia of costumes, decorating and pumpkin carving. It was a much-needed retreat of sorts, a month of lounging care-free; no deadlines, no late-night editing, no critics, no nitwits or jackasses. Just a peace of mind. But then something happened that I didn’t expect: people, strangers, sinners, began to ask what had happened, where we had went? I was prepared to drift away, do some other things, save up for a motorcycle or a hot rod. Retire. But I guess that when independent publishing bonds with your readers, it becomes like an extra limb, even if it may be a bit disfigured. Perhaps something you can’t walk away from, or even cut off. So for now, I’ll just have to work on a few of these little mistakes, like typos and grammar and excessive profanity. If I can’t put a band-aid on that sore, some of you c---k–suckers will never leave me alone. And that’s another tale of fear and publishing in Misery...
2. Fear and Publishing 3. Lighthearted Visions of the Universe and Everything 4. Weapons of Mass Distraction 5. Two Parties You Don’t Want To Attend
6. Piper’s Pit
7. Stop The Drug War
Music, Film, Art & Entertainment 10. Cigarettes 12. I Stabbed My Landlord Poster
14. I Stabbed My Landlord Unmasked 15. Bands You Should Know About 16. Drinking In Culture 17. On The Scene And Heard With Malice 18. The Sinful fashion of Rose Mortem 19. Art Monster
Religion, Sex, & Other Sinner Shit 8. House Of My Enemies 9. Our Sinful Community 11. The Allegory Of The Cave 10. Becoming The Circus
20. Campfire Tales
21. Serial Killer Horrorscope 22. Skin Deep With Stue 23. Ask The Slut
Publisher: Chuck Foster - Layout: Terri Daniels Cover Art : Todd Davis - Model Rose Mortem WRITERS, RANTERS, OPINIONISTS & OTHER ALL-OUT FREAKS: Kimberly Peters Mark Taylor-Canfield Matthew Gorman Paul Blow Lucifer Emily Eufinger Gabriel Zolman Saab Lofton Malice Gina Simon Jason Sibert Henry Nicolle Bill Oberg Stu
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.
by Henry Nicolle
Light-Headed Visions Of The Universe And Everything
ESSAY
P
eople are weird. They ask questions. Many are not questions at all, but unconcealed challenges. Lately, people question if I obey “God”. I object, at least until the unlikely moment that we agree on the definition and reason. And then, they argue. Assertions of “God’s Supreme Authority” invite me to stitch a border around common wisdom and presumptions of “God”, gods” and the Universe and Everything. (credit loosely owed to The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams.) Their Legal Argument is based upon their anchor in a subjective belief of morality established by a God or gods. Why is this stupid thing the law? or Why should this stupid thing be the law? “Because God Said So.”, it is pronounced. It seems to me that the demand and argument may each rest upon a single fallacy. The fallacy is the presumption is that “God” or “gods” are inherent in the nature of the Universe. “She Who Must Be Obeyed!” (She, A History of Adventure, by Henry Rider Haggard.) With faulty premises, conclusions are difficult. With false premises, valid conclusions are impossible and confusion reigns. Belief demands abandonment of reason, proof, examination and conclusion. Must we believe what is not? It is easy. It is inherent of the brain to know but to show us a fantasy. Suffice to say, never jump out of a perfectly good airplane with a back pack that you “believe” holds a “parachute” unless you are only a step from the ground and the plane is not moving. Under the influence of gravity is the wrong time to examine your premise/parachute. Part of the problem of the universe is that it is too much to comprehend. Hence, confusion rules all attempts to understand it all. The experts know nothing that they claim to know. Submit = Islam. Submission to belief and faith = Christianity and most others. If you get serious about “God”, the Universe and Everything, you find that what philosophers say have nothing to do with God, the Universe and Everything. They say it is all too much to grasp and understand without personification. They say submit to that reality. Since reality it is unknowable, give it a name as an anchor and try to understand the anchor, but do not be dismayed at the impossibility. In the ideal, accept it for what it is, without complicating things by personifying the inexplicable. If “God” is, it is All, for all time, space and probability and of all things improbable and impossible. That being the case, God includes us and we are part of God and therefore to submit is
to be satisfied that we are part of God, incapable of being anything other than that piece of God that we are. Regardless of what we do and what is done to us, we are and cannot alter fact. Does it matter then, how one views the Universe or God ? I think not. If God is, then God is and it is the same for any who might argue either for or against the fact. It is a done deal. If God is not, the Universe is. Regardless of no God, no amount of belief, logic, argument or discovery will change the fact. Again, we must submit to what is, because it is and cannot be changed. God or no God. Before we were born, while we live and after we die, we exist in different form, organization and manifestation but share the same energy and matter of the Universe. If there is only the Universe and God is a human invention to explain submission, then life is simple. Treat with others as you would have them treat with you, keep your promises, do no harm, repair your errors and mistakes, defend your neighbor’s liberty as your own. Life is probably even more simple than that. Live and let live. Hold life’s mysteries in your box of secrets to examine from time to time and wonder over them. But live while you have life. Live honorably fully and fruitfully, whatever that may mean in your particular geography and time. Our principles of Law cannot be based upon religious inventions nor should they be unlimited in subject or scope. Communal approbation will change with time, geography, circumstances and culture. The minimal universal requirements for a free and self-determined society is not easy. We have a good start though, in our Declaration of Independence: 1. We are born equal with certain unalienable Rights, among which are Life, Liberty and Pursuit of Happiness. 2. Governments are created to preserve those Rights and when they fail, it is our duty to change or abolish them. Claim your Rights. Deny all incumbents reelection. Live Free Now!
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A Day In The Life Of An Alternative Media Journalist - Jet Fighters Scrambled During Obama Event
written by Mark Taylor-Canfield
S
ecurity measures were heightened to a serious level in the city of Seattle during the month of August. According to the Seattle Times, prior to August 18th, information regarding President Barack Obama’s visit to Seattle was “sketchy” at best. However, it was announced that as a part of a five-state tour to raise campaign funds for Democrats, President Obama was scheduled to attend a fundraiser at the Westin Hotel in the downtown business district. The event was organized to raise money for US Senator Patty Murray’s re-election campaign. Traveling with the President was former Washington state governor Gary Locke, who is now serving as the current Secretary of Commerce for the Obama administration. President Obama also planned to be on hand at a second political fundraiser at the home of the super wealthy founder of Real Networks, Rob Glaser. This event was to be held at an exclusive upscale community on lake Washington. There was no chance for overheated locals or tourists to go swimming at the lake in this area on that warm August day. The public park next to Glaser’s property was declared off-limits by local police and Secret Service agents. My friend Michael was there to swim that day but he was told by law enforcement authorities that he would be forced to leave the area due to the President’s visit. My friend told the officer what he thought of the inconvenience. “I’m not voting for Obama again,” Michael declared. “He’s just another puppet controlled by corrupt multinational corporations.” According to my friend, the police officer responded to his political tirade with a sarcastic laugh. The cop told him, “Sorry, but you gotta go...” As soon as Air Force One arrived at Boeing Field selected streets and highways were closed to clear the roads for the presidential motorcade. Of course this caused some major traffic jams and chaos throughout the city. For many Seattle residents, the situation was very reminiscent of George W. Bush’s visits to the Emerald City. Bush’s forays into the city proved to be highly inconvenient and very costly to the tax payers who were forced to pay for all of the extra security measures and extra police required to keep the president safe. Unlike Bush, President Barack Obama was actually a resident of Seattle for a short period when he was an infant and his mother was attending the University of Washington. Of course, the real reason for his visit in August was not to reminisce about his childhood, but rather to generate significant amounts of cash for his allies in the state and municipal government. We found out later that Obama was also scheduled to meet with local businesses for an economic roundtable. None of the events during the president’s visit were open to the public. Even some reporters had a difficult time getting into these fundraisers so they could do their work and cover Obama’s activities in Seattle. Although Obama’s handlers were obviously more friendly to the media than Bush’s people had been, his tour of Seattle was not an easy assignment for most journalists. The city where historic protests shut down the World Trade Organization a decade ago is mostly liberal politically. Most of the local and state politicians are Democrats who support Obama and they continue to champion his policies. But despite this support from the politically elite, there were demonstrators outside of the Westin Hotel during the President’s visit, just as there had been on November 30th and throughout that fateful week in 1999. Granted, the number of protesters at the Westin for Obama’s visit was quite small in comparison to the tens of thousands who had continued to blockade
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the hotel and who had participated in demonstrations during the WTO conference ten years ago. But even in this progressive part of the nation there are definitely a vocal group of vigorous Obama detractors. They claim his policies are only helping the rich while the middle class and the poor continue to suffer economically. Some local political activists have accused the President of being merely a “lame duck” who is being manipulated by conservative forces in the government. In any case, there were some protest signs outside of the Westin, mostly calling on Obama to support federal legislation that would create a national infrastructure based on green technology and sustainable energy programs. Other demonstrators were demanding an end to the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. At one point while I was at the Westin Hotel covering the President’s visit, I stood next to a woman with a cell phone camera who was desperately trying to get a photo of the President as he exited the building. Considering
that there may have been a decoy motorcade with a look-a-like stand-in for Obama to distract people from the real motorcade, I assumed she would not be able to get her desired photo. I have heard that the Secret Service performs that kind of charade sometimes for the President’s protection. Also, given the fact that the actual motorcade route would always be kept secret from the public, I knew she was probably not going to be successful in her quest to photograph President Obama. I think she really wanted to send the pictures back to her relatives in Florida as a souvenir from her stay in Seattle. The well-dressed African American woman, about thirty years of age, kept pointing her cell phone randomly above the heads of the crowd hoping to capture something interesting. Suddenly, shortly after 1:30 PM, all of us in attendance at the hotel were startled half to death when we heard two loud booms that sounded like major explosions. I watched as the concussive sounds shook the hotel windows violently. They bowed in and out twice during the shock waves and I thought the glass would shatter from the change in air pressure. Some folks thought the hotel was under attack by unknown terrorists who were trying to get to the president. A few people reportedly “hit the deck”, assuming that the situation was extremely
dangerous. The response by the authorities and the president’s security team was an immediate lock down of the building. The woman next to me looked very worried and she remarked “Obama’s already said publicly that he’s received more threats than any of the other previous presidents combined.” I didn’t know whether her statement was true or not because I couldn’t verify that the president had actually used those words, but it certainly sounded plausible. I was also convinced that bombs had actually exploded nearby and I also assumed that the situation was unpredictable and dangerous. As it turned out, those loud booming noises were heard by folks as far south as Portland, Oregon. 911 emergency lines were temporarily jammed with reports of possible explosions. Car alarms went off and farm animals were spooked by the sound. Meanwhile, at 1:38 PM two US military jet fighters from the 142nd Fighter Wing of the Oregon National Guard had been scrambled from Portland International Airport. They were flying at supersonic speed toward Seattle to intercept a plane which had violated “restricted airspace” during the president’s visit. This was considered a serious emergency by the military and by the Federal Aviation Administration. The disturbing sounds that everyone had heard were actually the sonic booms caused by the two F-15 Eagles traveling faster than the speed of sound. Of course at the time none of the people around me were aware of this fact. We continued to believe the worst. When I was finally informed that the sounds had been caused by sonic booms, I was still no less frightened by the thought that military jets had been scrambled, apparently due to some imminent security threat. At the Westin we were all speculating about the potential threat. Had there been some kind of military attack on Seattle from some unidentified adversary? Was the president in danger? Had he been harmed? Were we going to be allowed to leave the building? In reality, the F-15’s were headed to Seattle to intercept a seaplane that had violated closed airspace. A restricted zone had been established below 18,000 feet in a 30 mile radius surrounding the Puget Sound area. Lee Daily, the pilot of the Cessna 180 floatplane, wasn’t even aware of the president’s visit. Daily was delivering a passenger from Cheney, a small town in eastern Washington. In spite of the attempted intercept by military jets, the private plane landed safely on Lake Washington at a harbor near Kenmore. The pilot and passengers were immediately interrogated by the Secret Service until it was determined that they posed no threat to the residents of the city or to the President of the United States. I imagine that the pilot of the Cessna was a bit spooked by his unexpected visit with the Secret Service, and most likely he is now extremely embarrassed by all of the media attention he has received because of the
news story. The passenger, Laura Joseph, was quoted as saying, “Oh my God! I can’t believe...is this the top news thing?” Oddly enough, on August 19th - the day after the President’s visit to Seattle - two more military jet fighters went screaming over downtown Seattle at low altitude, causing nervous reactions and anxious remarks from witnesses. That afternoon I was standing at Victor Steinbrueck Park at the The Pike Place Market admiring the view out across Elliott Bay, looking west to the Olympic Mountain range. Out of nowhere, an F-22 and an F-15 came roaring down out of the sky over the heart of the city. The two planes were so loud that I could feel the ground shake beneath my feet. They shot out across Elliott Bay then executed an extremely tight turn to the south where the jets disappeared over Boeing Field. According to the only news report I could find on this incident, the two jet fighters were supposedly flying over Seattle and making people nervous as part of a “private reunion of an Air Force squadron”. KIRO TV’s news helicopter photographed the two planes after they had landed at Boeing Field. Except for this one very brief and almost impossible to find news report, the event went unreported. What is odd about this report is the fact that the explanation for these military jet flights on August 19th comes from an anonymous spokesperson at he Museum of Flight in Seattle. Yet the Museum of Flight claims that there is absolutely no connection between the jets and the museum. So how did some unidentified staff member at the museum become the official spokesperson for the pilots of the jet fighters? It seems strange to me that an unknown museum official has been chosen as the expert source on any information about this incident when the Museum of Flight is still claiming that the jets and the “reunion” are completely unrelated to any official activities of the museum... Many questions remain unanswered by this very limited and controlled news report. For instance - which Air Force squadron is having a private reunion using government aircraft? It must be very clear to anyone that in order to fly through such a high traffic airspace over a major city these jet fighter planes must have obtained special clearance from the US military and from local aviation authorities. It’s also possible that air traffic had to be restricted once again to allow for such an unusual flight. In addition, where was this “private reunion” being held? Where did the planes depart from? A military base, I assume...Why has no verifiable information been made available by the media about this incident? Why is this news report so difficult to find? Why have there been no details and no follow up on this story? I can’t find any other mention of this particular flyover in any other news media. Searchng the KIRO news website for their story is almost useless. If you don’t already have all the available information, this news report will not show up in their search engine no matter how many “key words or phrases” you choose to use. In any case, August was definitely a unique month for folks in the Pacific Northwest. The Obama bandwagon brought both cheers and protests. It inspired both celebrations and and a real sense of fear and loathing in the Jet City.
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Two Parties You Don’t Want To Attend by Kristen Ivy
Open Everyday At Noon
Deverie FX
ONCE UPON A TIME, I had a radio show. And for a few weeks, I had a conservative co-host, someone to spark “debate” and encourage listenership. He couldn't name the Vice President (Dick Cheney, at the time) or find Iraq on a map, but he supported the war! “My father always voted Republican,” my cohost explained, “and he raised me conservative. I believe in America and in god, so I vote Republican too.” As a Marxist/left-leaning libertarian/anarchist/feminist/conspiracy theorist, I am prepared to politely disagree with and debate just about anyone. But you can't debate Stupid. Election season is upon us again, and neither party has to worry about their Stupids or their diehard supporters. The attack ads and campaign dollars are meant for the rest of us in the middle. Like a determined zombie, the eternal candidate Dino Rossi is back, now running for Senate. His ads this year show a vastly different campaign strategy than the usual Republican line of family values and patriotism. He focuses on lowering taxes, creating jobs, and ousting a Democratic leadership that supported the Wall Street bailout. Since when is antielitism a Republican platform? This is the party of corporations, big business, financiers, oil-rich families with big Texas ranches. The down-home, flag-waving GOP image is just a veneer, right? But now that the establishment is liberal, the roles are reversed. “Don't tread on me” has become a conservative, Republican slogan. A phrase like “Take the power back,” one a leftist line from a Rage Against the Machine song, now speaks to Republicans tired of a Democratic president and Congress. Associating rebellion, dissent, and protest make the whole thing seem edgy. And much cooler than Dick Cheney. The Republicans are also embracing Tea Party rhetoric, trying to pretend this isn't the same old
GOP. At first, the Tea Party was dismissed and marginalized as libertarian, Constitutionalist weirdos. But as the movement gained support, it was quickly brought back into the safe confines of the left-right paradigm. Once in power, as we saw during the Bush era, conservatives no longer find dissent patriotic. And we can now see how those rebellious Democrats act once they are in control – greedy, selfish, more focused on their own power than actual freedom. Both these major political parties are a distraction – whether they call themselves the Democratic Party, Republican Party, Tea Party, or the Cup of Coffee With a Shot of Bourbon Party. Is anyone still fooled by their disinformation and squabbling? The real issues remain unsolved because people look to partisan leadership for answers. Our Democrat-led congress hasn't had the interests of the people at heart, but the solution isn't the “new, fresh” Republican Party. Whatever the ads say, Rossi is the same anti-choice, anticontraception, anti-transit, anti-gay conservative.
Neither Republicans or Democrats truly want Constitutional government, reform, freedom, change, or dissent. The ballot this year contains a few breaths of fresh air. My personal favorite is Initiative 1100an end to some of our Draconian liquor laws. Then there's Initiative 1098, already covered in detail by the Stranger, which would tax Washington's richest. Though a classic libertarian cringes at the thought, those of us with Marxist tendencies know how Washington's tax structure, with its reliance on a high sales tax, places an unfair burden on the poor. I'm not telling how to vote or which lesser of evils to vote for. An interested, thoughtful voter with well-reasoned opinions is more than welcome to disagree with me and vote accordingly. This is the American way. Sadly, the new American way is thoughtless partisanship, looking at slogans and labels over issues and facts. The Stupids of the world are voting. It's up to the rest of us to do better.
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Land Of The Free, My Ass! written by Saab Lofton “A nation that is afraid to let its people judge the truth and falsehood in an open market is a nation that is afraid of its people.” – President John F. Kennedy In Seattle, the Pike Place Market (a century old venue for merchants, craftspeople and small farmers) has its own monthly newspaper – for the past several months, a literary serial of mine appeared in it. The serial is entitled Lady Coyote, which is about a fictitious street musician who sings for spare change and dispenses wisdom the way an ancient sage would. However, the newspaper’s publisher, Gary Goedecke, physically threatened me when I asked about my paycheck! TWiCE! The first time was over the phone, at which point, he claimed to have studied under Bruce Lee himself when the legend lived in Seattle, so his old ass actually challenged yours truly to a martial arts duel! The second time was in person, and yes, I finally got paid, but then Gary got in my face, shook a balled fist at me and swore that I’d “regret it” if I ever asked him about money again! What’s worse, Megan Lee, the paper’s editor, sat right there behind her desk the whole time and did/said NOTHiNG! Later, she even went so far as to imply that I was somehow at fault. You see, Gary’s wife died earlier this year, the late Mrs. Goedecke handled payroll, so am I to believe that merely mentioning the word “payday” will set him off? Once again, white folks having the gall to expect everyone to tip toe around their already colossally spoiled comfort level... How about this: Get over that culturally programmed urge to blame a nigger for everyfucking-thing and simply admit that – death in the family or not – it is entirely unprofessional (and downright psychotic) for a publisher to threaten a writer! For the record, I could’ve easily taken this senior citizen down, with or without a black belt, but that’s soooo besides the point – here, chew on this for a while ... pro∙fes∙sion∙al adj \prə-’fesh-nəl, -’fe-shə-nəl\ 3: following a line of conduct as though it were a profession ...the latest issue of the Pike Place Market newspaper was released two weeks late; more unprofessional behavior – and Episode 6 of Lady Coyote was nowhere to be found; there was no explanation or apology or anything. The following is the episode in question, and after reading it, one can clearly see why a teabagging minuteman like Gary Goedecke would have a problem with its message (Oh, did I forget to mention how right-wing Gary is?) ... Lady Coyote a fictional series of vignettes by Saab Lofton Episode 6 “Communism forgets that life is individual. Capitalism forgets that life is social, and the
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kingdom of brotherhood is found neither in the thesis of communism nor the antithesis of capitalism but in a higher synthesis. It is found in a higher synthesis that combines the truths of both.” --Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. To a populace made callous by corporate culture, the homeless are odorous eyesores, but however unsettling they may occasionally be, their presence is a reminder that Lyndon Johnson’s War on Poverty rages on. And when an insensitive tourist pointed out the amount of transients in Pike Place Market, Lady Coyote took that as a cue to strum a melody about how hard street people have it … In Saturday morning serials The hero hung from a cliff Well, we’re all a paycheck away From being frozen stiff ... sadly, her song failed to sway the smug tourist: “We’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t. Either folks are free not to care or we’re forced to help the poor -- and before you know it, we’re in some Stalinist dictatorship.” “That’s ludicrous,” Lady Coyote angrily glared with a pair of narrowed eyes, “my mother is from Scandinavia, where there’s free expression and a rock bottom low level of poverty--” “--but Scandinavian taxes are sky high,” the tourist rudely interrupted, “I’m not spending ten bucks for a can of beer just to take care of some stranger!” “Strangers are friends you haven’t met,” Lady Coyote then glanced at this tourist’s hand, “besides, aren’t you holding a bus schedule? Isn’t public transportation paid for via taxation?” A thoroughly bested tourist stormed off while Lady Coyote called out, “enjoy Seattle’s Ride Free Zone!” (by the way, in Seattle, the buses there are free between six a.m. and seven p.m. so long as you’re riding within the confines of downtown) I wrote this because it’s important for people to finally realize America that is NOT a free country, but an expensive country, and that freedom of the press belongs to those who own one. The snide bitchy critics who insist that my poverty is supposedly my own fault are never around for moments like this; when something as rare and bizarre as a publisher threatening a writer’s life occurs. Sir John Mortimer once said, “I suppose that writers should feel flattered by censorship.” At times, it is flattering to be perceived as so dangerous (there’s a reason why Batman dresses as a creature of the night). Problem is, flattery doesN’T pay my bills …
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StoptheDrugWar.org Arizona Medical Marijuana Initiative Poised for Victory by Phillip Smith, October 20, 2010, (Issue #654)
L
ess than two weeks out from election day, the Arizona medical marijuana initiative, Proposition 203, appears poised for victory. If it wins, Arizona will become the 15th medical marijuana state. Or maybe the 16th -- polls close an hour earlier in South Dakota, which also has a medical marijuana initiative on the ballot. "It's going real well," said Andrew Myers, spokesman for the Arizona Medical Marijuana Policy Project (AMMPP). "Prop 203 is the most popular of any of the initiatives Lily Rose, cancer survivor and Prop 203 spokesperson or the candidates, including John McCain." A Rocky Mountain poll released last week had Prop 203 passing with 54% among registered voters and 52% among likely voters. By comparison, Sen. John McCain in a runaway race has support at 49%, according to the poll. The poll showed strong support among voters under 55 and a near even split among older voters, with 41% supporting and 43% opposed. Two-thirds of Democrats support the measure, as do 57% of independents. Republicans are divided, with 48% opposing, but 40% supporting. "We expect that Arizonans will support Prop 203 the same way we supported medical marijuana before," Myers said, noting that voters had passed medical marijuana initiatives in 1996 and 1998. "Those votes demonstrated a high level of support, and we came back and drafted a complete piece of legislation. We were able to learn a lot of lessons about how these programs operated in other states, and apply those lessons in our initiative." Under the initiative, patients suffering from a specified list of diseases or conditions (cancer, glaucoma, HIV/AIDS, Hepatitis C, multiple sclerosis, Chrohn's disease, Alzheimers, wasting syndrome, severe and chronic pain, severe nausea, seizures, severe muscle spasms) or "any other conditions or its treatment added by the Department [of Health]" could use marijuana upon a doctor's recommendation. Patients or designated caregivers could possess up to 2 1/2 ounces of usable marijuana. The initiative envisions a system of state-registered, nonprofit dispensaries that could grow, process, sell, and transport medical marijuana and be remunerated for costs incurred in the process. In most cases, patients or their caregivers would not be allowed to grow their own medicine. Instead, unless they live more than 25 miles from the nearest dispensary, they would have to purchase their medicine at a dispensary. Patients and their caregivers outside that range would be allowed to grow up to 12 plants. Arizonans have also twice voted to approve medical marijuana, in 1996 and again in 1998. In 1996, the initiative passed, only to be rejected by the state legislature, which placed it on the ballot two years later in order to give voters a chance to rectify their mistake. But the voters again approved medical marijuana, only to find out later that the measure was unworkable because the initiative mandated that physicians prescribe -- not recommend -- medical marijuana. That meant that doctors who wanted their patients to use marijuana would run up against the DEA, which controls doctors' ability to prescribe controlled substances. In 2002, voters rejected a decriminalization initiative that had, as Myers put it, "a wacky medical component." Under that measure, the state Department of Public Safety would have had to distribute seized marijuana for free to medical marijuana patients. Organized opposition has been late and limited. All of the state's sheriffs and district attorneys signed on to a letter opposing Prop 203 earlier this month. Medical marijuana in other states has led to "disastrous results," the letter claimed. "Marijuana floods the state that legalizes it and becomes readily available through grow-houses and independent distributors... Prop 203 would endanger the good people of Arizona by increasing the amount of illegal drugs in our State. We believe Prop 203 will lead to increased crime and vehicle accidents and will drain the resources of law enforcement agencies." The letter warns that passage of the measure would mean "kids (any age)" could use medical marijuana with their parents' permission, but fails to mention either that a doctor's recommendation would be required or that other medications are available to children when needed. It also warns that "you can pilot an airplane, navigate a watercraft and drive an automobile and cannot be charged with DUI if you only have marijuana metabolites in your system and you are a medical marijuana cardholder" -- failing to mention that the presence of metabolites, which can remain in the system form weeks, is not an indicator of impairment. More serious opposition is centered on Keep AZ Drug Free/No on Prop 213, which has been the recipient of $10,000 donations from both former Phoenix Suns owner Jerry Colangelo and the Arizona Cardinals NFL team. This group has been active in getting op-eds published, doing call-ins to radio talk shows, and participating in public forums, but still doesn't seem to be gaining much traction. "For a long time, we didn't hear a peep out of the opposition, but lately it's been getting intense and they've been getting increasingly strident," said Myers. "It's funny because their arguments have been very inaccurate, especially at the beginning of the campaign. I don't think they actually read the initiative before they came out against it." The campaign is running on limited resources. The Marijuana Policy Project put $500,000 into the signature gathering phase of the campaign, but hasn't funded the actual election campaign. That means AMMPP is having to rely largely on local donations, and while the campaign isn't broke, like the opposition, it isn't exactly rolling in money, either. "We're talking to as many voters as we can, we have TV ads up and running, but what we can do will depend on funding in these final days," said Myers. "We have an extensive cable TV buy in Phoenix and Tucson, but we haven't made our final spending decisions yet." 1996, 1998, 2002, 2010. It looks like the fourth time may be the charm for medical marijuana in Arizona.
7
THE HOUSE OF MY ENEMIES Written by Gabriel Zolman In the dreamtime, it was 1999. That year was pivotal, and active for me. I sowed many wild oats—nay, I practically stuffed my pillowcase with the down of ruffled fallen angel feathers, prickling like dope pins, needles at my neck. I worked a lot, and worked out, also. My schedule in flux, I saw most of my friends when at the gym. My workout partner Mark and I would meet up after working in the coal mines of our cube farms, and hit the nearest fitness club like it insulted our loved ones. I frustrated the hell out of him—we were never on the same page, workout-wise. When I stopped taking painkillers, I realized that working out actually hurt. Mark was much more fit than I; so I’d take tons of ephedrine in the hopes of keeping up with him. This backfired routinely, because now I was out of shape, and tweaking. He’d want to work on upper body, and I’d use up our time fixating on the treadmill, or the bike, for two damn hours. It’s a tweaker thing; you wouldn’t understand. After we were finished irritating and disappointing one another, we’d drive through some fast food place, to undo all we’d worked for in a single greasy wrapper. It was fruitless; but it was clean, hetero fun. In the Clinton years, this had become harder to find… But back to the life in slumber’s sweaty busom: In the dream, we’d left the gym; we were mulling over where to eat. It was between Jack In The Box and Burger King—a rock and a hard place, really…the Greasy Devil and the Deep(fried) Blue Sea. Mark steered the car toward Burger King. The drive-thru drool-cup dimwit took our order, never to return. We waited…and we waited…and we fumed, and waited more. Mark stepped out of the car, and went inside—to mete out meaty justice among the minimum wage depraved. He also never returned. Now keep in mind, that he is the dependable one. If Mark goes in a store, you could damn well leave the car running. Let me loose in a store, and… you might as well come back another day. This was inexcusable. He never took this long. He was either arguing, or dead. Either way, I’d been abandoned. Worst of all, my pills were wearing off, and I was hungry like the wolf, and fresh out of Bambis. My patience was on low, but my hunger was on stun. I waited one more minute…then I left. I peeked inside as I walked past—nothing. He wasn’t even there. I walked towards the alternative…Hello Jack… get the fuck back in that Box, and make my food. Jack In The Box is scarcely meat, and I am much afraid upon consumption that it consumes me from within. It does not digest in the gut, so much as gestate in a fatty womb. Their addictive White Trash Tacos are a fryer-trap delight…provided you define “delight” like Brando did. But it’s better than nothing at evening’s bitter, drunken end. I impatiently walked inside. The smell of Death was all around. It was probably the chicken, or whatever misshapen lumps they deep-fried in its place. I approached the counter. And then I looked around. I saw them. I saw them all. I’d walked into the bowels of hell itself, fool that I was. At this establishment, in every seat and eating fries, were enemies of all colors—foes from childhood up. My every adversary, schoolyard bully, overbearing girlfriend, asshole boss, and nemesis were seated in this place, and smiling like Syd Barrett at the wall. Bastards-in-arms, with teeth gleaming like knives to slice my very bones…these were men who’d bugger Santa, with an elf tied to each leg. I shivered in trepidation; stressing, creases crossed my brow like the worried, fearful smiles of NAMBLA’s boys’ choir. Every enemy I’d made or left behind…all here, before my eyes. It was an evil that fogged contact lenses, and mine had not been changed in months. I nodded, smiled, and slowly backed away. An old high school jackboot jock approached. Gleaming with psychosis, his tongue slithered from lip to lip to speak. His eyes were glazed like donuts, holes wherein a soul might be…he was Satan’s grinning glazier, offspring of the King of Hell, and Dairy Queen. Then, in the dumbest Southern drawl, explained how he’d just beaten his old record for how long he could sit with thumb in ass. This threw me off. Then another piss-ant spoke to me—an arrogant son of a bitch who edited a magazine I’d written for long past. He spoke in utter humility, and apologized with waves of “Sorry” lobbed at my befuddled face like shit. One by one, they spoke; one by one, they jested or apologized, or acted like the dumbest men on earth. It was then I felt a certain shame, that I’d ever feared or loathed them. I had a revelation: My enemies were stupid. Or so it would appear... I smiled and nodded more, backing away one final time. I turned my back to order. I heard rustling and snickering behind. Had I made the right decision, then, to stay? Should I have waited on my friends, though they might fail me? Or take my chances that my critics lack good genes—though it all might be a game? A painful, sometimes hungry wait…or immediate fulfillment at the table of the Wolf? And knowing that neither option is lowcarb? And where’s my fucking Horsey Sauce, you goddamn pricks? Where’s the beef?! I awakened with a rumbling gut, and unaware which meat slab caused my curse…but I didn’t care. I lumbered toward the bathroom. I clutched my flab in hand. I’ve gained nearly 30 pounds in the last three months, and I feel like I’m walking around in a rubber suit that’s only vaguely shaped like me. I’m several pounds from healthy, and I drink myself to sleep too many nights. I clenched my fat in hatred. Fuck both places. Fuck ‘em all, I thought and swore. I need a fucking salad. Nothing more.
"The age of brass. or the triumphs of Woman's rights" an 1869 lithograph print published by Currier and Ives (152 Nassau St., New York)
This is a satirical caricature of the possible consequences of giving women the vote. The two candidates "Susan Sharp-tongue the Celebrated Man-Tamer" (dressed in circus-performer costume) and "Miss Hangman for Sheriff" canvass for women's votes (of course in 1869 women couldn't vote anywhere in the United States, except as a newly-established experimental innovation in the remote territory of Wyoming). At the right, a sharp-featured woman brandishes a fist threateningly at her husband, who holds the baby. For some reason, the caricaturist imagines that feminists or manly women would wear grotesquely exaggerated hair chignons.
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HELLO, ST. LOUIS!... AND WELCOME TO THE TENTH EPISODE OF
OUR SINFUL COMMUNITY!
Hello again, St. Louis. I’m still your host, Chet Chesterson, and my job,once again, is to feature some of our local businesses and celebrities with a bit of sinful flare to them. So all you in the audience please stand up and give yourselves a round of applause for supporting your sinful community, and all you folks out there watching on the boob-tube, give yourself a pat on the back, too. You each deserve it!
Tom Huck of EVIL PRINTS Alright everyone... I’m really excited to introduce our next guest. You’ve more than likely seen his art work in local papers and zines like the RFT, but you’ve probably never had the chance to meet him. Well, the folks at The Sinner wanted to bring this guy into your homes through our studio. So, please give the creator of Evil Prints, Mr. Tom Huck, a sinful welcome.... Mr. Tom Huck, long time no see. How have you been doing old friend? I’m busy as hell. I’ve got so much shit going on.......it’s giving me a headache. But it’s good to be busy when you make your living as an artist who makes prints about people having sex in outhouses with dogs and pirates. Life is good! I’m working on a new large woodcut triptych about the first time I saw breasts, a project at Lambert Airport, stuff for Motorhead (my favorite band of all time), new bug prints, and running my print shop Evil Prints. My God, Man, you sound pretty busy. But I guess that’s a good thing in this economy. For some of our viewers out there who may not know you so well, how many zines do you think have you been featured in? And what was your first? Man, I don’t know, there’s been so much stuff out there about me I’ve lost track. My memory isn’t that good. The first one actually might have been in a newspaper, photo by Crystal Rolfe not a zine, but the most recent “underground” thing is the new BLABWORLD vol 1. just published by Last Gasp. They have a piece of mine in there, a small linocut called “Pile o’ Poon”. It’s basically an orgy sandwich stack of a bunch of fat hillbilly women with machetes. I’ve heard through the old Huckvine that you’ve started teaching some classes at your shop. Tell me and our viewers about that... Well Chet, we’re offering affordable, all materials included, 4 week courses in print making. Each class is 150.00. I’ve always felt it to be important to educate the
PUBLIC about what I and everyone at my shop does for a living. So Tom, as someone associated with a business called Evil Prints, what do you have planned for Halloween? The last few Halloweens have been a big party... but, believe it or not, I’m gonna pretty much stay at home. When you work at a place like Evil Prints it’s basically Halloween every fuckin’ day. A scary heart attack around every corner. I’m actually just gonna take my daughters out trick-or-treating in our neighborhood, hang out with the wife, and call it a night! I asked my daughter what she wanted to be for Halloween and she said, “I wanna be a light bulb”! How cool is that for a five-year-old?! So were makin’ her a costume. Since it is Halloween,Tom, what’s your favorite scary movie? Either Monster, Audition, or The Bride of Frankenstein. Monster: Because I felt like I needed to take a shower after I saw it. Audition: Because it’s the scariest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen in my life. The Bride of Frankenstein: Just because it’s the PERFECT monster movie. The sets are badass, the costumes are badass, and Elsa Lanchester is HOT in ‘er makeup and bandages... Gosh Tom, those are a couple I’ll have to check out this weekend. Other than that, we’re running out of time here, so where can viewers find more info about Evil Prints and your classes? Everything you needed to know about EVIL PRINTS and then some can be found at www.evilprints.com. There’s a link on there to our Facebook page if that’s what your into as well! Hey Tom, it was great having you on the show tonight. Thanks for coming out. And all you folks in the audience with a sinful flare for art be sure to check out Evil Prints for a few classes to help expand your mind.... and until next month, be sure to support your sinful community, it certainly needs you!
9
Cigarettes by Harry Mathews
Review by Emily Eufinger
I
almost gave up on this book before even reading half of it. In fact, I did: I started it, stopped for a few weeks; started again, stopped again. Then I thought I’d give it one more chance because Dalkey Archive Press has impeccable taste in publishing literature both beautiful and appalling. From the shocking tale of a man who commits triple incest in Theatre of Incest (Alain AriasMisson), to the graphic gay sex scenes in any one of Coleman Dowell’s novels, to the prolific and disturbing Complete Butcher’s Tales by Rikki Ducornet, Dalkey bravely publishes what mainstream publishers deem “inappropriate” for the Da Vinci Code-devouring masses. And truth be told, Harry Mathews has never let me down; his book of short fiction, Singular Pleasures (which is exactly what it sounds like: a book filled with tales of masturbation), coupled with the dwarf foot-sex scene in My Life in CIA made me a permanent fan. Bluntly put, this is a book about rich people having sex with each other; at least, that’s what it boils down to as far as I’m concerned. There is much discourse on horse racing, writing, and art; insurance fraud; interwoven familial relationships; but all that is mere padding, staging, for the intricate sexual relationships a small group of the privileged elite share, and quite frankly, it is exceedingly banal. But Mathews came through for me once again on my final attempt to enjoy this book, offering up the characters of Lewis and Morris and detailing their homosexual BDSM relationship: Lewis as the submissive, Morris as the verbally abusive dominant. Lewis enters and leaves Morris’ apartment on his knees through a doggy door; he is drugged, stripped, tethered to a chair, and threatened with false brass knuckles on their first venture, but Morris only gets crueler and more creative with each successive encounter. Lewis is bound and dragged around behind Morris as he cooks and eats a sumptuous dinner, again launching an endless stream of insults at his lover. A straight jacket and a studded leather cock ring with inward-facing points provide the next punishment. Then Lewis is manacled and forced to watch Morris be intimate with another man. In the culmination of this affair, Lewis’ naked body is coated in grease; Morris then covers the sub in wet cement, leaving holes for his eyes, ears, and nostrils. Once the cement hardens, Morris again castigates his incapacitated counterpart. During this particular monologue, however, he suffers a heart attack and dies before the powerless Lewis. In an improbable feat of desperation, Lewis manages to rock his cement encasement back and forth until it falls to the floor and breaks, freeing him. The next two chapters chronicle events from Morris and Lewis’ pasts, events that seemingly blaze the trail for their sexual entanglement. Lewis, at three years old, “Discovered how to make a shameful business of his genitals. With tantrums threatened or indulged, he would force Louisa [his mother] to stay with him … and squeeze his penis in a special, reassuring way.” Lewis’ mother assisted him in other ways as well: “Until he was almost ten, he would get up at night in tears if she had not come in to secure the bath mitt in which he lodged his penis while he slept.” As a teenager, an ineffective attempted rape of a younger girl failed due to the fact that he simply did not know what he was supposed to do. In his youth, Morris first nurtured his fantasies with a mail-order kit of various leather and chrome implements. One day his sister arrived home to find Morris and a male companion in the garage: “His hands had been tied behind his back with wire; he was standing on tiptoe, so as not to be choked by the noose of thin white rope strung from a joist above his head.” The rest of the book returns to that monotonous hetero sex (I jest of course), only now it can be relished with much more gusto and fervor due to the standard set by the homoeroticism of Lewis and Morris. Their tempestuous love affair makes Cigarettes a stimulating read.
10
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The Allegory of the Cave
written by Jason Sibert
T
Model: Memorie
he study of metaphysics, or the nature of reality, influences our thoughts more than we sometimes realize. We talk about our search for a soul mate, our goals for the future, and the work of genius we just purchased at the book store, record store or saw at a local art showing. Our soul mate, our goals, or our vision of artistic genius, cannot be measured by the tools of regular physics and are therefore metaphysical. The Ancient Greek philosopher Plato’s Allegory of the Cave was an attempt to expound on the nature of the universe and the philosopher’s place in it. The allegory was a part of Plato’s magnum opus Republic. Plato tells the story of a group of people stuck in a cave facing the wall with a fire burning behind them. They aren’t totally isolated, as they can see shadows of figures passing behind them; these shadows are their only knowledge of reality and they start to label the shadows by physical characteristics but can never see the true nature of reality because their knowledge is limited on what lies beyond the shadows. Plato says the philosopher is like a person who is freed from the cave and sees beyond the shadows and into the true nature of reality. The story expounds on Plato’s theory of forms: the theory that human ideas are superior to the material world. Plato’s vision of the philosopher is of one who interrogates reality and evaluates weather it lives up to its potential. I sometimes wonder if it’s possible to do this in contemporary America: a world where the individual, and his or her thoughts on what represents a better tomorrow, is being swallowed up a large entity, the media industry, which limits our freedoms. Can we have an honest conversation that enriches our democratic republic if our airwaves are dominated by hate radio hosts who close millions of minds to the full range of ideas needed to enrich our democracy? My friends say these hosts represent the opinions of your average American, but surveys say most Americans disagree with them. The media clowns that pollute our airways are a safe bet for corporate sponsors who are unlikely to see their power challenged in these programs. Also, these program’s audiences listen for a prolonged period of time, uncommon for the radio medium, and are exposed to the advertising which supports the program – not a bad business model. But can our speech be downgraded to the level of a business transaction? No, because business values worry mostly about what delivers the most profit for the least amount of money and free speech might or might not support this. Television talk shows are dominated by the same blowhard mentality as talk radio. People who decent from what the television host says are regularly shouted down. The full array of thoughts and opinions are not expressed in most instances. To hear honest dialog, the kind that defined the classical culture of ancient Greece, I have to listen to or watch local, community radio or television. It might be the only way our citizens, who in a free culture like ours have the opportunity to interrogate reality as Plato did, can exercise the grey matter between their ears. But this closing doesn’t stop with punditry and journalism, as most of our popular culture suffers from a similar reality disconnect. Hollywood, a prisoner to the same corporate interests as other forms of media, is always more interested in escape from reality than confrontation with it: rich and beautiful people whose problems are solved in a two hour time frame, violence for no other reason than violence and the usual trip into the world of the supernatural and fantasy. Why do the filmmakers insist on feeding us fantasy instead of making us confront reality? Because they know they can easily sell us fantasy. Is this something that needs to be sold? Does this engage us, make us better citizens, and ultimately make our country a better place to live? No, like what passes for journalism, it degrades our modes of thought. If only a handful of giants control most of the media we consume, where has our freedom gone? It’s rapidly disappearing. Will we continue to strive to interrogate reality, like Plato? Unless we take on the powers that be with more thoughtful media, then I think the answer is no.
11
I STABBED MY LANDLORD
UNMASKED Interview and photos by Chuck Foster
O
n October 8th we found ourselves pushing and shoving our way through Fubar during an all-out Punk and Metal assault, way above the expected norm, even for this rock haven. With both stages firing away in mad rhythm, it was quite the challenge to keep drinks in hand as we roamed from stage to stage looking for the kids, Say Uncle. We had came out to show a little love and support for what they do, but I also hoped to catch a local band or two with enough nitrous in their souls to ignite this crowd into a frenzy, the kind that leaves victims bloody and bruised, cheering and screaming for more. While every band there certainly played their asses off, it was I Stabbed My Landlord who got me off mine and right into the pit, that frenzy I had so patiently awaited. These kind of pits aren’t for the squeamish or easily intimidated. Beer’s thrown at the band, often in cans, cups, and even the occasional bottle. Madmen are blindly jumping on and off stage, sometimes crashing to the floor before being lifted back to their upright position – only to be hoisted into the air, so they can surf the heads and backs of the carnivores below. And then there’s fools like me, the forty-year-old dude with the camera, trying to fight these young beasts off long enough to get one decent shot. That’s a I Stabbed My Landlord show. I decided to sit down with these guys after the show to discuss who they are, where they came from, and what the hell they plan to do next – to Unmask them for a minute or two. And it went something like this: How did this band get started, or what was the madness behind the carrot? Chad (Vocals): Back in High school, I got really into punk rock/thrash/oi! and all things that seem to sound like just loud noise and yelling to everyone else. When I finally got to my first local show, I just knew I wanted to make music. It was awesome. Right then and there I knew I was going to start a band. After grabbing a few buddies together, and asking around for musicians, I came across Dave, our current drummer, Adam, our Guitarist, and Slug, our ex bassist. At the time we were known as “The Flea Bitten Bastards”. When the band broke up because of conflicts, we got back together some months later with the new line up you see now, with the exception of Jake, our second guitarist, who arrived recently. All of us have known each other for years... hell, we have been playing for 6 years. ` With that established, who is I Stabbed My Landlord? While there aren’t any defined roles, generally speaking... I, Chad, am the voice. I try to do most of the talking with venues, setting up shows, and trying to help organize communication with the band. I also write the lyrics and do vocals. Colin, most of the time organizes practices and sits down to do all of our recordings. He’s our bassist; he also covers for my ass if I forget a part of the lyrics, vice-versa. Alcohol is a hell of a drug. Dave is our drummer and has been since day one. Really, between Colin, Dave and myself, we have three people that sort of make sure we do not fall off task and go without practicing too long. Adam has been our lead guitarist since
the dawn of our career, he is a key force in our music writing. He starts his mad riffs, which we all just seem to know, and that is our song writing process. It just takes off when he picks up his guitar. Jake is our second guitarist. He is the band’s metal head. While the rest of us have always been really big into punk rock, Jake showed up in the beginning of this year and really added a lot. He is himself an experienced musician and has been in a lot of his own projects like Ordained Genocide. A longtime friend of the band who always had good advice on how we should add on or play certain songs – he became our second guitarist. He adds some real raw style to the band. Also, he is a fucking ice giant. This dude makes us all look real short. I asked TOK the same question last month, but you, too: How did you guys come up with the name/concept? Chad: A lot of people think we were ripping off of the Dead Kennedys when we came up with the name. Truth of the matter is we had no idea what to name the band, got drunk, then drunker, and it was between “I Stabbed My Landlord” and “Rusty Cheese Grater”. It chose us or something, somehow it fits us. While mingling with the crowd I heard that Chad had left the band for undisclosed reasons, how did that change the band for some of you? Colin: We tried to continue on but only played two shows. It just couldn’t be the band without Chad. We all split and started other bands. After a while we realized that we never had as much fun as we did with ISML. What was up with all the free Merch, like T-Shirts and CDs being given away? What was the madness behind that? Chad: Originally we would sell merchandise. After some thought we realized, you pay to see the bands play, you take time out of your schedule to support the local music scene. You should get something in return. People listening to our music, wearing our shit, really it just gets our rocks off. We should pay for that. Not you. Also, all that math and money management really just confuses us anyhow. What has been your favorite/wildest show; and worst? Chad: Before I left the band we opened for “The Misfits” 30th Anniversary. I think Dave threw up like 6 times outside of the show from the nervousness he got from the idea of opening for those guys. However, the crowd really got into it and beat the living shit out of each other – and we opened for The Misfits. We all left on cloud nine after that show. The worst show we ever played was at the “New” (Old) Creepy Crawl right before it went out of existence. We literally played to an empty venue – meanwhile the janitor was mopping the floor in front of the stage. The sound guy was kind enough to provide crowd participation by asking us to play some Pantera. Who’s your top 5 local bands? Chad: 1. Scene of Irony 2. Opposites Attack 3. Benedict Arnold 4. Say Uncle 5. Without MF (Mother Fucking) Order.
Are you guys sinners? If so, which are each of you most guilty of? Adam: Killing people. Colin: I’m so sexy it hurts Dave: what sin haven’t we done, after all we are a punk band Jake: Over-indulgence. I’ve got quite the dangerously addictive personality. If it’s a new drink I try at a show and really like it, I’ll probably TRY to have 80 before the night is over. Chad: Porn. How do you guys unwind, get away from the club scene? Chad: We drink, we game (we’re fucking nerds), and we play music. Playing music is really how we unwind. All of us are getting in that phase in our lives where we are trying to go to school, work 50+ hours week, pay rent or a mortgage, have a girlfriend and be in a band. Were super busy. Sometimes sitting at home and just having the time to stare at a wall is a beautiful thing. Why do you guys do it, all the work for so little? Chad: It’s like a drug addiction, like smoking. We have tried to quit – we can’t stop. Anytime we even take a break all of a sudden friends, venues, and the emptiness we feel from not playing overwhelm us and are back at it. Do you have any plans to tour or albums? If so, when/where? Chad: We do plan on touring this summer. Most likely were going to do some West Coast shows. We plan on continuing to release albums, and putting them up on the net for free download. Currently the set we have started playing is a lot of our new music written with a lot of Jakes influence. That should be complete by January at the latest. We have an album out now called “In the basement..” It includes our more popular songs from the last 6 years. We will be re-recording that and re-releasing it soon as well. Currently the best place to find our old rough album is at last. fm. It’s free to download. Any last thoughts to share with our readers? Just thanks to our friends out there at our shows, to the guy who throws the first good shove in the pit, to the person who jumps off the stage in an attempt to crowd surf when there is barely enough bodies to catch em, to Moe from Scene of Irony for everything, to all the Punks and Metal-heads who come out and enjoy our set. These loud noises are for you ass-holes!
BANDS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT
written by Malice
J
ohnny Saint & The Princes of Hell is one of this area's upand-coming rockabilly bands with a horror flare, and every time we see them they get a little better. I'm sure it won't be long before they're the headliner for some really big shows! Johnny is no amateur, either. By day he works at Guitar Center in sales - so this man knows his stuff. Cicero's was the scene of destruction earlier last month on my birthday; great food, cool atmosphere, and very prompt service. We ran into a few people I “know� through Facebook and a few others I recognized from the past Butcher Holler show at The Crack Fox; they're all in our pics, tagged themselves, and now we're all buds (NEW Usual Suspects). The one thing we all share in common: our love of the local scene and the desire to keep it going. And somehow it doesn't quite feel like meeting a stranger. Ater all, with all the social networking going on, we know what the other had for dinner, our minor irritations of the day, and the little things one can base a conversation on, all from our postings on facebook. But I digress...
I asked a few questions of Mr St. John while there... How long has your band been on the scene? Friends of mine saw you in 08, and Mindy tells me she's known you & Myles forever. We see you all over the place and know that you're a huge supporter of the local scene. You were a familiar face long before I ever knew your name. Finding influence from the Reverend Horton Heat, the Living End, Tiger Army, Nekromantix and Devil's Brigade, drummer Barry DaLive and I agreed to form a psychobilly group as a sideproject from his now defunct street punk band, Spatula Face. We formed in the summer of 2002 with Joey Glenn (former Vulture and current member of Pokey LaFarge and the South City 3 and Rum Drum Ramblers) on upright bass and called ourselves the HellRazors. Barry DaLive has been on stage in every following band I've been associated with since and the name of the groups we've been in has changed as we rotated through bassists. Johnny Saint and the Princes of Hell formed in 2007. What's the story behind the band's name? Cool
photo by Rabid Rabbit ass name for a band! That's what grabbed my attention before we ever saw you play, but your showmanship has brought us back for more. Johnny's last name is St John...so it just Had To Be. The thought of being backed by the very princes of hell has infinitely been an intriguing collaboration. The musicians surrounding me took on these roles without asking for the title, yet bestowed by fate and accepted by all parties. You've been on the scene for awhile. I'm curious to know what other bands have you been involved with over the years? THE HELLRAZORS (2002-2004): Joey Razor (upright), Johnny Saint, Barry DaLive; LONG JOHN THOMAS AND DUFFS (2004): Ray Rough (bass), Scott Lasser (drums), Johnny Saint (guitar); JOHNNY SAINT AND THE HELLRAZORS (2004-2005): Larry "Van Blo" Davis (elec bass), Johnny Saint, Barry DaLive; JOHNNY SAINT AND THE APOSTLE PAUL
(2005): Paul Rey (drums), Johnny Saint; SPIDERS AND COWBOYS (2006-2007): Larry "Van Blo" Davis (elec bass), Johnny Saint, Barry DaLive; JOHNNY SAINT AND THE PRINCES OF HELL (2007-present): upright bassists appearing in chronological order: "Baby Jake" Kamp (Miss Jubilee and the Humdingers, Kim Lenz), Paul Bearer (Paul Bearer and the Coffin Kings), Abe Grosswaser (Trigger 5), Myles Davis Jr (current). *Johnny moved to Los Angeles before the first show and never appeared on stage or the album. Who has been your favorite band to share a stage with? Hands down, 3 Bad Jacks. We've opened for 3 Bad Jacks more than any other national act and it is always an outstanding experience. Elvis (frontman and guitarist) is always professional yet down-to-earth and personable and encouraging. Once when the Jacks were booked with another band, the opener dropped out at the last moment and I called up a former bassist to throw together a cover set hours before the show just to share a bill with these guys one more time. Hands down, Elvis is the king.
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Drinking in Culture:
Schlafly Art Outside, September 10-12 by Emily Eufinger
glasswork
by Erin T aylor
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t. Louis is a town rife with talent in genres and media across the board: art, music, performance—of all types and styles. And the Art Outside alternative art fair held at Schlafly Bottleworks has been showcasing more than just art since 2004. I was inevitably drawn first to the beer taps for a hangover remedy. Stop scowling at me; I was at a brewery, damnit. Sweet nectar of the gods in one hand and pocket-sized camera in the other—for all the world appearing the essence of professional journalism—I set off to immerse myself in some culture. My vision is assaulted with the array of shapes, colors, textures, and media—artists familiar and foreign, masterpieces both decorative and functional. Paintings, drawings, photography, glass, jewelry, wood, textiles, ceramics, and sculpture from the areas finest local artists scattered in all directions. Local bands provided the melodic backdrop and the weather certainly didn’t put up a fight. I don’t presume to be an art critic, nor do I want to be one. When something speaks to me I can only interpret based on my own experiences and emotions; I can only postulate what the artist thought and felt while creating it. The detailed and kaleidoscopic glasswork of Erin Taylor stood out to me; minute vases and figures painstakingly crafted. The colorful glass heads on a stake simultaneously struck me as both whimsical and sinister. Likewise, the mixed media shadow boxes of Christopher Lynch projected an air of grim effervescence, like a single pink daisy sprung up from the dirt of a gravesite. Children’s toys broken apart and brightly painted, juxtaposed with wood and metal to create phantasmagoric landscapes blithe and playful to the naked eye, with macabre significance lurking beneath. An energetic and enthralling conversationalist, Tim Jordan captivated and befriended patrons browsing his stall. However, his work speaks for itself: distorted hunks of metal fused with contorted glass splashing over the rusted heaps like ocean waves frozen in time. He commented that even if he doesn’t sell a single piece of work, the festival is worth the trip for him because he always makes so many friends. What struck me this year that I never noticed before, despite its prominence, was the effort that goes into displaying the objects of an artisan’s obsession. This art show is not just a row of cloth tents, much more than just paint on canvas. I never thought about it before, but you can’t hang an arrangement of framed photographs on a canvas sheet, or set a shelf on uneven concrete and expect it to balance delicate teacups and sculpture. Ad hoc drywall, faux hardwood floor, shadow box displays, mounted wooden shelves, floor-to-ceiling glass shelving were some of the impressive improvised components used to make a 10 x 10 cloth tent feel like a miniature gallery. Whether you come for the art, the beer, the food, the music, or all of the above, Art Outside is a great way to experience a great deal of the talent and culture St. Louis has to offer. ------------------Erin Taylor teaches at Craft Alliance in the Delmar Loop: Intro to Glass Sculpture, Thursday, November 11th, 6:30-9:30pm. All classes welcome beginners. Sign up on-line at: www.craftalliance.org. Currently you can find his work at these locations around town: Salt of the Earth, Webster location (on big Bend), Dogtown Gallery and Frame Shop, City Museum Gift Shop, and The Edwardsville Art Center. Christopher Lynch will be participating in a group show December 4-6 at the Mad Art gallery. It is a “department store” style show, with art grouped in like categories. You can find more information about Tim Jordan and his work at www.typejordan.com.
An example of the hard work and creativity that goes into displaying the many types of art.
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myspace.com/stlouissinner
Sinful Nights... Mandina’s Sports Bar 2 Year Anniversary
You’d never guess it by walking through the front door of Mandina’s Sports Bar (1319 St. Louis Ave), but owner Charlie Mandina is known for putting on some pretty wild shows, especially ones with a bit of Metal. And that’s just what he did for their 2 year anniversary. The island rhythms of Rhumboogie began the night, but the hard hitting A Death & A Promise finished the night off! Check this place out for more shows and $1 PBRs!
Them Damned Young Livers @ Fubar
SCENE & HEARD IN OCT A SHOW YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE MISSED! The Hail Marys and Vendetta Sonata @ Way Out Club
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by Malice
hough I'm bitterly disappointed that Warner Drive canceled their St. Louis date, I completely understand that it didn't make financial sense for them to come all the way out here just to entertain me, when they had too many open dates over a 3 week period. They do plan on coming back in November-ish. On the bright side I got the opportunity to see my buddy Shawn Telkamp in action with his new band, Vendetta Sonata (formerly Creative DiverVendetta Sonata sion), who also is a HUGE fan of photo by Rabit Rabbit The Hail Marys. He had this to say about them, "The Hail Marys make me wanna do two things: 1) thank the lord for good music, and 2) bad, bad, bad things really well." Amen to that! If you haven't seen Vendetta Sonata, you're missing out on a really good show. They love what they do and it's evident in every note. The bass player is very entertaining to watch, kinda reminds me of Flea in the way he moves. I find their sound is reminiscent of Screaming Trees, but with more of a punk flavor. This night Shawn experienced a "metal moment" when he sliced his finger open on his belt, blood went everywhere, however a little duct tape and a cocktail napkin took care of the injury. After all, if you don't go home bruised & bloodied, you didn't have a good time! The Hail Marys are a Sinner Favorite, between Chuck Foster & myself, you should be well versed in THM antics by now. If not, then you just haven't been paying attention. We love Ryan, Pink, & Hercules (they've got a new drummer, and I'm sure we'll love him, too), but most of all we love our Katie – she purrs, she growls, and she snarls in the finest punk tradition, and she can croon a love song like nobody's business. This band has been around for a solid 10 years; their sound is tight, and each one of them is a veteran on the music scene. Punk Like There's No Tomorrow. A little bit of social D, a whole lotta Ramones, a guitar parade and you've got one hell of a good time! We come out to see them every chance we get: Valentine's Day, New Year's, Sinner Parties, and any other time they're on the bill. It was a great pleasure to run into several of The Usual Suspects at The Way Out, fellow supporters of the local scene – and we've all tagged each other in our pics on facebook . We all plan on getting together The Hail Marys for another show. If you hit up The Way Out or Crack Fox or The Firebird, you'll find us there!!
UPCOMING SHOWS YOU DON'T WANT TO MISS! * Scene Of Irony @ Lemmons on the 29th – good news for Mo & Company, they've got a shot at getting signed, and The Swingin' Utters opened the door for them ! It's expected to be a sold out show, so get there early, the place only holds 150 peoples! I can only say one thing about Kansas City based Them Damned Young Livers: Don’t miss their next show! Find it at: www. themdamnedyounglivers.com.
Coming up in November, TWO of my favorite bands in the whole world will be in town. On the 19th, PROSEVERE will be at Lemmons! If you need a severe metal moment, THIS is the band to deliver it. On the 24th, as I mentioned earlier, Warner Drive is coming back to The Way Out Club – a homecoming of sorts for Ronnie. It's been a very long time since I've been THIS stoked about a band. Their energy is contagious, their stage show is a tremendous adrenaline rush. As you may remember, Ronnie "Elvis" James is our very own homegrown rockstar who ran off to Cali about 6 years ago and now he's in a HUGELY successful band that tours extensively all year long. They have legions - not only of fans – but of FRIENDS who offer to feed them, house them, and generally take care of them photo by Rabit Rabbit wherever they go. I promise you, you're gonna love my boys as much as I do! I hope to see some of The Usual Suspects at the next show! Because it's all about THE MUSIC THE VIBE THE FRIENDS FOR LIFE Malice
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Rose, When did you realize you wanted to be a designer? I never actually did have that realization. The truth is that I started making my own clothes because I could never find or buy what I wanted. I wore my bizarre creations out to clubs; people in the clubs started to ask me where I bought my clothes, and when I told them I made them myself, I was suddenly called a fashion designer. Then people wanted me to make something for them, and pay me for it. Before I knew it, I had a fashion label, a website, national press coverage, and a very supportive market - all before I turned 20.
text by Gina Simon photos by Todd Davis
What about your Education? I have a bachelors in business, which was almost an English Literature degree before I was convinced at the last minute that business was probably a more sensible choice. My grandmother and mother are bothartists and musicians; they taught me the basics of sewing, drawing, painting, and music. I was home schooled most of my life, so there were lots of non-traditional instructions in the creative arts. I started drawing pictures of outfits when I was very small, and I handsewed little gowns and veils for my dolls. I started playing around with piano and guitar not long after.
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ver since I was featured on the 3rd Issue of St. Louis Sinner, I have been offering my help with the publication in photographing events and finding talented artists to grace the cover each month. Last year after seeing Rose Mortem play in her band (The Awakening) I knew she was perfect for Sinner Magazine. Rose Mortem has been designing fashion professionally since May of 1998 when she released her first commercial designs and launched her then self-titled label. She has contributed as an artist, consultant and show coordinator on numerous occasions throughout her career, most recently specializing in custom fashions for touring musicians and working with independent films and theatre productions. Over the last several years Rose has released countless designs, streamlining the current selection to reflect a variety of ideas from past and present inspirations. Born in Cleveland, Ohio to a scholarly and creative family, Rose was immediately immersed in the arts and ideals of her 60’s generation parents. Her father attended Kent State University during the era of the infamous Kent State Massacre, the fatal protest shootings of May 4, 1970. Rose’s mother home-schooled she and her elder sister, taught piano and drawing, and enforced a daily regimen of extensive reading and study. After her parents’ divorce, Rose traveled the US extensively with her mother; living in over a dozen cities across the country. Upon finally entering public school at age 13 in Cheyenne, Wyoming, she was moved ahead two grades, and graduated high school before her 16th birthday. It was at this time that Rose first began dissecting thrift store fashions and re-designing them in to her own creations. As a long-time alternative music devotee, music remains Rose’s most essential inspiration today. This inspiration has resulted in designs heavily influenced by musicians and their respective eras, from the Classical era of Mozart to the modern resurgence of post-punk. She has promoted hundreds of alternative bands throughout the US, with a focus on helping non-US acts with their touring efforts. A musician herself, in 2008 Rose became the pianist/keyboardist for legendary alternative rock outfit The Awakening, shortly thereafter marrying frontman, producer and composer Ashton Nyte of Johannesburg, South Africa. In addition to Rose’s fashion and music involvement, she is a frequent contributor to a variety of literary magazines, a painter, and student of classic literature and theology. Her favourite literary inspirations include Kahlil Gibran, Robert Persig and Jim Carroll; among her favourite artists are Yoshitaka Amano, John William Waterhouse and Howard Pyle. Today Rose predominantly resides in the United States with her family.
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Narcisse Skirt - Bustled Corset crafted by Lady Maeve's Closet The Narcisse Skirt can go from romantic antebellum to alluring burlesque with the pull of a few ribbons. A new addition to our 2010 line, the taffeta construction creates an irresistible eye-catching sheen; hem is adorned with a three-inch chiffon trim. Several pullstyle encased ribbon ties allow the skirt to be bustled all over, at any desired length. The unbustled length is several inches below floorlength to allow for creating a rear train, or for plenty of volume in bustling.
What are your accomplishments? I suppose it depends on one’s perspective...I could name many tangible milestones or awards, but for me, continuing to insist upon having a life of inspiration and creativity is my greatest accomplishment. Mediocrity and complacency are right around every corner; I think it takes a degree of vigilance to recognize it and avoid it. Where can we buy your designs? The best avenue is still my website at www.rosemortem.com or even my Etsy page at www.etsy.com/shop/rosemortem. Where will we see you next? My next show is on Friday, October 29 at Koken Art Factory for the Monster Mash Art Bash. What is your goal? Simply put, to inspire and be inspired. Plans for the future. I’m a bit of a workaholic, so there are several. I’m currently working on writing my second novel; we (The Awakening) will be releasing our ninth studio album early next year and touring again, and I’ve already drawn a few things for my next fashion line...
Cerasus Skirt with Imperialis Gloves Our Cerasus Skirt is inspired by antebellum embellishments, combined with a modern gothic elegance. The luscious satin skirting is accented with a lightly ruffled double layer of chiffon overskirting at knee-length, which features adjustable ribbon gathers for maximum control over your look. Tie up all the ribbon gathers for a more delicate look, or use only a few for a more traditional antebellum tieback style. The chiffon accent is secured with delicate cording. A three inch ruffled lace trim finishes the final hem. Skirt has a soft elastic waistband. Shown here with our Imperialis Gloves.
Tell us about your music. It’s not mine per se, as I don’t do any of the writing. I perform, I suggest, I criticize! The Awakening is and has always been the brainchild of Ashton Nyte, who writes all of the music including my piano or synth parts. That being said, I would describe The Awakening as deeply emotional, theatrical, decadently dark music that can range from metalesque gothic rock to hauntingly ethereal piano ballad. We have eight albums and two EPs, and are currently working on the ninth which is slated for a March 2011 release. The history of the band is very unique; I only joined it in 2008. Prior to that, the band was based in Johannesburg, South Africa where it had already headlined every national festival (ranging from a few thousand to 30,000 people), had about a dozen #1 singles, and had been featured in everything from Orkus and Zillo in Germany, to the equivalent of Good Morning America for South Africa. It has been an interesting challenge to establish the band in the states, but it is coming along. Who inspires you? Without a doubt, my partner and husband, Ashton. His creative addiction constantly fuels my own. I’ll hear him picking out a new song on guitar in the studio; I immediately think of the story that fits the music, the characters, the clothes those characters would wear. In addition to him, I am often inspired by some piece of music or book I have recently read. Right now I’m obsessed with the band Wovenhand, and have been reading Nick Cave’s latest, The Death of Bunny Monroe. I also love the new Neil Young, Le Noise, produced by the incomparable Daniel Lanois. Tell me about your kids and marriage. I have two sons, they’re both shaping up to take over the world one lego at a time. As for marriage...I experienced what can only be described as love at first sight; fortunately it was a mutual experience. Ashton and I were married a little over a year after meeting, amidst immigration proceedings and tours and album releases. Our life together continues to feel like a divinely inspired experience, and I’m grateful every day for it.
Narcisse Skirt (Unbustled) with our Pervenche Top
myspace.com/stlouissinner
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ver the past year or so I’ve chatted with Chris Sabatino numerous times about his plans for renovating the other half of his art and tattoo studio, Art Monster, but as with most independent shops, renovations are costly and slow. So when Chris threw us an invite for the unveiling of his new art gallery on October 16, we cancelled all plans for the night and headed down for the opening party – and what a party it was! Approximately 600 friends and curious visitors from the street mingled back and forth from Art Monster’s gallery, tattoo shop and outside bar throughout the night, each entertained by the cryptic beats of DJ “L Dude” from Quasar Camp and fire performances by Rusty Cat & Crew. Also worth mentioning is the photo booth donated for the evening by MONKEYBUSINESSPHOTOBOOTH.COM. This was a popular attraction with all the guests, which took a series of shots of you or your group when you posed in front of the lens. It captured plenty of smiles, laughs and debauchery throughout the night. The opening reception was a collaboration of Chris’ and Myles Keough’s unique styles merged onto individual canvases. Chris says that the two have known each other for about three years now and that he has always admired Myles’ work, so he thought the mix of their work would be perfect for the opening. And it ended up being a big seller, too! Chris’ signature character of Art Monster is present in most of his works, which he calls “Vibes”. He says the character is a representation of his life, that he tries to push the same feeling through these characters that you feel when you meet him. It’s the way he lives his life, full force, always giving it 100%! If interested in submitting work for a show or space rental feel free to contact Chris at: 314 616 5216 or sabatinoart@gmail.com.
ByMatthew MatthewGorman Gorman written by
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VER SINCE I WAS YOUNG, I have been what you might call “sensitive”. I don’t claim to be psychic, mind you, just perhaps a little more in tune with an unseen world than your average work-a-day Joe. As a result, I have had many experiences throughout my life that might easily be classified as paranormal. I even wrote about it in this column when I first started writing for The Sinner way back in 2004. The column was entitled, appropriately enough, “My True Ghostly Encounters” and was a summation of all the strange dealings that I have had with the spirit world, including the sighting of a full-bodied apparition at a haunted apartment complex I used to stay at on Seattle’s Capitol Hill! Recently, during a conversation with my girlfriend about such matters, I realized that I had left (blocked?) something out, something that happened to me on more than one occasion as a very little boy… What would occur was the following: I would wake up in the middle of the night, or already being awake, I would simply turn my head, and standing there to the left side of my bed (it was always on the left side for some reason) just a couple of feet from me would be a tall figure clothed in a hooded black robe. I now remember that this happened to me several times during my childhood, probably around the age of 5 or 6, but I can’t quite remember exactly when. In resolute terror, I would throw the covers over my head and pray for it to leave. It never made a sound, or attempted to touch me or to interact with me in any way. It just stood there. I suppose that eventually it would just go away, or I’d fall asleep with the covers still over me, but for some strange reason I cannot recall how those experiences ended up resolving themselves. I do, however, remember bringing my ghastly nocturnal situation to my mother’s attention on one oc-
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casion, and her reassuring me that it was just my father checking in on me. This from the same lady who told me to simply turn on the lights if I ever got scared at night, and myself countering with, “What if I don’t make it to the lights?” Well, true enough, my father did wear a big, brown bathrobe that could have likely appeared black in a darkened room, but it certainly didn’t have a hood, and he was never much one for checking up on us kids while we slept. Also, I remember the figure as being much taller than my father, and much skinnier, too (sorry, dad!). So what was this being, and what was it trying to say to me, if anything at all? Was it simply my overactive imagination, or some hypnagogic hallucination? Or was it, perhaps, something more? It turns out that many people have also experienced visions of tall, black-robed and hooded entities, so many, in fact, one wouldn’t be hard-pressed to refer to it as a phenomenon of sorts. Of course, the most common association with this image is that of the Grim Reaper, or The Angel of Death, as he is often known. Nearly ever culture has some bringer of death, or some psychopomp, the term used for the being that aids a person in crossing over to the realm of the dead. Sometimes this death-centric being is benevolent, helping a soul upon its journey, and in other cases, destructive, like the biblical Angel of Death, reigning fire down upon whole civilizations. But Death, in his reaper guise came about amid the 15th Century in Europe. The black hooded robe he wears was the traditional garb of pallbearers at the time. Artists, to further ensconce in the Reaper the symbolic embodiment of Death, added the sinister skeleton beneath the hooded cloak a bit later. The scythe he is depicted as wielding was an homage to Father Time, or the old God, Sat-
urn, reaping what is sewn. It should be noted that I witnessed neither skeleton nor scythe in my experiences. The Grim Reaper? Is this to say that this is what so many others and I have witnessed? Or could it be that various kinds of spirits or entities co-opt this manmade image from our collective psyches? Perhaps spirits both good and evil, angels and demons alike, use the Reaper image to impart their wisdom or simply to spread terror. Perhaps this is merely an interesting phenomenon of the brain like sleep paralysis, which is believed to cause night terrors, or the previously mentioned hypnagogic hallucination when the brain is in a relaxed or easily suggestible state. I suppose one can’t really know for sure, but following are a few examples of people’s widely varying experiences with this frightening image. One man recounted the story of what had happened to his sister on an online forum dealing with the paranormal. He said that one night as his sister was lying in bed, not yet asleep, she heard footsteps approaching down her hallway. Believing it to be her half-sister who was scheduled for a visit, she called out the other woman’s name. There was no answer. Instead, moments later, a figure in a hooded black robe appeared in the doorway of her bedroom. While she had heard its “footsteps” in the hallway, as it entered her room it seemed, instead, to simply glide across the floor (a common claim in Reaper sightings). It whispered a chant in an unknown language and followed this by saying “ma-MA!” It repeated the chant several times as it moved towards her, each time ending with “ma-MA!” As the hooded entity neared her, the woman was completely paralyzed. It reached out its hand (the report did not mention if it was skeletal or not) and physically grabbed the woman’s crotch! She managed
to scream out, “STOP!” and the figure disappeared. In less than a week, however, her physically handicapped son had passed away. The man relating the story described his sister as a “level-headed” person who had never even believed in such things until her encounter. She insists that she was fully awake when it occurred, and had not dozed off at all. She described the hooded figure as an “evil demon”, and does not think of it as a benevolent or even a neutral force that was merely foretelling of her child’s death. Another man, living in New York a number of years back, tells of a more benevolent entity with similar characteristics. He was watching T.V. and looked to his side (the left, I wonder?) and saw a robed skeleton standing there. The skeleton spoke to him and told him that his wife had just taken an overdose of pills. Sure enough, he ran to the bathroom to find her unconscious on the floor, the empty pill bottle on the floor next to her. He was able to rush her to the hospital in time for the doctors there to save her life. Another report of a hooded figure warning of death occurred back in 1966, when a woman had dozed upon the couch, waiting for her baby daughter, who was sleeping in an upstairs bedroom, to wake up. She claims that for some reason she snapped awake, just in time to see a black, hooded figure flitting up the staircase to the room where her baby was asleep. In terror, she ran after the hooded figure and into her baby’s room. There she found no trace of the figure in black, but what she did find was far more horrifying. Her baby lay in its crib, limp and unresponsive. Luckily, she and her mother-in-law were able to rush the infant to the hospital in time for the doctors to revive her. To this day the child’s mother doesn’t know whether she had beaten the Angel of Death, or if the hooded figure had been a helpful presence warning her about the danger her child was facing. Throughout the many centuries, soldiers on battlefields, the sick or dying in hospital beds, or the elderly in nursing homes have sometimes seen the likes of this tall, shadowy presence usually standing, hovering or gliding about near the scene of a death. But sometimes it seems that this entity (is there one, or many? Are they all the same thing even?) appears where there seems to be no death occurring at all. This happened to me after all, no one in my family or any of our close friends died during the time that I witnessed the hooded figure. There are also many accounts of people who have had similar experiences to my own, usually when they are children, of a figure by their beds. In a lot of the accounts it appears at the foot of the bed, but it my case it seemed to want to get a bit closer (lucky me!). In some cases the figure just stands there, and in others it beckons them or appears to be attempting to communicate with them in some manner. In others still, the hooded figure seems to be menacing them or attempting to frighten them. Some see a skeleton inside of the hood, some do not, but this tall, hooded figure that seems to glide as it moves has shown its face (or lack thereof) countless times to thousands of people across the world and throughout history. Is it good or evil, or something else? I have no answers for you. If answers were easy to come by, they would have already been discovered. I only hope that in my writing about this thing, whatever it may be, and in thinking about it once again, I do not turn to my left one night to find it standing there…
myspace.com/stlouissinner
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h my sinful Scorpio, I sense you wonder what awaits you this November. I wish I could spin a tale of family and friends sitting in front of a cozy fireplace enjoying honey hams and pumpkin pies as the temperature drops and the snow begins to fall, but I cannot. Nor do I see you sharing the fame of Jodie Foster, nor the riches of Bill gates and Larry Flynt. A run at the presidency in 2012 is certainly out of the question too, even though that fate may await another Scorpio, Hillary Clinton. Unfortunately this month you share the darkness that November brings us all, unless an angel sits upon your shoulder. And I would not count on that with the likes of you. I see many possibilities for you this month, so many paths of misfortune. I see a future in the medical field, one perhaps similar to Kristen Gilbert, born November 13, 1967. Like you, she was refined with a natural sophistication, a girl with intelligence and big dreams. She left Greenfield Community College in 1988 as a nurse and began an innocent journey of compassion and good will. But two years later something sinister took hold of her. Patients began to die on her shift at an alarming rate, mostly of cardiac arrest. By 1994 suspicions and rumors of her involvement were high, but no real proof of wrong doing could be tied to her. The in 1996 something snapped inside young Kristen. She had begun dating a fellow employee at the hospital and wanted to leave early with him but had to stay through the night to help with a patient in ICU. She asked her supervisor if the patient died would she be able to leave early. Her supervisor said yes. Within a few hours the patient died from a heart attack. An investigation into the matter later revealed that 350 patients had died on her shift over the years, a number that seemed impossible. The investigation produced a bizarre pattern and even more ghastly motive for the tripled death rate. It seemed to prosecutors that Katherine injected patients with epinephrine to cause cardiac arrest so her lover would be summoned to ICU, where the two could be together. During this time she developed extreme paranoia. Believing that her lover had helped the prosecuting attorney, she made bomb threats to his hospital while he was on duty, which led to a 15 month prison sentence. In 1998 she was convicted of murdering four patients and attempting to kill three others with epinephrine. She’s serving a life sentence as you now read on. What a sad tale, Scorpio. Then again, perhaps another fate awaits you this November, like that of Velma Margie Barfield, born October 29, 1932. She found love and marriage in a handsome Thomas Burke. Wealth soon followed, but at the expense of her husband’s death in a fire. She later remarried, but death once again took her beloved. A few years later her mother developed symptoms of diarrhea and vomiting, but she survived. Later that year her symptoms returned, this time sending her mother to the grave. Misfortune perhaps; perhaps foul play. Two years later Velma began working as a caretaker for Montgomery and Dollie Edwards, who both died a month apart. Oddly enough, they both shared the same symptoms as her mother. A year later 76-year-old Record Lee died of the same illness under her care. Two years later her boyfriend, Stuart Taylor, who just happened to accuse her of forging his checks, killed over. The autopsy found arsenic in his blood. Poison again. Karma eventually caught up with Velma in 1984 as she became the first woman to be executed by lethal injection. corpios and poison, what an interesting side of your sign never told by other fortune tellers. So my warning for you this month, my dear Scorpio, is to dispose of any and all poisons in your home, perhaps even any guns, knives, bats, ropes, clubs and bottles of wine, empty or not. You really never know what urges you may fall victim to if the snow begins to fall and by some odd chance family and friends do come by with pies and ham. Don’t laugh. After all, you are a Scorpio, and you Velma Margie Barfield, A SCORPIO! now know how much they like their poison...
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Skin Deep with Stu
Photography by LB Photography (LBfoto1@yahoo.com)
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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.
I thought maybe this month I would make a point. Perhaps this month I will open my mouth. Maybe this month it’s my turn to attack someone’s right to decide, to force my opinion down your throats. Then I thought, “hey doesn’t that just make it all come back around again? Doesn’t it just put us in the same boat? Doesn’t being human put us in the same boat already, or for that matter being alive and on earth?” What caused these thoughts? The following comment was posted by a “average, everyday” Jill: “I was at the store one day and the kid at the register had gauges, I couldn’t stop myself before the words came out...” So, whataya gonna do when you’re 50? Let your grandkids swing from your earlobes?!”. The poor guy didn’t know what to say...! I continuously hear the crap about having surgery to “fix” it but HONESTLY, how many of them can actually AFFORD to have that done? And, why gauge in the first place if you think you’ll have it sewn up later? Like a mirror, it’ll never be the same once broken.” Now… I want you to take about five minutes to think. Don’t keep reading, but instead take some time and formulate how you would react if you were given the 5 minutes to figure your response. Done? Good now here is mine after doing that… See, the first response from me is “F**K YOU! What makes you think at all that I give a shit about anything you think or have to say about me or my culture?” In fact, at the last show I did, we were protested so I took it upon myself to cross the street, approach this Christian man, and tell him, “If you wanna preach the good word my friend feel free, but you should know this: I have two daughters and if you think I am gonna stand by and let you disrespect my family with your threats of hell you have another thing comin’. I suggest you take your book and preach the lord on another corner before ya get yourself f**ked up.” The crowd started clapping as I walked back with that weird triumphant feeling and the man left shortly there after. After some thought I realized that I had made no difference really, it was just a small personal victory. I don’t have an issue with people being religious just the actions taken in the name of there beliefs. My threats lumped me into that category as well. So this leads me to my point: If it’s obvious that anger and aggression won’t work except by submission then what does work? I am not sure anything does but I do know that reading the above makes me angry on a personal level. What’s worse is that she was angered enough by just seeing someone with stretched ear lobes that she felt she had the right to impose on his life for a minute to tell him what she thought with no manners or measure of social grace and then furthered her annoyance by continuing her forced opinion on a thread that had no followers of her beliefs. The lady who posted the above is clearly uneducated about not only the body but about our culture as well. I wanted to write back and explain it all to her. I thought about what I would say and how I would say it. I thought about how stupid and small she would feel and then after all that thought it ended up being me that felt that way. The purpose of this article is to educate, not only about the body, relating to mods, but about being modified in general. Teaching the public we are aggressive creates fear, teaching them that we do nothing grants society power over us, but finding the balance can be difficult. I do know this though: Neither my Tattoos, my piercings, my implant or my lifestyle changes the love I have for my daughters or my other loved ones, and the ones who care for me are, and should be, unaffected as well. I know who I am, I know I am a flawed but mostly good person and I know that I am loved for who I am. So to the anonymous blogger I offer the finger in the other direction… What are you offering the world?
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) . Stu@StuModifies.com Self Inflicted Studios (Myspace.com/sistl) 1328 Washington Ave in St. Louis - (314)-621-4660
t u l S k The
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Are Virgins Really That Bad?
Dear Slut, Do you think that sexual experience makes much of a difference in bed? Two of my past boyfriends were virgins when I met them, and they turned out to be great lovers. Is it possible that less experience can be a plus in that people have more of a spark, curiosity and openness for learning new things? ~The Devirginator Dear The Devirginator, Look at you, corrupting the virgins. Yes, I’m jealous. Oh my god, a thousand times yes - sexual inexperience has nothing to do with how good a person is in bed. I haven’t been with a virgin since I was 16 (I run in a different circle than you). He was my second sex partner, the same age as me, and much better in bed than the 24-year-old douchebag who took my virginity (I’m terribly embarrassed I fucked a guy named Greg). As for lately, to be fair I think a lot of swingers are talented due to their experience, but I’ve had great luck with men who have only been with a small number of people or who haven’t had sex in a long time. Being with them is like getting to experience all the firsts again for the first time - masturbating in front of someone, spending a lazy day in bed, etc. Also in my book, if you haven’t had sex for more than a year, you become a virgin again. To be clear, I never ever ever want to be a virgin again. Finally, the best people in bed are the ones you share open communication with. And if both of your goals are to put the other person’s pleasure first, then everyone wins. And is happily exhausted.
Stan Strembicki
Do Sex Personals Sites Work?
Dear Slut, My question is about the adult “dating” sites. I see your site now has profiles on the right side of the page from AdultFriendFinder. Are these types of sites any good? I’ve read some sites reviews that say there are a lot of fake ads/profiles, but other sites do claim success. What would be the keys to success on these sites? Have you ever tried them with any success? ~Not Looking For Love
Dear Not Looking For Love, If your question is, “Will giving my money to sites like these connect me to hot, kinky, sexy, women who will do just about anything?” the short answer is NO. But if you’re in it because you’re a pervert and hopeful and curious and might whack off to some of the profile content and consider actually meeting someone sane a bonus but aren’t counting on it, well sure, it’s worth a try. I’ve met a lot of men, women and couples online and have had great success, including from AdultFriendFinder. But it helps that I represent what most people are looking for - see above. Every guy I met from AFF told me it was terribly disappointing (besides meeting me of course) and that they did not intend to renew their membership. You have to wade through a lot of bullshit and liars, which takes time. But there are real people out there who just want casual sex and are not disgusting or crazy. If you’re looking for human interaction and exploring sex but not a long term/monogamous commitment, I would recommend trying a free site like Craigslist OKCupid. Put right on your ad/profile what you are looking for, but when you contact people you’re interested in, don’t be all skeezy about it. Treat them as a friend, an equal, and with respect. Be open and honest. I really do like the term “friend with benefits.” Another thing I notice is that men have ridiculously high standards when it comes to women (young, gorgeous, thin, big boobs, flexible, able to deep throat beer cans), despite the fact that the men are not exactly brilliant, stylish, smoking hot package themselves. Be sure you’ve got what it takes to be desirable, and be prepared to provide good photos of yourself if that’s what you expect in turn. Ask your female friends for their opinion on what women like or which of your pics are flattering - for some reason men are clueless when it comes to knowing which pics will appeal to women. And if you’re not photogenic, take a bunch of pics to capture the right look - HINT: warm, inviting, sexy, as opposed to menacing, indifferent, or psychotic. I’m serious! Look at some of the photos people have on their profiles - there’s no excuse in this day and age to have blurry or grainy mug shots. Oh, and ditch the cock shots - in the initial getting-to-know-you phase, women would rather see your face or chest. –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––-Got a sex, relationship, BDSM or fetish related question? The Beautiful Kind is a sexpert with over 20 years experience and is happy for you to learn from her mistakes while soaking up her hard earned wisdom. Email your kinky queries to love@thebeautifulkind.com. www.thebeautifulkind.com paint by Plastic
photo by Cyanide Studios©
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