One night in KL and the world's your oyster

Last night in Kuala Lumpur. Tomorrow I go back home, flying out at 2355 to Amsterdam where I transfer to Stockholm. Why the transfer you ask? Mister Control Freak here booked in March, shouldn't he have been able to book a direct flight?

See, I did. I booked a direct flight from Kuala Lumpur to Stockholm. However, those Malaysian Airlines flights have only been half-full, so over the summer Malaysian decided to stop the Stockholm flights from October 1st. Tomorrow is October 2nd. Hence the transfer in Amsterdam. Bastards.

Just finished packing everything, except my carry-on which will hold laptop, some other fragile electronics and stuff I need to get throught the flight without going postal. I will also carry a paper bag with some toys. Yes, toys. I may have passed my sweet sixteen twice over, but I'm still a kid at heart. Or wait...is that geek at heart? Either fits. So yeah, toys. One or two for me, one for a friend who doesn't know what he's getting. Eh, Steelwheels?

I was worried I would go over 20 kilos for my two bags, plus five for the carry-on. However, unless the scale in my room is lying (which might be a possibility) I am still a couple of kilos short. Which is a good thing, since excess weight costs 450 kronor. Per kilo.

Earlier today I almost perished in the heat. In two different ways. First I walked from the Suria KLCC mall to Ampang Park, to meet the tailor that did two pairs of pants for Mah Girl, and then back. In 37 degrees, the air like lead weights on my head. Horrible. Smoothies in two places, one pineapple, one pineapple/star fruit helped.

I really can't get enough of those buildings. Or the beard

The second death, narrowly avoided, came when I was walking down the street gawking at skyscrapers and almost fell into a hole in the ground. Now there would have been a spectacularly bad way of ending a trip.

Hans Moleman was having an open house

Since the flight leaves at 2355 tomorrow, I have a lot of time to kill, and since I can't hang out at the hotel room after 12, I will probably try and find some air conditioned place to read and write. Oh yeah, and go out to buy a toy and a portable hard drive.

This moment was the apotheosis of the postmodern era — the era of images and perceptions

I forgot to write something about 9-11, which wasn't all that strange since I was travelling on the date in question.

9-11 to me is the Kennedy assassination of our generation. Everyone in my parents' generation tend to remember where they were when they heard Kennedy had been shot, and most people I know can tell you how and where they found out that the planes had hit WTC.

I was at work. At the place I worked then there was always a TV on, up in one corner of the room. Often muted, sometimes with the sound on. No one had really explained what it was doing there, and I'm not sure anyone knew. I heard someone say that a plane had crashed into WTC, so I got up from my desk and walked over to see if I could get details. At the time I thought it was a one-engine Cessna or something, some rookie or suicidal pilot.

As I walked over I looked up at the TV, and watched live on CNN as the second plane hit the South Tower. That image of the plane hitting the tower, the ball of fire, debris spraying out in all directions, has etched itself into my mind.

I've read a lot of the conspiracy theories around 9-11. I've also read stuff that while not spelling out suspected government involvement in 9-11 at least hints at it. My standpoint is that I just don't know. I find it hard to believe that any government could murder so many of its citizens to justify, for example, the privatization of the military.

In September of 2000, The Project for the New American Century (PNAC), a non-profit organisation released the report Rebuilding America's Defenses: Strategy, Forces and Resources for a New Century, explaining their view on how America should develop their armed forces. In it, they write that "the process of transformation, even if it brings revolutionary change, is likely to be a long one, absent some catastrophic and catalyzing event – like a new Pearl Harbor". Jeremy Scahill writes about this in "Blackwater: The Rise of the World's Most Powerful Mercenary Army" (scary but necessary reading), and points out, like many others have, that the presence of private security companies within US armed forces increased significantly after 9-11.

I don't believe the conspiracy theorists that tells us that the events of 9-11 was engineered specifically for this purpose. That Erik Prince and other madmen were somehow involved. But you have to realise that a lot of these organisations, be they PNAC or Xe Services LLC (formerly known as Blackwater) or others, have some troubling ties to the Bush administration (check out this list), extremist Christian groups and other people whose opinions in no way, shape or form should be able to influence how the world works. Undoubtedly they have had a say in how more and more of America's defense budget is funneled into private military companies.

It would be nice if, as we've become quote more civilised unquote, the world has become a better place over the years, if we're talking about war and hidden agendas. After all, the Internet allows us unprecedented access to information and news, from a variety of sources, so we should be able to see through any subterfuge on that scale. The control of the news flow is no longer in the hands of the few.

However, it seems to have become worse and worse. I'm not really interested in politics, which to me is sort of a weakness, since it would give me at least the semblance of a grasp on How Things Work, but I know enough to know that a lot people are in it for themselves, regardless of whether its on a private or national scale. I have yet to meet or see a single politican that I trust. And this is in Sweden, where we don't bother with concepts like war or terrorism. I can't imagine what it must be like to live in the US and have opinions outside of the party line, so to speak.

The hardest job kids face today is learning good manners without seeing any

Oh. I forgot. I talked about good manners, and forgot all about the bad. That's very much out of character for me. So here goes.

On Saturday I spent time with very good and very nerdy friends. Having finished the game we were playing, we went to the local pizza/pasta place to grab some food. As we sat there, outside, Triangles, Ribbed For Her Pleasure and I, waiting for our food, Triangles said: “That kid is peeing in the street”.

And he was. Peeing. In the street. While his father stood beside him, watching. For all I know urging him on. The thing is, this is a residential street with an assortment of stores and restaurants, and slopes down towards a bigger road. Sloping down = pee running down.

We ignored this. Tore into our food. Ten minutes passed. Then Triangles says: “That kid is peeing in the street, too”.

I turned around. Again, he was. Peeing. In the street. Another kid. Father by his side. What. The. Hell. Seems like the street in question was a urinal. Very nice.

Is there something I'm missing here? Is it something that parents do, allow their kids to pee in the street? Please tell me. If yes, then I have yet another reason to never have children. That would be reason 138, I think. If no, then I might need to go all The Locker on that street and figure out if it's something that happens there a lot, and investigate further. Then again, we're talking about children peeing in the street, so maybe I should just let it go...

Turn murder into art

Or is that art into murder?

I've written about vandalism vs art before. The point is not to distinguish between vandalism and art. The one does not exclude the other. However, vandalism is never OK, regardless of if its art or not. And sometimes its not even art. Its just vandalism, plain and simple.


This is the side of the building I live in. I figure, to get rid of this they should take Xhie's head, and then drag his face along the silver line on the wall. I think the blood will be the same color as the wall.

And don't call this graffiti. That gives this legitimacy that is not OK. Vandalism. Van-da-lism. Morons are what they are. Punks with no respect for the property of others. A good public whipping might be another way to go.

Isn't it interesting... religious behavior is so close to being crazy that we can't tell them apart

I've had two religious experiences over the last few days. As in “brushes with religion”, not actual religious experiences. I only have those at live gigs.

The first was a few days back, as I was getting on the bus. Further back, at the middle door, what appeared to be an old imam got on. He had a great white beard, a shaved upper lip, a knitted white cap and a walker. I walked by him as he was settling in, and as I passed him be looked up. Nodded slowly. Sagely. Like a mentor to his student. Like Obi-Wan to Luke. I nodded back. Slowly. Sat down. Smiled.

So the guy thought I was Muslim. If I shaved my upper lip too, which I've done before, I would probably get a very interesting experience the next time I try to go to the US. When I went the last two times I made sure to braid my beard, to avoid being mistaken for a Taliban. Plastic gloves and lubricant ain't my idea of a good time.

The second one was on the train this morning. Picture this. Me sitting on the train, wearing a black Neurosis tee and baggy gray cargo pants, reading Cormac McCarthy's “Blood Meridian”, headphones on, probably leaking some Neurosis noise (yes, I'm currently seriously in love with that band. Again). A woman sits down next to me. Sits still for a while, maybe one station, and I feel her looking at me.

Then she taps my shoulder, I remove my headphones and she says, and I'm so not kidding, “Have you accepted Jesus as your savior?”. What. The. Hell.

Religion and I aren't friends. We're barely on speaking terms. And this is why. Nut cases on the train that want to “save me”.

My response then? “Eh...no”. Eloquent, eh? It was 07:15 in the morning. Give me a break. My brain wasn't up to warp speed yet. Then she goes off on this rant how Satan is in music, in books, in movies. I guess the word “Blood” on the cover was a dead giveaway. Me and Cormac, worshiping the Great Old Ones together. Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!!

There were two things I could do.
1. Explode and rant back at the misguided fool. I was tired from a weekend of uneven sleep patterns, and cranky. A recipe for disaster, but oh so rewarding.
2. Get up and walk away.

Wisely, I chose number 2. I am The Bigger Man. When she got off at the Central Station she looked over at me with a look like “I pity you that you cannot see the way to avoid burning in hell, you poor man”. Again, the temptation was great to back up and go with item number 1 above. Instead, I took a few deep breaths and went back to the book. Don't let the fuckers get you down.

There is a profound lack of insanity in your country

Our first day at Peace & Love turned out to be a disappointment. We had a problem with the rental car (the trunk was the size of a paperback, even though they had said it was much bigger, and we had four people in the car with festival luggage + beer to pack), which was solved by renting a larger, more expensive car. Believe me when I say angry emails will be written.

I have that from my father, who in turn has it from his father, who, I assume, got it from some angry god in the depths of Dalarna's lush forests. That ability to never relent in the face of promises broken, expectations not met and service not given is something that defines the Larsson family, much to the chagrin of my mother, who comes from a line of quiet and calm people, who express more with a shrug of the shoulders than words. Not saying my mother isn't eloquent, its just that if you go way up north in Sweden, people tend to face adversity the way a rock faces a river. They let it part around them to move on to piss off someone else. Me? I fight the river. Tooth and nail. May be meaningsless, but it has to be done. Tilting at windmills, and all that.

Case in point. My father used Eniro's map service to plot a course from their house in Karlskoga to our place in Stockholm. The direction function started on the wrong street, the one next to theirs. Now, it's not that my father is an idiot and doesn't know how to drive to Stockholm from his home, oh no. It's the principle that Things Should Be Correct. I'm the exact same way.

So what does he do? He emails them. And gets a polite response that, when read between the lines, is saying "we don't have the time to correct this problem because you live in NoWheresVille Sweden". Sooo not the thing to say.

He emails them again. And again. And again. Always the same sort of response. So he tries the competitor's website, Hitta. Lo and behold, their direction service works perfectly. So he takes a screen dump of Hitta's results and emails it to Eniro. Hey presto, problem solved in a matter of days.

So yeah. Angry emails will be written.

Someone else will also be getting an email. Why stop at one when there are other injustices, big and small, that need to be corrected? Or at least pointed out in angry, digital form?

The Peace & Love festival has grown to become the biggest music festival in Sweden this year, with 36 000 or 39 000 tickets sold, depending on who you ask or how you do your math. It seems they have grown too fast.

On Thursday we tried to find the place where you exchange tickets for festival passes. We walked and walked and walked. Got directions from various people, attached to the festival or not. It was chaos. Not a single sign to point us anywhere, or to even indicate the existence of an entrance to the festival grounds. All we found were gates that said "NO ENTRY! ARTISTS ONLY!" in a way that not only said we couldn't go in there, but that no entry would be found anywhere for anyone besides artists.

We finally found the place, and caught the middle part of Monster Magnet's set, which was painful to watch. A review will be up some time soon at Slavestate. Then we went back to the house and enjoyed the fact that we've rented what may well be the best festival accomodations I've ever seen or even heard about, and for a ridiculously low sum of money. Sometimes the gods are good.

Yesterday we watched a man whose level of anger makes mine seem a slightly glowing coal next to a mushroom cloud. Henry Rollins, former singer of Black Flag, later on in The Rollins Band, and now a world class spoken word artist. He entertained us for an hour, and had some very interesting things to say, wrapped in layers of sarcasm and insane stories. He expressed a fascination with Sweden, mostly expressed in the fact that we have "green forests, blue skies and water you can drink and that can sustain life". Not sure I agree with everything he said, such as the headline of this post. Both the rental place and the festival itself has proven that is not the case. However, so far his show has been the highlight of the festival, though we haven't seen much else.

Tonight Faith No More beckons. We're all excited.

How lies have fed your legend, Harry!

I was supposed to have the aftertaste of pecan pie in my mouth now. And my stomach full of steak. And pecan pie on top of the steak. But no. Harry had to give me attitude.

Harry, you ask? My stomach. Hairy Harry. Who is gay.

And before you even go there, it's the only part of my body I have named. Because he talks. Because he has a personality. And because he can hold a grudge. I have taught him well.

He has a partner too. Tommy. Tommy the Tummy. They speak to each other. We're pretty sure they run around the apartment at night and do all sorts of mischief. That they have wild monkey sex on the couch. That's what the stains are from, yes of course.

Usually I like Harry. We've been friends for a long time. Today, though, I'm holding the grudge. He'd better get his act together by tomorrow.

Children should be seen and not heard

Today, in line at the grocery store, we were assaulted by what sounded like an air-raid siren. It was, in fact, a child. Face painted, most likely from a visit to McD's, screaming her lungs out like the horrible little banshee she was, howling at her parents, banging at walls, pillars, shopping carts, whatever. Such parental bliss. Such harmony. And the parents reacted soooo well, I think. I felt an urge to step up and start yelling as well. But I didn't. I thought of my happy place. Happy, happy, happy!

Two conclusions were drawn from this. One of them has been aired here before, but it needs to be said again.

Before I go any further I have to say I don't know jack about parenting. I don't want to know. I haven't really discussed the intricacies of actually forming a person out of the little bundle of joy and excruciating pain that's the sum of the genetic material of you and your significant other. Sure, the subject has come up, but I have nothing to add, and truth be told, since I don't plan on having children, ever, I don't really care. This might sound harsh, but it's true. Why discuss births and pregnancies and diapers and all that when it will never apply to you?

At the same time I am filled with nothing but pride over the friends and family members who actually manage the act of parenting. Who will, no doubt, make this a better world by filling it with complete, happy, stable people. You know who you are.

So. The conclusions.

There should be some sort of license required to spawn children. Or at least some sort of test after child one, to see if you actually do a good job and get to have another. I'm not a believer in any kind of genetic supremacy theories, but I do believe some people really shouldn't be parents. I applaud those that come to this conclusion themselves, and I loathe those that I see screaming at their children. Or worse, hitting them. Some time ago, I berated a woman on the subway that slapped her son when he wouldn't stop talking. Again, some people shouldn't have children.

The second conclusion is that my father was a parenting genius. When my brother and I got a little frisky, he would tell us to play carrots. Because carrots are silent and still. And we did.

I'm the one on the far right. Pre-beard.
My brother is second from the left.

We played carrots. To this day I can't believe it worked. He must have used some sort of hypnosis. Or maybe we were just very well-adjusted children. This is where Mah Girl says “or stupid”. I prefer well-adjusted.

Ignorance is lack of knowledge, whereas faith is rejection of it

My dear friend the Pope managed to say that condoms will make the AIDS epidemic in Africa worse, not better. Well done, you Palpatine clone you. Yet another reason to carpet bomb the Vatican.

No energy to keep on ranting, so I'll let someone else do it for me.

Thou shalt not kill. Murder. The fifth commandment. But if you think about it … if you think about it, religion has never really had a problem with murder. Not really. No, more people have been killed in the name of God than for any other reason. All you have to do … all you have to do is look at slavery, the Middle East, the Crusades, the Inquisition, the Holocaust, and the World Trade Center, and you'll see how seriously the religious folks take "Thou Shalt Not Kill". The more devout they are … the more devout they are, the more they see murder as negotiable … it's negotiable. It depends, you know? It depends, it depends on who's doing the killing and who's getting killed.
- George Carlin

You talk to God, you're religious. God talks to you, you're psychotic

Nothing can piss me off faster than religion. And I do mean nothing. My guess is I was seething visibly as I sat on the subway after I read Metro's short article referencing this story this morning.

So "the abortion, the elimination of an innocent life, was more serious" than the repeated rape of a nine year-old girl? Fuck you. Fuck you and the pathetic excuse for a world view you call religion.

I know, I know, I should be making detailed arguments here, not resorting to cursing, but I can't help myself. This is the kind of asinine bullshit that renders rational arguments obsolete. To quote Doctor House:

Rational arguments don't usually work on religious people. Otherwise there would be no religious people.

I can understand the fascination with religion, I really can. The need to find some sense and order in the world is easily satisfied that way, and you can go to sleep with a smile on your face, safe in the knowledge that if something bad happens to you or someone you love, you can always rationalize it with “'twas God's will”. I call it the easy way out.

Some people I know, rational, intelligent, fantastic people, are religious. I have yet to discuss the intricacies of their faith with them, because I know I'm running a very real risk of escalating the discussion to a level where I'll say something I shouldn't. But I will have to, at some point. I need to understand. I need to understand why these rational, intelligent, fantastic people have chosen religion.

For now, I remain upset. Angry. Unable to understand how someone can still let standards set in the Dark Ages dictate the way they should tell others to live their lives. If there's anywhere in the civilized world (which is a stretch, considering the subject matter) that is in need of a bloody revolution, it's the Vatican. Let them taste a bit of that fire and brimstone, and see how they feel.

Money can't buy you happiness. But it can buy you assassins

I pondered this thought today as I stood in line at the local burger joint *points to headline*

Post-party, post-alcohol, I must have food. It is a universal truth. I must have meat. Preferably between two pieces of bread with salad and various condiments.

So after Primator (beer) and friends and The Cock and Newcastle (beer) and laughs and chocolate and Staropramen (beer), I craved food. Off to the burger joint we went.

Christmas Day is the party day (emphasis on "the") in small towns like this, the armpit of Sweden, and there is only one burger joint stupid enough to be open on a night like this. The new burger joint. The one next to the McDonalds, that actually is a serious contender. It was a fuckin' freak show.

Was I ever that annoying when I was 20 and drunk? Did I ever stand in line, screaming at the top of my lungs, that my friend is a cunt and that I need food? Did I ever lick the backpack of the guy standing in front of me (tonight, that would be me)? I don't think so. Why? Because as my girl put it, I have a higher IQ than my age. Which these complete morons do not have.

There should be a license required to have children (and I'm actually serious here, and not that drunk). With something like that in place, I wouldn't have to consider professional hitmen to clean out the gene pool.

Sometimes I understand people that climb to the top of water towers with high powered rifles, I really do.

It's better to be barefoot than without books

I realized like/don't like sort of fizzled out and died. I will now attempt to resurrect it. Rise...rise...RISE!!! *thunder in the background. A hunched-back servant throws a switch*

beardonaut likes:
JPod, by Douglas Coupland. I finished this book a while back, and wanted to write something about it, but it just never happened. So here goes.


So far I've only read three of Coupland's novels, Microserfs, All Families are Psychotic and JPod, but I need to read more. Microserfs was good, Families was so-so, and JPod was great. Hilarious, well-written, exceptional characters, and with a nice meta-plot twist, since Coupland himself plays a minor part in the story.

My gut feeling is that you need to be at least partially a geek to appreciate JPod (and Microserfs) fully. There are geek references throughout, and most of the characters are geeks. However, since it is very well-written, anyone with an appreciation for witty contemporary literature should be able to appreciate it.

Now go read it.


beardonaut doesn't like:
Undisciplined dogs. Or rather, their owners. While walking home from the grocery store today, I met a woman with two dogs. I rarely pay attention to dogs, unless it's a pitbull straining at a leash held by a punk with too many heavy gold chains around his neck (wait, what am I saying? One heavy gold chain is too many...). So today I paid them no attention, and just walked on, headphones on, cut off from the world.

Until one of her dogs decided that whatever I had in my bag was of interest. Not like it bit me or anything, it just lunged at me and careened into me. The woman pulled it back from me, and started screaming at it.

Now, here was a person that obviosuly shouldn't own a dog at all. Why? Because she couldn't control it, and because she screamed at it.

I have no problem with dogs in general. My grandfather had dogs when I was younger, but they were well-behaved, well-trained dogs.

I could make all sorts of parallels here between dogs and children, but I won't. For now.

Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent

So now is later.

Lately, I've been considering what the hell is wrong with the world and people.

Over the past two months three people I know have been assaulted in one way or the other. As I've expressed in previous posts, I'm not a real believer in the inner goodness of man, but I still think that it takes a certain kind of person to beat up someone without a reason.

This is where you go “A reason you say?”.

Yes. A reason. I know I have the capacity within me for violence. I know that if someone close to me was threatened or attacked, I wouldn't hesitate to step in and deal with the situation. With violence, if need be. I know this might seem hypocritical, and that may be, but I have little doubt this is the way a lot of people are wired. For me, that realization came when my then-girlfriend was attacked by her stepfather. The rage I felt when I found out was terrifying. The realization that I would have thrown myself at him had I been there, with no regard for my own safety, was terrifying. The fact that I would do it again, for anyone close to me, is terrifying. But still true.

I felt the same way when my now-girlfriend was trapped inside the entrance of a club between a locked door and a guy gone berserk on anti-psychotics and alcohol. Good combo, that... He was about as tall as a Smurf, and managed to throw a 200-pound security guard around.

So yes. A reason. Then again, that's the only reason I can think of.

That situation aside, to me normal people don't hurt other people. Here's where we need to define normal. Normal as in “functioning properly emotionally”, nothing else. It has nothing to do with normalcy regarding looks or political views or race or whatever (the middle one sometimes fits, though that's a topic for another post). The urge might be there, those primal fight or flight instincts, but normal people don't let the urges get the better of them. That's what's called “civilization”.

I consider the three people (I won't dignify them with the term “men”), and any other people really that do the same thing, to be below me on an evolutionary scale. Yes, all men are created equal, but again, those degenerates aren't men.

Those are my two cents.

Boy, I guess you picked the wrong train

I have an hour-long commute to and from work. In the mornings, it's OK. I read, I listen to music, I wake up properly. Or go into the commute coma, which isn't OK, but better than the ride home.

Going from work is hell. I almost always travel during rush hour, so there are all these people around to annoy me. Why can't people just stay home when I go out? Today a woman sat down across from me on the train, and within thirty seconds she tapped me on the leg. I removed my headphones, and she asked me to turn the music down.

What. The. Fuck.

Next to us were two teenage girls, talking and laughing, loudly. Further down a baby was screaming. And she asks me to turn the music down?

I told her that if she had a problem with the volume she could just move. Then I put my headphones back on and resumed my reading. I was tempted to find the most bass heavy track I could, and turn the volume all the way up.

I realize people can find music spilling out of headphones irritating. I don't care. If that makes me an asshole, so be it. Again: I don't care. If you have a problem with noise, stay indoors. Or wear earplugs. Squealing teenage girls and all them annoying children/babies/toddlers/goblins are much worse noise pollutants anyway.

WWVMD

As in “What would Vic Mackey do?”

We went to the movies today, to see Pixar’s new flick, Wall-E. All the Pixar movies except Cars are lined up in our DVD shelf, I’m an avid sci-fi fan and we’ve both been charmed by the trailers, so expectations were high. Without spoiling it for anyone, I can say that it wasn’t as brilliant as I wanted it to be.

I need to see it again though. Why? Because of the father-daughter combo next to me that just wouldn’t shut up. “What’s that?” “Why did he do that?” “Why is that thing glowing?” “What did he do now?” An endless stream of questions. I seriously considered going The Shield on their asses.

Instead, I told them to shut up. Once. It didn’t help. So I glowered and sulked instead. Very positive for my mental health.

I’m also considering applying the Vic Mackey brand of justice to our next door neighbor. She smokes like a chimney, and it’s starting to seep into our apartment. We’ve had to air out our bedroom lately before we go to bed.

But again, I won’t be kicking in her door, Smith & Wesson in hand. Instead, I’ll call our landlord tomorrow and complain. It’s the grownup thing to do.

Oh. On our way home we met a frog. Meet the frog.

I always say shopping is cheaper than a psychiatrist

I had a shit day today. After a shit weekend.

Don’t get me wrong. I hung out with Mah Girl, cooked some food (fake chili and the kick ass fish stew my parental units taught me), watch all of Spaced and generally kicked back. It could have been an awesome weekend. However, there was a reason for this level of inactivity.

We were supposed to go see Blade Runner: The Final Cut at the movies on Saturday. Then we were supposed to hook up with friends for dinner. All of it cancelled, because some fucking asshole decided to assault someone I really care about. I would pay good money to be able to turn back time and be on a certain street at five a.m. on Saturday morning with a baseball bat. Or a chainsaw.

This has not improved my faith in the inner goodness of mankind.

So my mood was bad enough when I went to work this morning. Then the day turned out to be one of those where things just go wrong. Horribly, inexplicably, blood spillingly wrong. I managed to wrench two small victories out of the absolute chaos that was work, and when I got home I soothed both myself and Mah Girl (who had a traumatic going-back-to-school day) with sushi and fries (yes, it’s a viable combination) and the awe-inspiring chocolate squares left over from a colleague’s party this weekend (thanks, Pretty Karl).

Mmmm....Joker....*drools*

It wasn’t enough. So, I turned to the glory that is Amazon. Now a massive package is on the way, loaded with books, movies, TV show box sets and some comics. Will list it another day. I feel better, though not good.

People who say you can’t buy happiness just don’t know where to shop.

Let me help you tie the rope around your neck

So I wrote this post about useless people and nurture vs. nature and inner darkness vs. the goodness of mankind, etc. Basically I’d had a bad day and needed to vent.

I’ve calmed down now (yeah, right), and figured I would continue that train of thought, especially since Joel went to such great lengths to comment.

I don’t believe that the inner core of humans is evil. Neither do I believe that it’s good. Beneath the veneer of civilization, we’re still animals, still the creatures that either hid in the shadows when the predators stalked by or planted our feet and fought, tooth and nail. That fight or flight reflex is still there, and it wakes up when we’re put in a situation that pushes us beyond the limits that we, and society, have set for ourselves.

Because of that, I remain convinced that every human being is capable of lethal violence. It doesn’t matter how much of a non-violent person you are, that primal reflex remains there, dormant.

That aside, I also believe some people are inherently evil. There are some atrocities that people commit that I simply cannot attribute to a messed-up childhood, or to the instinct for violence at our core. There are things that humans simply don’t do. And yes, I acknowledge that abuse or childhood trauma or whatever can make things worse, and probably shape someone who otherwise would have stopped at ripping the wings of insects into something far worse, and I even acknowledge that video games or movies or whatever intense experience there is out there, can act as something of a trigger, though not as a root cause. That, however, is a discussion for another day.

In Western society, we choose to meet such atrocities with prison time, and in some states in the US with the death penalty. I’m not an avid proponent of ending someone’s life, but in some cases, I actually see no other way out. This is not out of any biblical sense of an eye for an eye and all that nonsense. It’s simply because some people, that can no longer be called humans, simply don’t deserve to live.

Case in point: Andrei Chikatilo. This pathetic excuse of a man wanted the death penalty and got it. Can anyone argue that incarcerating him would have made more sense, or that therapy could ever have rehabilitated a man who murdered 52 people over 12 years? And ate some of them?

I claim to be an agnostic of some sort, but I sincerely hope that there’s some deep dark Hell where sadists like Chikatilo endure everlasting pain, or that nothing awaits them beyond death other than a cold lonely grave.

So yes. I’m in favor of killing people occasionally. Please argue with me.

Bless them all with reason, and this is what they choose

For a long time I’ve been of the opinion that at least 50 percent of everyone are useless. Not adding anything useful to the gene pool, basically. Note that this has nothing to do with race or gender or color. Recently I’ve revised that opinion to an even higher percentage. And tonight I’ve had it confirmed. Again.

I’m not a big believer in the inner goodness of mankind. I don’t think that nurture alone creates the monsters that move among us, the soldiers that rape the villagers, the Russian that eats his victims. There’s some fundamental flaw of nature in those that commit the atrocities that we read about every day, but at the same time I believe we all have the capacity for deadly violence within us, under the right (or wrong) circumstances. Humans are not nice. Period. Anyone that believes anything else is deluding themselves.

And yes, I might be a bit harsh here cause I’ve had a shitty day, and I’m upset over the fact that some ass clown decided to place a sharpened wooden stake in the water at a beach here in Stockholm. Two choices as to who the perpetrator is, according to the news anchor. Either a psychotic adult or boys “playing a prank”. What? Prank? No no no. Anyone that sharpens a stake and places it so people diving into the water can impale themselves on it is lacking that basic humanity.

Yes, there’s a darkness in the depths of us, some primal urge that can manifest itself physically if we’re cornered or someone close to us is threatened in some extreme way, but that fight reflex is not what we’re talking about here. These are damaged people, with some integral part of their soul removed, and that damage has probably been enhanced by (a lack of) nurture.

So what I’m saying? No idea, really. Just ranting. Venting. Writing. The whole point of this blog is for me to start writing again. Which I have. If at the same time I can vent some frustrations and thus become a more balanced and harmonic human being, then all the better.

Now, pillow time. Please comment. This is a subject I feel strongly about, and I hope some of you do as well.

Oh how far the mighty have fallen

On many occasions, I have been able to look beyond certain aspects of an artist’s personality or opinions and just enjoy what they’re good at.

Alice In Chains vocalist Layne Staley was very pro-drugs and let it show in his lyrics:

You can't understand a user's mind
But try, with your books and degrees
If you let yourself go and opened your mind
I'll bet you'd be doing like me
And it ain't so bad

I still worship that band. “Dirt” remains one of my favorite albums.

Woven Hand prophet David Eugene Edwards is very religious, though he has a somewhat damaged relationship with his god, and lets it show in his lyrics as well. Somehow that’s an even bigger problem for me at times than the drugs, but there’s no denying the power or feeling in his music and words.

David Eugene Edwards at Peace and Love. Pic by Mah Girl

But then someone goes and does something that I can’t ignore or get around. “Just don’t let it bother you”, some people say. Impossible. Choosing to be bothered by such things is what I do. It’s part of my bearded charm.

So. Orson Scott Card has some opinions about gay marriage. He seems to be the kind of religious nut that needs a good talking to. In a dark alley. With a Louisville Slugger. Yeah, sure, a lot of science fiction writers find inspiration in religion and as such a lot of them are probably religious, but this takes the cake. And that’s just insulting to cake.

And the idiot parade continues. Frank Miller is, without a doubt, one of the most influential comic artists and creators of the past 30 years. He reinvented Daredevil, which I read over and over in my teens (watch the POS movie at your peril – it’s one of the first signs of the Apocalypse), wrote and drew what is undeniably the greatest Batman story ever, and created the Sin City series (also made into a movie, which while not as eye-gougingly horrible as Daredevil still is flawed in many ways).

Violent Marv silhouetted in a Sin City alley, in "The Hard Goodbye"

Then a friend told me about this. Batman vs Al-Qaeda? Come on. That’s so stupid I don’t even know where to begin. And the realization just hit me that the worst thing about it isn’t even his dumbass opinions about the war, but the fact that he will tarnish the memory of “The Dark Knight Returns”. I won’t be able to even look at that graphic novel for quite some time, let alone read it. I hope DC Comics see some sense and don’t even publish the new one.