Transmissions

HAPPY HALLOWEEN… This Place Really is Getting Spooky.

Everything I do, I do it for you - Bryan Adams

Look at me Damien, it’s all for you - From the horror classic “The Omen”, where the nanny and disciple of the son of Satan hangs herself in his honor.

Isn’t that us hanging from that rope? The above scene illustrates perfectly the relationship between the ruling elite and everyone else. If you are, say, a miner or a poor third-world union organizer, this death is often literal. For the rest of us, whether we end up pushing paper or pushing a plow, we experience a slow spiritual death from our relationship with this Beast. It’s all for you Damien.

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By Maxwell Black

To the broken hearted

A Spectre is haunting America…

Sitting at a bar in Reno I’ve never been to, a person sat next to me and hunched over to sink into their drink. Feeling a little lonely myself I struck up some conversation. The whiskey soon took hold and we were telling our stories and having some laughs. But as these things often go what goes up must come down. Soon enough my new friend was telling me about their troubles, frustrations and set-backs. Somehow becoming simultaneously more animated and exhausted in mannerism they blurted out, “It all just seems rigged, no matter how hard I try things never work out. The house always wins.” I took another pull of my drink—first hot then cool—I put my hand on their shoulder and said, “If you don’t want to loose at poker don’t sit at their table and relations between us and the dealers need not be so amiable.” I then leaned in and whispered, “I do believe this casino is flammable.”

Oh, shit town Pittsburgh, shit town Oakland, shit town Detroit…we’re ready! Even the bees are on strike and the sharks are biting back. Let’s do this Shit Hackensack!

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[Note: this was written last year in about two hours and was supposed to have a part 2. Surprise! I didn’t get around to it. Enjoy it for what it is.]

9-11 is an American Fetish

“Oh no you dih-unt”, oh yes I did. Like two giant cocks exploding into the New York sky, Americans are “lovin’ it”. Come on, we get off on it. The image of the planes hitting the towers, the chaos in the streets and then collapsing buildings are simply spectacular. There is a reason after all that the media bombarded us with these images for years. It certainly wasn’t about “informing” us, I doubt there is a single human on earth unaware of the event, hell I bet even Pygmy people know about it. No, the media repeats it over and over because it is the greatest goddamn money-shot in human history. And Americans absolutely love good porno.

Get your Twin Tower Blow Up Doll. Every orifice is shaped like a pentagon: made by Chinese slaves and only $19.95!

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“The spectacle is not a collection of images, but a social relation among people, mediated by images.” –Guy Debord

One summer afternoon when I was about eight, I remember asking my mother if we were rich. She looked at me, puzzled and a little embarrassed, and said, “We’re doing all right, maybe one day.” For me, a little kid growing up in the 80’s, I couldn’t see the dingy two-bedroom apartment we lived in or the mounting bills and stress of living paycheck to paycheck. I couldn’t see all of the domestic violence and substance abuse going on all around me in my neighborhood…yet, (however, I did know that there was this thing called “lay-offs” that seemed to work like a tactical nuclear weapon in my community.) I think my generation was maybe the first to experience the full on assault of our minds and souls by the, now perfected, mind-fuck media machine.

The reason a kid like me could believe for even one second that he might be rich is that we don’t actually live in the real world at all. We have stopped identifying with community and the natural world and now only identify with the digital hypnotists of the television. It’s a world we don’t really inhabit, but a world that inhabits us. No matter how desperate our real lives are, the spectacle of the television, (and it’s outward and all encompassing culture), lull us to believe that we are a member of this netherworld of beauty and power and “we’re all in this together”. The tragedy of this relationship between the Spectacle and our childhood minds is that most of us in America never grow up.

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{Welcome to A Moving Train! If you’re looking for the, now legendary Mickey Z interview, just scroll down a few inches. With all of this “unexpected” new traffic I decided to re-post this article I wrote last year. Be sure to check out the rest of the site: “Rejection08″ and “Slow-Guns.”}

Driving in to work Friday night I ran into about an hour long back up for a commute that usually doesn’t take more than 15 minutes. However, I wasn’t troubled in the least, the traffic was so bad because of road closings due to planned citywide actions against the IMF in DC. Throughout this night there would be revolutionary street parties and carnivals of rage. Fuck Yes! The traffic also made me about an hour late for work. One hour not doing what I hate is OK with me, so I slid in a Strike Anywhere CD and let images of Seattle dance in my head.

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“Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape.”

–William S. Burroughs

Talking to most people about Revolution is like placing a person in a colossal labyrinth of mirrors and telling them paradise is on the other side. They want to get through but they see their own identity in the barriers. The obvious and easiest way would be to simply smash all of the mirrors (and thus illusions) and walk on through. But most people can’t (or won’t) do it because the illusion is all they have ever known. But some of us will. This is why I’ve been carrying around a brick in my mind for a while…

In western societies people have been so conditioned to identify with the system and ruling power that most don’t even recognize their own exploitation much less the possibility of escape. We hear a lot of “it’s just the way it is” and “there is no alternative.” Besides, we are led to believe, the slavery and horror are in distant lands with dark skinned “savages” who are being “civilized.” We can never see ourselves as nations of house slaves who have simply been worn down over generations and who have come to appreciate our perceived privileges. We don’t even see our masters as masters because, we are told repeatedly, “we’re all in this together.” And of course we house slaves never look too closely at those mirrors, because if we did, we would see that through centuries of identifying with our masters (and their exploits) we have all become monsters ourselves. Maybe if we finally did take a look we wouldn’t have so much difficulty smashing those mirrors once and for all.

We the children (and servants) of empire are born in captivity, in a carnival like open-air prison ran by maniacs, but we never see our jailers. The aristocracy of the world long ago figured out that it is best if they remain obscured so now they hide behind Mickey Mouse, Diebold “voting” machines, middle class enforcers, our compulsory ignorance and fucking cops.

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HAPPY HALLOWEEN… This Place Really is Getting Spooky.

Everything I do, I do it for you - Bryan Adams

Look at me Damien, it’s all for you - From the horror classic “The Omen”, where the nanny and disciple of the son of Satan hangs herself in his honor.

Isn’t that us hanging from that rope? The above scene illustrates perfectly the relationship between the ruling elite and everyone else. If you are, say, a miner or a poor third-world union organizer, this death is often literal. For the rest of us, whether we end up pushing paper or pushing a plow, we experience a slow spiritual death from our relationship with this Beast. It’s all for you Damien.

(more…)

Driving in to work Friday night I ran into about an hour long back up for a commute that usually doesn’t take more than 15 minutes. However, I wasn’t troubled in the least, the traffic was so bad because of road closings due to planned citywide actions against the IMF in DC. Throughout this night there would be revolutionary street parties and carnivals of rage. Fuck Yes! The traffic also made me about an hour late for work. One hour not doing what I hate is OK with me, so I slid in a Strike Anywhere CD and let images of Seattle dance in my head.

Arriving in Georgetown around 8:00pm, I was met with the sight of a boarded up Urban Outfitters. At first I assumed there had been some kind of accident. Once I turned the corner from Thomas Jefferson Street I started to get an idea of what was really going on, these corporate stores knew something I didn’t know: a mob of angry young anarchists could be coming this way! Fuck Yes, Again! When I got to the restaurant I manage, my general manager handed me a flyer handed out by the local police warning of dangerous vandals and hooligans storming through the streets that night. They even had a printout from the groups message board. My boss said to me: “You must be excited, aren’t these your people?” Indeed.

I had actual goose bumps and my adrenaline was up. Would there be some sort of righteous riot tonight in what would otherwise be another boring and humiliating night of making sure the son’s of Senators and media moguls got the their grilled salmon on time? To understand my lip quivering excitement here, you would have to understand this about me: with all of my fiery words of agitation, I’ve actually never participated in a direct action.

These days, when not at work, one is more likely to find me whoring myself on MySpace or playing with my cat than pulling a ski mask over my face in lieu of doing battle with a Starbucks window. I came to my current worldview somewhat later than most radicals and thus kind of missed that phase where you can afford to get arrested and miss work. So sure, I go to protests when I can, but more as a spectator. These events are usually on the weekend which is when I earn my payoff money for the corporate mafia. Therefore, to guarantee I don’t get arrested before my shift I stay as far away for the “black bloc” anarchists as possible, even though my politics are closer to theirs than the “progressive” Democrats I usually hide with.

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Was it a conspiracy? I’m not sure (next week). I don’t want to discuss what 9-11 was, but what it is or what it has become. If it makes some people angry, so be it. Here it is:

9-11 is an American Fetish

“Oh no you dih-unt”, oh yes I did. Like two giant cocks exploding into the New York sky, Americans are “lovin’ it”. Come on, we get off on it. The image of the planes hitting the towers, the chaos in the streets and then collapsing buildings are simply spectacular. There is a reason after all that the media bombarded us with these images for years. It certainly wasn’t about “informing” us, I doubt there is a single human on earth unaware of the event, hell I bet even Pygmy people know about it. No, the media repeats it over and over because it is the greatest goddamn money-shot in human history. And Americans absolutely love good porno.

Get your Twin Tower Blow Up Doll. Every orifice is shaped like a pentagon: made by Chinese slaves and only $19.95!

(more…)

“The world is like a ride at an amusement park. And when you choose to go on it, you think it’s real because that’s how powerful our minds are. And the ride goes up and down and round and round. It has thrills and chills and it’s very brightly colored and it’s very loud and it’s fun, for a while. Some people have been on the ride for a long time, and they begin to question: Is this real, or is this just a ride? And other people have remembered, and they come back to us, they say, “Hey – don’t worry, don’t be afraid ever, because this is just a ride.” And we … kill those people.

-Bill Hicks

About a week before I am scheduled to fly I start to feel nauseous and nervous. These sensations remain until the flight is over and I’m having a smoke in my hotel room. In the past I attributed this to the fear of dying. But over the years that fear has subsided a bit so then I attributed the panic to my claustrophobia and fear of heights. I’ve concluded that this is part of it, but there is something deeper, something I found in my self: It’s my fear of being totally helpless.

Part of it is obviously the helplessness of a plane crash, sitting there, knowing you’re about to die. In a fiery car crash one at least has a fighting chance. In a plane crash you simply burst into flames. Of course, after a few rum and cokes, and once in flight I usually forget about this possibility, yet I usually remain ill at ease. What really troubles me, I think is the total surrender of my agency. It’s not just putting my life in the hands of a couple of pilots whom if they make one error that could be it. It’s that one can’t “get off of the ride” when you want, and while on it you must submit to whatever conditions are offered to you.

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