Storm on its way to beautiful Eureka . Looking forward to rain.

Happy Hellidays

It's a little over a week away now. Black Friday, which sounds kind of like a horror film. No doubt it kind of is. Lots of women (and more than a handful of men) pushing and shoving, clamoring for deals so that they don't disappoint loved ones next month. They can disappoint them every other day of the year, but that holiest of holy days better be the day they finally pull the fuck through and bring smiles to everybody's faces for at least a half hour or so.

Steven Stahler, of The Stahler Group, is not one of the cheerleaders for the stock market. He thinks it the recent rises are nothing more than mere speculation again. He also notes the discrepancies between Wall Street and consumers, and admits that the consumers who may get their jobs back (something he finds "unlikely") won't be spending big anyway. Ta-da. The way to fix the bind we are in, he states, is not Xmess shopping. It's jobs. The jobs need to come back. However, there is a problem: 12/31/09.

That's the day he thinks the honeymoon is over. The real numbers (which don't include Cash for Clunkers subsidy program and speculation) come out. The discussions about Social Security begin. The rally we've been seeing (which only exists on Wall Street) will be revealed for what it is, and things won't be roses and wine.

Should this affect your spending over the hellidays? Only if you are spending what you can't afford (which is far too many people). At my job I get to see the outcome of doing things like that and not planning ahead. Hell, I get to see people who do everything right but are still sucker punched by reality. It's not a place most people want to be. Most people don't want to ask for government assistance for matters of pride, hassle and general paranoia (not a valid reason, but if you suffer from this you may want to go for disability).

If you got the money and want to spend it, go for it. AK Press has some great political books you may want to check out (the link is on the right hand side of this blog). There are plenty of other deserving merchants, too. They'll thank you, your family may thank you, the economy will thank you. People like shopping. It gives them a sense of satisfaction, freedom and self-worth. Since we aren't exactly a society of hunters and gatherers anymore, this takes its place. The problems arise when it is taken too far.

Black Friday. 8 days away. Once the real numbers are out, I think the U.S. consumer will be in for quite a shock. This year's hot toy? The box the big toy came in. It doubles as a home.

Good Morning, Heartache

I just peeked in on my daughter. If any of you have kids, you know the routine. You just want to make sure they are breathing. You get stunned by how peaceful they look when they're sleeping. You see those little fists and hear the soft breaths, and every bad thing they may have done that day just disappears. They sleep deeply. They sleep free of the fear of what the next day brings. They sleep the kind of sleep you wish you could experience if only for one day. But you will never get that again because you know too much about life. The innocence was beat out of you long ago.

I never pictured myself as a father, but it's a role I cherish. Not to sound like every other jackass, but a parent is the most important job in the world, and it is the one where failure is unacceptable. At least that's how I approach it.

I have 50% custody of my daughter. It's not something I'm happy with, as I would have her full-time if I could, and actually stated that was what I wanted at one time. But thinking of it, I know my baby mama (God, I hate that term) would be torn up over that, and my daughter loves her mom. That would serve no purpose. So we have this mutually agreed upon system in place that is far from ideal, but it works for my daughter, and that's what's most important.

My friend (and co-worker, you jerko) and I were talking about nighttime rituals with our children. She reads her girl books every night, something her child will remember and do with her kids. I tell mine a story. I then explained to my friend exactly what I do.

I have this universe in my head where my daughter is the princess of the Candy Kingdom. We know the topography, what candies the various landscapes are made of, the layout of the castle, the people who live in the kingdom (including her best friends), how she became the princess and so on. These stories have been going on for a long time, and every night there is a new one. Some are funny. Some are action-packed. Some are touching. With some I incorporate any issues she's had during the day in order to help her put things in perspective, but first and foremost I make them so she'll enjoy them. I make them up on the spot, and they are done when they are done.

She loves them. Every night she wants one, and will get upset if I take my time getting to it.

My friend seemed stunned.

She told me that what I did was "special," that I was a "special" kind of dad because that went above and beyond the call of duty. I don't know about that. All I know is that this universe I've created for nighttime stories is a place my daughter likes visiting, and therefore I can't ever forget it. Does that make me special? Does that make me a good dad? I'll leave that for my daughter to decide. All I know that if that does make me "special," it's because she's brought it out in me.

When my daughter snuggles up next to me when I'm reading her a book or we are watching a movie, the troubles of my day fade into nothingness. At that point the only thing that matters is right next to me, thumb in mouth, hand wrapped in her doll's hair. Every parent has those moments with their kids. Every one.

I had a co-worker from a while ago when I worked in an elastic factory. His son had gone to the first Gulf War. He was proud of that kid. What he described as a "one-time fuck up" got his act together and joined the military. It wasn't out of a sense of pride for his country or to have school paid for. It was to find structure in his life. He wasn't the happiest about the decision because he admitted that he thought his kid wouldn't be able to do it, and he didn't know what would happen if his kid got discharged. That didn't happen, though, and his son found himself in a country he probably couldn't find on a map.

I didn't have a kid at the time, so the meaning of what he told me next didn't have the effect it should have. I mean I could sympathize and empathize, but I couldn't really comprehend it.

He told me of how as a parent, you just want your kids to do good, to succeed, to be happy. You hope you raised them well enough so that they could make good, educated decisions about the many problems life would throw in their direction. But, he said, you also have a lingering fear. You fear things won't turn out right. You fear all the things life can do. He was waking up every night with images of military men coming to his door to tell him his son had been killed in the line of duty. He would dream of his son dying in the desert and not being there to help him. He said that until I was a parent I would not be able to really appreciate the good moments in life because they were the only ones that got you through the dark ones, the crazy feelings you get because you're a parent and your worst fear is always the fear of losing your child.

I didn't know it then. I know it now. I'm intimately familiar with those feelings. The good moments get you through them, so I try to make many, many good moments.

The same co-worker, the one who said I was "special" (baby, so special), asked me a question today. She asked if there was anything I really feared. I don't know where the question came from, but my co-worker and I are in the same unit. We've all been under a lot of stress. Shit has gone absolutely topsy-turvy there and it all feels off kilter, and nobody likes it. I don't know if that caused the question, but it was a good one.

My fear, I told her, was losing my daughter. It would be the one thing I could not recover from. "I could lose a quart of blood in the toilet," I said. "I'll make more. Get that checked out. Losing my girl would not be recoverable. Things would get bad. They would not be pretty." It would be the one time the emotions would run over.

It's an irrational fear, but as a parent you get it. Whether it's bleeding out in the desert or a hundred other scenarios. You can't help it, but you remember the good times and they get you through the bad.

She's sleeping. I just heard her sigh. She does that sometimes. It's a happy sound. (She also sometimes laughs in her sleep. Any parent who has a little kid who does that will tell you that it is the creepiest thing to hear at three in morning. A child's laughter is great. A child's giggle at three a.m. in a dark house is kind of bone chilling.) It's the sound of everything being all right in the universe.

My co-worker's kid came back from the Gulf War. Not a scratch on him. All his limbs were in place, and by all accounts he had none of the usual PTSD or odd side effects when peeing thanks to God-knows-what chemicals. I don't know if the dreams stopped, but I could guess that they just kind of changed. That comes with the territory, too.

My life is better because of my child. That's all there is to it. I get angry when I hear of other parents doing wrong by their children. I get bitter when I hear parents say how much they "hate" their kids. I don't get it. I don't like it. I want to go into a rage when I hear about a parent who puts their child in harm's way. The people who are supposed to protect and nourish then become the biggest threat in the child's life. It sickens me. Like there aren't enough things out there that will ruin your child's life if given half the chance.

The good times take care of the bad. You keep telling yourself that because it's true and keeps you on an even keel. And luckily, when it comes to my child there's nothing but good times.

Changes in the wind. Which way she going to blow?

All Work and No Play ...

Years ago Adbusters, that great magazine dedicated to consumer culture, was doing articles about how the current mental state of people (anxiety disorders and so on) were directly linked to capitalism. The writers presented some compelling ideas and science, but since capitalism is linked to everything it's hard to say that it has a large role in the rise of Paxil prescriptions.

I do believe our culture plays a large role in the amount of mental illness in our society. Some of the science backs this up. Not all of it, but enough that it is a cause of concern.

Black Friday.

Yeah.

Hello, Sunshine

Woke up from a fitful night of "sleep" to some good business news. Investors are worried that consumers are still a little too "skittish" to do any real holiday spending. "Skittish" apparently means "aren't over spending because they have been keeping an eye on the economy." Back when the World Trade Towers took a dive thanks to a small handful of men on a mission, Baby Bush made sure we knew the country would be okay if we only continued shopping. After this latest economic gangbang you would think investors would be more concerned about bigger picture type things and long term thinking. Nope.

Long term thinking. Far reaching goals. The big picture. Elements sorely lacking from American society where ADD seems to be the rule rather than the exception. Pathological preoccupation with the here and now at the expense of the future. But what do I know? I'm just a guy who writes stuff down and occasionally gets to say, "I told you so."

I've ranted and raved about consumerism and shortsighted behavior for decades now. I don't expect everyone to agree or listen. I don't honestly care except for the fact that this kind of thinking puts policies in place and causes meltdowns that affect my life and that I have to listen to people complain about things without ever admitting to or even admitting their own role in the problem. So be it, though.

Bill Hicks, the late great social critic (I refuse to say he was only a comedian, though he did that quite well, too), had a lot to say on the same things. He had his following while he was alive, but like Jesus, got a bit bigger in death. Some of you may have never heard of him, which is fine, too. Some people know everything about Nic Cage. Others veer off the trodden path. The fact that Cage is a household name and Hicks isn't says just about everything. It's all about content. Glenn Beck versus Noam Chomsky. Fox versus CSPAN. On and on.

During my lunch budget talk where I asked my wonderful co-worker if I was flat out wrong about what I felt on the economy and my future actions, I was informed that there was wisdom in what I was doing. I was also given another side of the entire budget issue when it came to county layoffs that I had only thought about in passing. It's been on my mind because what happens on the county level is indicative of a bigger problem, and our state politicians are a group of short-term thinkers. We both expressed our ideas and thoughts, and it was a nice conversation that bordered on a debate. It was nice to actually discuss something that wasn't related to teen vampire movies (which comes up at work a lot) and didn't involve someone sticking their head in the sand to the problems at hand.

Black Friday. It's coming soon. How skittish are you?

Graveyards and Cocktails

I was getting ready to hit the bed and read until the sweet embrace of sleep would call for me when the phone rang. I had just gotten off the phone, and here it was again, begging for an answer. I just wanted to relax. Sleep is an elusive pursuit these days. Rain woke me up this morning, which angered me. When I don't get enough sleep, anything that wakes me early faces the possibility of my rage.

So do phone calls from out of the blue.

This person, whom I shall call X because X's identity would be known by many who read this, was having "issues." X thought I could help with these. I could ... if I wanted to. I really didn't. I have enough stress of my own with budget thoughts (great talk with a co-worker at lunch about this today), Xmess, and life in general. X wanted to bend my ear a bit. Bounce ideas. I was to be a solution to a problem I did not create.

Yawn.

Relationship problems. The worst kind to have, I suppose. I told X I tend not to make decisions based on emotions because that usually causes problems. I said this may or may not work for them, but that's how I did things.

My eyes kept darting to the clock. Dear God, I'm pretty sure I've had this conversation before. I'm pretty sure I've given the same answer. I'm pretty sure it was as well-received then as it was now, which is to say not at all.

"I'm flattered you are asking my advice," I said, "but I think I'm the wrong one to ask about this. Like I said, cold and calculating. I appreciate it, but really, I'm not the one that needs to answer this. I think you know the answer, and I think it affects you more than it does me, so you better listen to yourself."

It seemed to be a safe answer. I said it nicely. I was tired. It did not look like I would be reading. Instead, I saw this conversation dragging on into the wee hours of morning. I got to work. I already don't get enough sleep. I sure as hell don't want to be kept up.

I kept thinking that X wanted me to say to stay in the relationship. Problem was, these problems were not new and they weren't changing. They were the same ones I had been hearing for months.

"If you don't want me to think rationally," I offered, "why don't you tell me how going with your emotions has helped you? Have the emotional decisions you've made been good ones?" I wasn't sure what X would say. I knew my answer, but my values and feelings on the matter are my own and they don't necessarily apply to anyone else.

The answer didn't surprise me, though. "No." No. X admitted the decisions made based on emotion weren't working, but said that they can sometimes work. Agreed. Emotions can be viable things to base decisions on. As can rationality. Or insanity. Whatever. I just wanted to hang up.

"What should I do?"

There were things I wanted to say that I knew would lead to more conversation. I remember once saying I didn't really care what X did because it didn't affect me. That was, by all accounts, a Huge Fucking Mistake. So, instead ...

"Sleep on it." That's what I said. Sleep on it. Problems seem different in the morning. You gain new perspectives.

"I wanna know now. I don't wanna sleep on it."

So, instead ...

"Then fucking leave. Get out of your situation. Honestly, if you think that your emotional decisions haven't worked for you, why not go with logic? You are treated bad? End it. Lied to? End it. Cheated on you? End it."

"Yeah, maybe I will."

So now it is 11:10, I can't see straight, I'm having a problem with an interview I can't do now (I did not realize the deadline was so close), I'm looking at job changes, and yet more budget info came out. It would be really easy to be emotional about any one of these things, but emotion doesn't work well for. As the Dead Kennedys said, "Your emotions/Make you a monster."

God, I need sleep. That conversation wiped me.

A Cry for Help in a World Gone Mad

Hey, simple reminder, plea, warning -- whatever. AK Press is always looking to add more Friends to its roster. Being a friend (for a very reasonable monthly fee) gets you one of every book, DVD and CD that AK Press publishes and gets you 20% everything in the catalog. You can't find a better deal. If you think you are politically minded (left bent), and you aren't a Friend, then you aren't politically minded. Period.

The publisher is doing a friend drive. If you sign up and say I, Doug Brunell, sent you, we both get tote bags featuring the new AK Press logo thingy. It's $25 a month, and the amount you get in books along makes up for it. A lot of it is anarchist in nature, but there are also books on race, religion, the environment, school, social issues and so on. Plenty of Chomsky and Churchill, too.

Great ideas for the gift giving/extortion season, too.

The Blackest of Fridays

In just over a week, shoppers, like lemmings, will line up outside stores waiting for the doors to open. They clutch lists and cell phones, their breath forming clouds in air before their faces. They will push their way in to get $25 DVD players and the latest, greatest toy that will be forgotten about ten minutes after it is taken out of the box.

It's telling that Black Friday comes the day after we collectively spend the day stuffing ourselves sick and then watching endless football or holiday specials. One gorging for another. Consumerism of both styles on parade. It's enough to make you sick if you really start to think about it.

This year's Black Friday is going to be key. After a few months of people like Obama telling us the economy is getting better, this will show how much confidence consumers have in those statements. Words are cheap, though, and people have a good idea of what is happening out there. People know the jobs aren't there. Nobody is hiring. Wages are frozen. Layoffs are looming.

Spending on a new pair of shoes seems downright indulgent when a record number of people are now in need of food assistance. Yet I can imagine those self-same hungry souls lining up, lists in hand, eyes darting. So hungry ... for food and consumer goods.

MDC, a great punk band, once said the capitalism is cannibalism. It's a true statement because capitalism unchecked devours itself. The bubble that burst recently is not the first of its sort, and nor will it be the last ... unless we change how we do things. That seems unlikely, though. Especially when you look at those lines outside those stores.

Violence. Aggression. Crime. All for cheap electronics and China-produced toys.

Enjoy your turkey, shoppers. Come Saturday your buyer's remorse may just set in. Don't whine about it, though. You caused your misery. Now enjoy your $3 MP3 player.

Immolation State Style

I follow business news. I'm interested in the budget because my job depends on California pulling itself together and figure out how to keep the ship sailing. As the saying goes, when California sneezes, the rest of the country catches a cold. California's current budget was never a cure. It wasn't even a fix. It was a layaway plan, and the bill for that is due next year.

By conservative measures, California is looking at a $22 billion deficit. Part of this is left over from the past budget. Part of it is all new misery. All of it points to a potential disaster that will have a huge ripple effect on the rest of the country.

There are some obvious, though ugly solutions to the problem. One of those is, of course, the decriminalization and taxation of pot. One of the less ugly ones, and one that will be fun, is getting rid of our governor. His thick-headed way of dealing with California's financial woes (which ultimately come down to putting the burden on the poor as it usually does) has taken a once thriving contributor to the nation's financial well being and has turned it into a joke.

In interest of full disclosure, my job depends upon the California budget. I want to see it fixed not only for my own job safety (layoffs and privatization are just two of the solutions I am looking at), but for the good of the country. This isn't Rhode Island going bankrupt. It's California. If memory serves right, we used to be the fifth largest economy in the world. Now? We don't even rate.

2009 was stressful. 2010 is looking to in full panic attack mode. The politicians, at least some of the ones I've seen interviewed, acknowledge this. They are scared because elections are times where their inaction comes out. They also realize that acting sooner rather than later is prudent. Most likely, though, they won't act until it is far too late. Problem is, it already is too late.

Black Friday is approaching. The talking heads on the business news networks are saying they are optimistic about consumer spending. They say this in order to keep consumer confidence from tanking. California, like every other state, stands to benefit in tax dollars if Black Friday is a "success." That optimism is unwarranted, though, as there is nothing in the numbers that says this will a busy shopping season. With unemployment rising, nobody wants to spend money ... and who can blame them?

California's not sneezing. It's got the full-on flu, and if you think your state is safe, you haven't been paying attention.

Humboldt is oddly warm today. At least it is not one of the listed "hot stain" spots.

AK Press used a quote from me for its new campaign. Sweet.

Today things fell apart. I only sit back and nod. Fate is unkind to some.

Thank God for Sarah Palin

Sarah Palin, that rogue agent of change for the Republican party, has been back in the media eye as of late. Honestly, it's as if she had never left. Best known for running for Vice President, this maverick has a book out, served as the governor of Alaska, and has an award-winning smile that melts the hearts of even the most liberal of the bleeding hearts.

The only problem is that she's as dumb as a fucking goat corpse and if this is the new face of the GOP ... well, not even that drug addict Rush Limbaugh can help it.

Palin was never a maverick or rogue. What she was was typical. Red-blooded, backwoods, conservative because she can be -- there was nothing new or special about her. She came out of nowhere and should have faded there just as fast, but something about her caught the attention of the media (it just can't be her stupidity) and the Republican Party (though I can't help but think the more intellectual of them most clench their teeth every time her name pops up). To call her a maverick or rogue is like calling the pop group Hanson "cutting edge" and "artistic." It may look good on paper, and Palin may actually believe it, but the sad fact is that she is so typical that if she were a tad bit uglier none of this would be happening.

The Golden Dawn is arguably one of the biggest influences on modern occultism. Bram Stoker was one of its many member, and though the temples associated with the original order faded thirtysome years ago, it lives on and by some standards has even undergone a bit of a revival. The order was started in 1888 and its influences, while readily apparent to those into the occult, mysticism, and forbidden and hidden knowledge, are with us to this day. To those who don't dabble in such things, the influences on the modern world are not readily felt, though that does not mean they are not there. Poetry, the Western fascination with Buddhism and even medicine owe a debt to the Golden Dawn as members of it have been directly involved in these activities and one cannot help but wonder how those members' pursuit of knowledge bled over into their other activities because the Golden Dawn was, if anything, thorough in its pursuits.

The Golden Dawn has staying power. It has influence. It remains largely unknown by the population at large. Comparing the Golden Dawn to Palin seems unfair at first, but it serves as a wonderful contrast.

Palin has been presented as someone with influence, someone with staying power, and as someone who will potentially lead another group known as the Republican Party. Palin, of course, is none of these things. She is a, however, a scapegoat, a sacrifice, a pawn and a cruel joke. She engaged in nepotism, and seems almost proud of her ignorance. It is easy to imagine Golden Dawn members looking at the rise of Palin with something akin to admiration as it has served as a distraction as to what is really going on behind closed doors.

The Golden Dawn has had splits within its ranks, much like the Republican Party seems split on Palin. There are those who embrace her as the party's saving grace and who feel that she is the face they want seen. Others look at her as the dismissive hoax of a politician she is to everyone else. Republicans, who have never been known to be kind to women or their issues, have slowly changed its stance on such things, and Palin is substandard proof of that. A pregnant teenage daughter, a working mom -- what's not to love? The Golden Dawn has seemingly always let women into its fold, making it a far more progressive organization. It is also unlikely that the order would have let one of its female followers be offered up to be the sacrifice Palin is bound to become, but any group that allows Aleister Crowley to be a member (and that's not to say he didn't come without controversy) should always be viewed with some suspicion. In that respect, Palin and the Republicans share quite a bit with Golden Dawn.

Palin and the Republican Party have no tangible or meaningful ties with Golden Dawn, however. At least none I can find. I just find it interesting to see a large organization with influence in all our daily lives get zero media attention (think of the last time you heard it mentioned) while a person destined to be a footnote merits the media spotlight every time she menstruates. It's a strange world, one that doesn't always make sense. The weak and the lackluster are painted as saviors and gods while the learned and influential are relegated to the memory hole.

Then again, if you want to find the ties to the occult, they are there in the actions of the Republican Party toward Palin. It is an elaborate ruse meant to distract and misguide in what one expects to be a grand master plan that involves courting new voters, keeping old ones and perhaps presenting a candidate in opposition to her that would ensure not only a worthwhile shot at the White House but, more importantly, a media debate centering not on Democrat versus Republican but Republican versus Republican. What an excellent way to dominate the gatekeepers.

Perhaps the Golden Dawn isn't the only group pursuing the unification with the divine now is it?

I miss actual discourse. Honest debate.

I agree with Ward Churchill on 9/11. Pathology of pacifism, too.

A reverse of outsourcing country wide seems concomitant at this point, doesn't it?

I have a healthy appreciation for science. Listening to nonsense at mall makes me chuckle.

Wolves at the Door

I sense a change in the air. It's not the onset of winter, which feels like it came to Humboldt last night bearing an axe and the still-dripping head of Autumn (eyes rolled back and mouth gaping open in part shock and part relief to be pushed from this mortal coil so suddenly). It's not that it's getting darker earlier, which I love. It's not the rain that falls not frequently enough, which I also love. It's something else. A breaking point. It's the wolves at the door, sniffing. I want to let them in.

I think I'm a nice guy most of the time. I don't call a lot of people on their stupidity or selfishness unless they really start to bug me with it. I realized long ago that it was pointless endeavor that only succeeds in creating confusion and animosity that is misdirected at the very least. I hold my tongue because I live in a society. It's a sick society, one based in greed and run by self-centered adult children who make your business their business (and they can't even tie their own fucking shoes without making it a drama).

For people like me, every day is an exercise in not throwing hot coffee in someone's face.

I don't think that makes me unbalanced or "insane," as one fool put it. Admitting to it and holding people up to certain standards I think makes me honest and stable. It's bad enough I repress a lot of my feelings in order to get through the day. If I didn't admit to the most base parts of my emotions I'd probably end up, well, like them.

I don't understand the people whose palms sweat with glee when they think of Black Friday (imagine if they treated politics the same way as they do getting deals on pajamas). I don't understand the mindset of people who watch the Super Bowl in order to see the new commercials (their justifications always fall so flat when held up to scrutiny). I don't understand those folks who spout their ideas of how society should be run, but don't ever include themselves in that equation (because if it's good enough for others it's not good enough for them). I don't understand the people who are happy to shrug off their responsibilities on others (they are the biggest complainers when it happens to them). I don't understand them, and I only care about them in the respect that I sometimes have to deal with them and hear their nonsense.

I used to use this blog as a therapeutic outlet. Because I took so much flack from so many people who "knew" how I should handle things, I turned to a different outlet. This posting is not therapeutic. This posting is more of a fact finding mission, an examination of the causes of my recent fear that what waits at the door isn't waiting for me, but I am waiting for it.

I have been accused of many things. Some true. Some not. Accusations mean nothing to me, though. Something a friend said to me the other day, which was not an accusation as much as it was an observation, came back to me last night in a fever dream. "You seem like you're all out of justifications on why you still deal with people."

I do believe, kind sirs, the lady is right.

Sniffing at my door, the wolves scratch at the wood. They want in. I want to let them in. I believe a man should only go up against things bigger than he. I don't believe in picking on the "little guy." Those wolves, they don't want to eat me. They want to join me. They want to enter the fold.

I once explained my theories on violence to my friend and supervisor. I believe we were talking about threats and how effective they are. I argued that pulling a knife and threatening to kill someone doesn't work well. People use that threat all the time. To pull the knife and say, "I will cut you"? That works wonders. That scares people. That sounds like it will happen. That is more plausible than the threat of death. People don't fear death. If they did they wouldn't smoke. They wouldn't drink and drive. They wouldn't take speed. But to threaten to cut someone, that sends images into their head, images they can't easily shake because they can easily imagine them. Perhaps they see the blade sliding diagonally across their face, going deeper the further it gets, ending once the eyeball is cleaved open. Perhaps they imagine you cutting a two-inch long, inch deep gash in their thigh, one where they can see the muscle beneath.

It was a good talk. Yes, it was a little twisted, a bit dark, but also very therapeutic. I don't think of those things because I want to do them. I think of them because I want to be able to use something like that to get someone to stop bothering me without having to resort to the actual action. I'm a writer. I realize the power of words. I prefer them over physical violence if only because there is less police interaction, less blood, and it lets the person go home thinking about what they've done instead of wondering how they will exact revenge if they are ever able to walk again.

People feel strongly about violence. On one hand, it's bad for people to talk about it on a meaningful level because violence, like cannibalism or Satanic sex rituals, is just one of those things that's assumed to be bad. Get them talking about some war, however, and the idea of it being violent goes right out the window. Violence on that level is so incomprehensible that it doesn't even become a theory anymore. It just is. That, to me, is dangerous thinking. If you can't discuss violence on a personal level, you have no place in talking about war.

We are animals. Animals are violent. They protect their turf. They kill to eat. We tend to think we are better because we can make coffee and drive. The problem is we are still animals and while we can do things like justify our actions through rational thinking, we rarely do it. Therefore we use violence in one of two ways: without thought or without meaning. There is where we differ from the animals. We think we are better, but we haven't applied it, and therefore we are more like a virus.

Mankind is, at its heart, a disease upon the planet. If there was a god, he would see us as a cancer, a cancer that seems to take glee in its ignorant rampage. The wolves at the door understand that. They want no part of it. They'd rather be a solution. That's why they are here. They don't knock, though. They wait to be invited in. They are happy to scratch and sniff, salivate and curl against each other for warmth in cold of the early Humboldt winter. They have protected the door unseen from the bushes for quite some time now, but they are ready to be admitted. They feel like they deserve some warmth.

Last night, in my feverish dreams, I dreamed of a world where people thought before they began to announce their stupidity. I saw a place where the sun shone through the rain and where people finally "got" it. I saw a new day. The people didn't disappear (they have to be kept if only for amusement value), but they understood the new direction. They understood that some people just don't want to deal with them not because they are above them, but because they are tired of them. I saw a world where I could walk amongst them and still be isolated, only engaging in discourse with those of my choosing at a time of my choosing. In my dream, I smiled. It felt foreign. I saw myself as a foreigner. You know what I mean. You know that when you see pictures of people from other countries that they look somewhat different, even if they share your skin color. There's something about them. It may be their hair, their clothes, but mostly it's the smile. They smile differently. That was how I felt. I was a stranger to this land, and I liked it.

I am careful of who I let into my world. I need to be more careful. I need to be choosier. GG Allin, a man whom I admire if only because he lived life as he saw fit (and I don't agree with everything he did, but in spirit I liked the "truth in advertising" approach he used) once said in so many words that if you couldn't take what he was you needed to stay away. This, if I recall correctly, was after he got in trouble for setting a woman on fire. She was, as he put it, burned on the GG altar. She wanted to hang with him, an unstable man who did unstable things, and she seemed shock when that unstability was turned toward her. I don't agree with him doing that. In fact, I think it was horrible. But I also think, and this is where I differ with most of society, that she had it coming. She knew what he was going into it (and this was proven afterward when she still tried to be with him, if memory serves correctly), and she still decided to be one of his "followers," for lack of a better word. She thought the rules didn't apply to her, even though GG made it perfectly clear that the rules even applied to him first and foremost. She ignored the signs. She thought she was different. She saw what he was and still decided to operate in his world.

Yeah, setting her on fire was wrong. Brutal. Uncalled for. But you can't blame him for hating the weakness and stupidity of what was put before him. The man wanted to destroy himself. What made her think he wouldn't want to eventually destroy her?

But I digress. I'm careful of who I let into my world. I'm private. I don't like a lot of interaction with people. I only tend to open up to people I think can handle what I have to say ... and understand it. They don't have to agree with it. I'd prefer if they didn't, because I like debate (and if you are reading this, yes, I'll say it here, gymnastics is a sport -- happy?). I think, however, those who do let me open up to them for whatever reason (mutual masturbation, perhaps) need to ask themselves if they can continue to do so if I finally decide to take all the filters off. I'm not saying I'm resorting to violence or anything like that. Those who know me well know how I am, and they are the same ones who understand the filters. My guess is that those who understand that and are still reading have kind of shuddered at the idea. They think those filters are almost non-existent to begin with. They think I already let the idiots who surround me everytime I step outside my door know exactly what I feel. They also know I hold back a bit.

Accountability. Truth in advertising. Responsibility. Rationality. Morality. Honesty. These are all good things. I try to hold myself up to a certain set of standards. I don't always succeed, but I always try. I think I deserve the company of these wolves. I've earned it. And to be honest, knowing I've earned it and accepting it -- letting the wolves in -- makes me feel like I can operate within this world with a smile on my face. I can be honest and I don't have to worry about hurt feelings (and all the stupid tears that come with it) or lost friendships or even hatred. I don't care about those things. My friend who thought I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders can be relieved. I've lifted it. It feels good.

Come on in, my friends. Curl up before the fire. The sun is out. It's still cold, but this black sun can still warm the heart. Let me feed you. Let me protect you from the outside world. Let's engage in a dialogue that leads to our mutual survival in this barren landscape of fractured morality and starry-eyed dreams. Let's let our existence be an example to others. Let's let the fact that we breathe be our threat. Let's pull away from the people we do not want to deal with, and when they invade our space we will greet them with open arms, bared teeth and a growl at the back of our throats. They shall know that their stupidity and ill-thought emotions are not welcome here. When they decide to encroach, they shall be operating under our rules and the rules that bind this society. We shall be civil, but honest. We will meet ignorance with intelligence. We shall meet emotion with rationality. We shall meet violence with like. We, too, will operate under the rules set forth by our society, but we shall not hold them to a different standard just because we think they don't get it. We shall hold them to our standard, a standard born not of fear but of understanding, instinct and the knowledge that we are but animals with the capacity of acting beyond our means. We shall offer our ear to their words, but let them know that they should not waste our time. We shall embrace freedom and responsiblity with the same hope and glee people use when they think of things like shopping and their Friday night bar hopping plans. In the end, we will feast knowing that those who have stayed around are operating under the same principals, but not necessarily the same values. We can dine with our enemies even, if they all agree on the rules of civility.

Welcome, wolves. This smile no longer has to be a mask.

Wow, this was more therapeutic then I thought. Perhaps it should be consigned to that other space. Or ... perhaps it's more like a No Trespassing sign.

I think the more astute already know.

The less astute soon will.

Happy Sunday, all. Enjoy football, the race, or whatever you like doing on this day of rest. Read a book. Plant a tree. Take a walk in the woods. Do some Christmas shopping for a loved one. Just chill out with a glass of wine and some world music if the mood fits. I've got my daughter, and that means I'm the luckiest man in the world. Find what makes you the luckiest and do it like there is no tomorrow. Indulge. Redefine excess. For the sake of your soul, live without the barriers. Let the wolves in.

You'll all be happier.

Enjoy.

This Party's Over

Some mistakes you can't undo. No amount of bullshit or avoidance can get you through it. You fuck up and you pay the price.

People make mistakes. Our society is set up in a way that gives folks a lot of leeway ... for better or for worse. Humboldt County, one of the most liberal places I've ever lived (more artists per capita than anywhere in the US!) is a perfect example of what happens, however, when far too many mistakes are forgiven. It's a depressed area both economically and socially. Yeah, we may have many progressive, caring people, but if you look deep enough you see that all they care about is their little universe.

Boyd Rice, a man many find despicable for a host of reasons, once said that justice is when people are held accountable for their actions (to paraphrase) and made to be responsible for them. Stupid people pay the price for being stupid and smart people are not punished for their intelligence. It's a great philosophy, but the exact opposite happens in this world, and far too many people get away with it.

There is one person reading this who knows exactly what I am talking about. There are others reading it who, through people speaking about what they think they know, may think they know what is going on. They don't. And there are going to be people, when this transgression against the group comes out, who may not understand why it is a big deal. I will say it then, but I need to say it now, too.

In times of stress, in times of war, you start to develop close bonds to the people with whom you are serving. You are in the trenches together all trying to accomplish the same goals. If you don't have the same goal in mind, things start to fall apart. Morale gets corrupted, the goal no longer becomes the goal. The goal changes to keeping the group together. In an ideal system, the group will help the weaker members and will play to each other's strengths. They may not get along outside the situation even, but during the operation they work like a well-oiled machine.

At least that's how it's supposed to go.

Betray the group and things turn ugly. It's already starting to happen, and I don't even think everyone knows the extent of it all. A group gets very good at figuring out when things are going South even if they don't know why. The dynamic gets fucked up and people react.

I've been struggling with my role in the group because I am the one who set this in motion. I discovered a betrayal. I did the right thing, and now those in the group who are doing the right thing are struggling with their roles within the group.

It shouldn't have, but it is tearing me up.

Soon, very soon I believe, this group dynamic will change. The group will absorb it, though, and will go on stronger than it was before. As for the member who transgressed ... well, I don't expect it will go well. In fact, if pressed, I'd say it may actually destroy the person (another reason I'm struggling with my role in this).

Friends and family are strange machines. They can be the most comforting thing imaginable or a monster that eats your soul while smiling. They don't make you pay for your mistakes. They are your mistakes personified. One group is what you pick and thus are responsible for. The other is one you stay out of blood obligation, and are therefore responsible for, too. They are your retribution in the flesh.

In the society I dream of when I dream of such things, people would have all the freedom in the world, including the freedom to fuck up their own lives. There would be no laws in place to protect them from themselves. With that freedom, however, would come a very heavy sense of personal responsibility and the knowledge that transgressions against the rest of society would be handled swiftly and justly. The police would have a different role (if they even existed), and people would have to be responsible for keeping their own morals in check. That's the world I dream of, so I try to live my life that way. I try to be responsible for my actions, and I try to do the right thing (according to my morals) when I can ... even when it is ugly.

I know I did the right thing here, and I wouldn't do it over again even if I could. But those decisions, even when they are the right ones, are not made without an emotional conflict and eventual burden. A dear friend told me she thinks I wear the "weight of the world" on my shoulders and it worries her to see that.

Everyone should wear the weight of the world on their shoulders. You don't have to own the problems, but the only way to fix them is to acknowledge them. If you don't, you can't expect others to. If you don't try to fix them, you can't rely on others to. If you don't act upon what you see, if you don't try to see what is around you -- well, you aren't really wearing the weight, you've become the weight. Far too many people are fine with that. I'm not.

I want to get rid of the dead weight.

Burning Man

Trying to reformat the cannibal manuscript was an exercise in self-control. Tried it. Tried it again. Gave up. Got cozy with the PS2. Phone rings. Not odd, per se, but it was 12:30. With my daughter sick, I rushed to grab it. The number came up as "Private."

It was a female. Most of my friends are female, so this was not odd. Calls from them at 12:30 are ... usually.

This female was drunk. My female friends are not the kind to call me drunk ... most of them.

Drunk female: Are you coming to get me?

Me: No. [Keep in mind I have no idea who this is.]

Drunk female: Why not?

Me: Why should I?

Drunk female: You said you would. [This comes out sounding like, "Yous said yous would."

Me: I lied.

Drunk female: Why would you lie?

Me: Because you bore me and I'm fairly sure you may be suffering from some sort of brain damage.

I hung up as she started to curse. I imagine I ruined some guy's night, as she did not sound anywhere close to the realm of happy. Oh well. Should have dialed better. You never know when you'll get someone who just wants to amuse himself.

My throat is on fire! One of the women I work with thinks we all got "throat herpes." I'm not sure where this idea came from, and quite frankly the visual is a bit much, but I am starting to see why she would think this. I can kind of imagine throat herpes feeling like this. Truly horrible.

I'm glad this day is done. I can only wonder what new joys tomorrow will be.

Ever see those bumper stickers? The ones that say, "Blessed Be"? I hate those stickers. They annoy me as much as the people who haven't taken off their Palin endorsements. Guess what? If you voted for Palin, you deserve throat herpes.

Tomorrow will be better ... because it can't be any worse.

Knockin' On Heaven's Door

I should be formatting my cannibal manuscript, but that has driven me to the wall on a day where the wall is the only thing I've been up against. Tempted to play some Marvel Ultimate Alliance 2. The news is on, though, and there is talk of the California budget. So, while I wait for that to come on and dazzle me with misery, I thought it would be fun to share.

Work has not been good the past week or so. Sometimes you are right about things you wish you were wrong about because being right means your trust has been abused.

My daughter has been sick. I always get worried about that as she was stuck in the hospital upon birth and that has always stuck with me. Besides being sick, doctors won't see her. It makes for a lovely combo.

With that in mind, my nerves were at wit's end today. I wrote a murder confession, stating it would be justified. Signed and dated it. I didn't want to deal with any more incompetence and figured the next person that came by my desk with anything but pristine work would leave with my scissors stuck three inches deep in their neck.

Yeah, like anyone would be surprised.

Alas, I did not stab, hit, pummel or shoot. But I did get an earful from some people. One person who stands out is a good friend who made a great assessment of me. In her eyes, I am manipulative and a wreck. I don't hide the wreckage well, but she can't be entirely sure when/if I am working said manipulation.

Guilty as charged, ma'am, but I am nothing but honest about it. That may make me a bad guy. That may make me an asshole. But, again, I'm honest about it. Not many people can say the same thing. I only seem like a dick, however, because most people don't deal in honesty. It is a foreign currency that has no value to them because they aren't traveling in that country.

I was also told that people confide things to me that they would never tell anyone else, and that can be the cause of worry. (On a related note, another friend said that, too, but added to it that it makes me dangerous. I suppose it does, but I would never use that information.) I know things, so when I get worried or upset there might be cause for alarm.

I guess I just don't dig the stealth mode people tend to operate under. Such is life, though. I just think that you got one chance to make a go of it, so why not call them like you see them? Anything else is just weak.

Time to format.

Tapped out of pity today. Running on logic and rage works better anyway. I remain burned beyond recognition.

Rape update coming soon.

I am having a rage fueled day.

The Third Distortion Star

Just finished filling out paperwork on a job I won't get. Tired. My living room light magically shut itself off. Creepy.

Vices.

As I wrote that the light turned itself back on. Even creepier. I have heard weird things here before. It's getting weirder. Normally I'd say it's because I'm tired, but I know that's a lie made to make myself feel better and sound less insane.

Digress. Back to vices.

I was reading an e-mail a friend sent. She told me she thought my vices were sex and violence, perhaps combined in a safe, fun manner. Can't say she's wrong on that one. I feel strongly about both. She also said she thought I should really, really think about a new job where the stress level is different and I don't dread getting up every morning. "You need a place where it's not Hell on Earth."

I told a co-worker that when I come to work every morning I think I feel the same way the Jews did when they got off the train in Hitler's Germany. Maybe that's what she meant about Hell on Earth.

As usual with these tired posts, my mind wanders.

I hate Oprah. I feel she sells these feel-good messages to people who like to think they have some sort of connection to her but are really nothing more than housewives (or wannabe housewives) who will never get beyond the middle class and lack to the culture to survive in any other setting. She bothers me because she pretends it's something different. It's not. It's trash.

The Yankees should beat the Phillies. I'm from PA, but the Phillies suck. The team's fans are drunken halfwits who long for Tug McGraw to pound his chest again and wonder why more people don't have a Mike Schmidt style mustache.

I wish Lorna from AK Press good luck with her problem. I've missed talking to her, and it was nice to hear her voice today.

A noise just sounded in the bathroom. Sounded like someone bumped into the wall. You gotta be kidding me. If I even wrote half the stuff I heard you would either think I was crazy, lying or a combination of both.

I think only one person has ever really understood me when I said I gotta let a little evil out. The fact that that person got it so spot on should be scary. Very scary. Tick tock, right?

Celebrity Watchdog George Anthony Watson drives some folks up a wall. He's never done that to me, though. He hates whitey with good reason (nobody likes an occupying force), but I respect him. Not sure if he respects me, but I think he tolerates me. He and I have had many deep, interesting, honest discussions. I miss those. Don't get to talk to him much anymore because life likes to get in the way.

Just heard another noise that sounded like someone screwing with the toys I have displayed at the end of the hall.

I'm too tired, too stressed to sleep, but I know I should try. I have to go to work tomorrow and most likely start interviewing right away. I'll see who is out, who is late and won't be surprised by any of it. I will think how Italian fascists got music down right, and how capitalism may have run its course and has set the stage for a new paradigm.

One year ago today Obama was elected. Many people think he's a God. Me? He's just another politician. Chomsky's comments on the man were right on. What? You don't read Chomsky? Go fuck yourself.

I have Cannibal Holocaust on DVD. You can watch it with the animal violence (which is real) turned off. I've never done that, but that creature's screams still chill me to the bone.

I finished my latest draft of the cannibal manuscript. Feels good. Feels damn good. Chomp!

According to a new poll, the most popular sexual position is "woman on top." I could crack a joke or two here, say something about how I feel about that one (I'll save that for the other place), or be as disturbing as I feel I can be, but I won't. These hands ...

I believe I'm going to bed. If I think anymore I'll get stuck here all night. Nietzsche was right about many things. The Nazis warped his words, of course. And when it comes to his views on women he was a product of his time, but you can't help but wonder ... what if he was right? What if his views came not out of disrespect, but a healthy, honest respect that led to fear and anger? If you compare many of those views to the rest of his philosophy, you start to see what he is really saying.

Or maybe I'm just way too tired and going off on unrelated tangents.

Let a little evil out? If you don't get it yet ... tick tock.

My daughter just laughed in her sleep. It's a comforting sound. Makes me feel alive, whole. It's the sound that lets me know that even though everything is turning to shit, that is still the best thing in the whole fucking world.

Now I'm really going to bed because there is no better sound to go to sleep to tonight.

Heat wave in Eureka. Evil.

Richmond Rapist Update 2: They Shoot Rapists, Don't They?

I promised an update, and here it is. On Friday, Associated Press named three of the arraigned in the Richmond gang rape case. Presented for your reading pleasure are Cody Ray Smith (15), Ari Abdallah Morales (16), Marcelles James Peter (17). Peter's aunt, Monica Peter, commented before the hearing that her nephew told her he was only a bystander and did not participate in the attack. Of course, that begs the question: Why the fuck didn't he do something?

The aunt has an answer for that. She said he was afraid "he would get his ass kicked."

Peter should be concerned about his ass. Not about getting it kicked, however. You see, I doubt that 17-year-old has ever taken anything bigger than his finger up there while doing some masturbation experimentation while looking at Internet porn. If the tarot cards say prison is in his future, he'll soon be schooled in the art of prison sodomy. Getting his ass kicked will be a pleasure compared to what could be in store for him.

As I was formulating this blog posting, Celebrity Watchdog George Anthony Watson sent me a link a piece on SF Gate. The piece says that the rape was seen as "nearly inevitable." That's just the beginning of the questionable insights, however.

The victim is painted as a church-going girl (sympathy) who worried counselors (a bit of concern) because she tried "too hard" to please her school's "bad boys" (blame the victim). The place where the attack occurred is described as the "most infamous spot on campus," which also seems to lack security of any sort despite its notoriety. (The article says security was to be stepped up in the future. Ahh, hindsight.)

As you read what is supposed to be a sympathetic, revealing piece, you realize just how well the stereotypes are in place. Poverty (the politically correct code word for minorities) combined with a culture that glorifies thuggery (more code words) and "applauds" the degradation of women (suspicious at best). But wait, there's more!

These young men were "desensitized" by the usual suspects: violent video games, music and "language." Violent video games are the comic books of yesteryear. Back in the 1940s and '50s comic books were blamed for all kinds of juvenile delinquency problems because juvies read them. Today violent video games are blamed because "street culture thugs" play them. But like the "horrific" comic books of decades ago a large portion of today's youth, criminal and non-criminal, play violent video games. They don't all go out and gang rape.

(On a related note, Madoff, who is doing time in prison, committed a horrendous crime that saw people lose their retirements and utterly destroy them financially. Madoff isn't the only white collar criminal to have done this. When you read about these crimes, however, no newspaper or media outlet ever ties those crimes to the criminals' reading of the Wall Street Journal or The Financial Times, though I'm sure all of them read one or both of those publications. Blaming video games for crime is lazy at best. It also paints people who play them who aren't criminals in a bad light, but that is of no concern to a reporter looking to paint an easy-to-understand picture of something that may have no rational explanation. These same video games were blamed for Columbine, though the FBI's own report, which I read, paints a very different picture.)

In the article, Charles Johnson, a Richmond High security specialist, is quoted. (Let's not even ask how bad a school can be if it has to have a "security specialist.") He says, "We know that courtyard [where the rape occurred], and we've been waiting for something to happen there." If this guy is a security specialist who is aware of the problem and has been "waiting" for something to happen, why the fuck didn't he do anything before it could happen? What kind of "specialist" is that? He does say, "I'm sorry it had to be this terrible."

Wow, how touching, Mr. Security Specialist. Imagine if you went to your doctor, whom I presume is legitimate, and you tell him you're feeling bad. What if he said, "Well, I've known you had cancer for some time. I've been waiting for you to get sick. I could have told you about it, even helped treat it, but it's too far gone now. Sorry."

I can't be the only one who sees the problem here.

Johnson and other school officials blame the attack partially on the area's lack of lighting, security cameras and good fences. These are all things that are far beyond the control of mere men to actually control and fix; they obviously need the intervention of gods to help them with this. Perhaps Zeus will now come out of the sky to install lights, cameras and a better fence because he's also sorry a "terrible" crime happened.

I'm starting to think all of Richmond is filled with dumb, uncaring motherfuckers. Surely I must be wrong.

The article states that on Saturday district officials confirmed plans to install higher fences around the school before next summer and step up security, but also state that "the challenges will still be steep." Is that what kept them from doing anything when they realized they had a problem? Steep challenges? Perhaps they were just waiting for a gang rape to occur. I don't know. I don't think they do, either.

The article continues by telling readers how Cody Ray Smith's Myspace page has comments demanding he be set "freee." If that were to happen, however, Smith would have to hide from 24-year-old Chuckie Pelayo, the only one in the entire article who seems to have a fucking clue.

Pelayo is described as a "leader of a pack" (you can't help but hear the song in your head, too) that hangs out a block away from the crime scene. He claims that if he and his pack (maybe dressed in leather jackets and on their motorcycles) had been there before the crime was over, the "motherfuckers" (censored for sensitive 'net readers by the SF Gate) would have been shot. He goes on to give this dire warning, "Some of us know a few guys who were there, and we're out looking for them." As if that isn't scary enough. "They better hope the cops find them first, because when we find them the same thing that happened to that girl is gonna happen to them."

First, I applaud that. Second, are these "pack members" (my term) cut from a different street culture than the one that apparently plays bad video games and says bad words while applauding the degradation of women? The wording of the article would make it seem that way. What is odd, however, is that the kids who committed the crime are thugs while these guys are ex-cons who hang out on the corner ... one block away from the attack. Part of the problem, according to the mentally deficient security specialist and his peers, is that a "rough neighborhood" (again, read "there ain't a lot of white faces there") is right next to the campus.

Pelayo and his "pack" hang out at the back end of campus, too. How are they immune to the "street culture"? How are these men who are set to enact street justice not of the same cloth? Are they white? No real code words are used, so it is hard to tell. What is known is that the "pack" is ex-cons and that they have all be to prison and know "the code," which they admit the younger guys have no clue about. Ageism can't be in play here, as there is only a nine year age difference between the youngest one arraigned so far and Pelayo. So what is it? Pelayo gave the answer: morals.

With the exception of the Mafia, white culture thinks that criminals have no morals or values. That is far from correct ... mostly. Many criminals have a value system that is often deeper than your average church-goer (who try so hard to please the bad boys). They have to have a deep, powerful value system because they operate outside the law. There are mores you have to follow lest you upset the delicate balance of the criminal culture, and if you do that there is hell to pay. These gang rapists are not career criminals ... yet. They are wannabe criminals, apathetic teens and wayward youth that are part of a system that, as the article points out in a roundabout way, knows there is problems but does little to change them. Instead, it sits back and waits for something truly horrible to happen so that it can offer the usual scapegoats (video games and music these days), half-hearted apologies, and pleas for the violence to stop. What those who make up the system don't do is take any responsibility for it. That much is obvious from the article.

Here is a school with a known problem area. Here is a school that employs "security specialists." Here is a school that realizes it is in a "bad" neighborhood. Here is a school that knew something was going to happen. Here is a school that did nothing to change any of that. Not a damn thing, and now these rapists are in a justice system that will play all kinds of games with all the usual responses (victims of their culture, children of poverty, super predators), and will go back and forth on what should be done. Specialists and experts will want to do everything from execute them to offer group therapy. What is to be sure, however, is that no good is going to come to them no matter what happens to them in the system, which right now is the only place they are even semi-safe.

The irony here is that these young criminals are eventually going to be taken care of by a better, more moralistic criminal class that does not like the types of transgressions these young boys have engaged in. While the demands to "freee" them will most likely fall on deaf ears, these rapists are going to live to regret that if they are freed. Pelayo and his kind will make sure of it. (Hell, I'll call him a hero if he takes one of them out.) This "pack" of ex-cons, who are presumably part of the same street culture that is being blamed for the gang rape, are the only ones who will really deal with it the way it needs to be done.

The more bleeding hearts among you may shout for compassion, but let's face it, these rapists are beyond that. Anything other than swift retribution will teach them that they got away with something, and show those cowardly witnesses that maybe this wasn't as bad as the rest of the world says. Yes, the death penalty is flawed and doesn't deter crime, but street justice does. When civilians start to take the law into their own hands, criminals -- the ones without values or morals -- start to get scared. In fact, they thrive when they know people will only deal with the problem by calling police because they know the police don't get there in time and rarely do anything of note anyway. But people, on the other hand, aren't bound by the same laws. They are vicious and often act without thinking things through. No, they aren't much different than lynch mobs (and anyone who knows anything about American history [recent, at that] knows how bad that can get), but sometimes a lynch mob is necessary to deal with the likes of Smith, Peter and company.

Led into the courthouse in bullet proof vests, these assholes must understand how the "street culture" feels about them. Not even "ex-cons" who hang out in "packs" on street corners want to be associated with them. In fact, the only people who are even being slightly sympathetic in this whole mess seem to be officials from Richmond High, who are perhaps trying to deflect questions about its own role in the attack due to inaction. Either way, these rapists will hopefully get the street justice they deserve whether it be on the streets or in a cell somewhere. Pelayo is the only one who got it right in that article. He was the only one who was backing up his values and morals with action. He was the only one who didn't try to blame outside influences or even ignore his role in things (he had no real role in the rape, but seemed upset that he couldn't have been there sooner to end it -- unlike Richmond High officials who knowingly let the problem get out of control through lack of securing an area known to be dangerous).

Kudos to you, Pelayo. Time to show the fuckers what real street culture is like.

For those interested in donating money: Richmond High Jane Doe, account No. 041-30-1188, Mechanics Bank, 3170 Hilltop Mall Road, Richmond, CA 94806.