"You're a loser and a quitter, and you're never going to make it."

That's a mantra that my best friend and I prattle to each other every once in a while. It was the line of "encouragement" we both got as happy high schoolers in the suburban nightmare where we grew up. I believe it came about in weight training class, which was full of a lot of homophobic latent homosexuals who enjoyed discouraging anybody dumb enough to think that effort and self-improvement meant something. We now use it whenever the other needs a good kick while we're down.

Since the baby was born I've been full of excuses not to train. Hell, I think at this point, I might have to hit somebody twice in a fight. I'm so weak now. It's not just circumstances, it's trying to get circumstances and motivation to come together simultaneously. It would be nice to get them in the same county at once, let alone the same room.

It's just one of those annoying dilemmas: when I need it the most, I do it the least.

Maybe for a few entries I'll tell some True Stories of my experiences over the last 4 years in kung fu. As in, real martial arts stuff, not the China trip. Perhaps that will relight my fire & I can start carving out some training time.

Then again, SOMEBODY could help my motivation by ordering those support anchors for my wooden dummy, like I asked. Yo, Fun Boy!
posted by Joseph at 10:56 AM

Pitiless Pete

Before YFB bitches about my last entry, I figured I'd get this one out there.

I despise pity. I haven't been on the receiving end of it for many years (not since my teens, I think), and it's not an emotion I enjoy feeling toward others, either. I define pity as something entirely different from compassion. I feel compassion for many who through no fault of their own have been bit in the ass by horrible circumstances. But only if I respect them.

I only pity those I dislike. Like compassion, pity is essentially "feeling bad for someone." The similarity ends there, however. Pity is recognizing that someone is less than oneself. That the object of the pity is a pathetic loser who brought his problems upon himself.

Example: I have compassion for the recovering alcoholic who trudges onward through life, leaving the sauce behind and forging a new life out of the insensate, uncaring stuff of life. I pity the filthy alcoholic loser who wallows in denial, excuses and victimhood.

So if you receive the dubious honor of being someone I call a friend, rest assured that I will NEVER pity you.

This Thought For The Day arose after a friend clued me into the staggering amount of abuse and suffering this life has dealt her. I had no idea, and while I'm still a bit shellshocked, I'm glad I found out. I respect this person a great deal more, knowing what she has endured.

This blog is essentially open to the world at large, even though only a handful will ever read it, so no, I will not go into any detail about that person or her circumstances. She told me in confidence, and if there's anything I'm good at, it's keeping secrets. But I'll take this opportunity to say to this person: I respect you greatly. I do NOT pity you.

One of my favorite books is Roger Zelazny's Creatures of Light and Darkness. Early on there is an intimation that one of the characters is more than he seems, and perhaps is even a God who has forgotten his own power. That other being, which he almost remembers being, is "A creature without fear, or pity, or remorse."

That is as good a description of a Man/Woman of Power as any I have heard.

Fear saps one's strength. Remorse saps one's will. But pity may be the worst of all, because it diminishes two people at once.
posted by Joseph at 2:10 PM

Return of the Living Blog

Another long absence. Another collection of sidelong, red-faced glances at this poor, neglected blog. Another sentence fragment.

The longer I wait, the harder it is to begin.

And so to f ...

Number One Big News: My daughter was born on August 11. She's my first, and if the wife is unable to resolve certain ovarian problems, she may be the only one until we adopt. I would, after all, like to have 2. There's the whole "only child" business I'd like to avoid, plus kids are just so damnably fun.

How to describe this feeling? Readers of this blog have probably figured out by now that I don't like to talk about anything from the commonplace perspective, so I'll try to avoid the Drooling Dotard routine. I do enough of that at home.

Oh, who am I kidding? She's freaking AMAZING. She looks so much like me it's almost frightening. "She has my father's eyes!" "Oh, take those out of her mouth." No, I never get tired of that one, so hush.

Of course, every parent thinks his child is above average. Those poor, misguided fools -- mine really IS. Last week, she had her first "ha ha" laugh. She had been smiling and doing the little grunty laugh already, but this was the first "heh heh heh heh." Yes, I counted the heh's, and there were four of them.

So how does this all make me feel? Stupid question. I have touched eternity, acutely aware of the eternal horizon of time (thx Roy) that we're falling through, and about all I can muster is a Keanu Reeves-style "Whoa."

Even though it made (and continues to make) the physical side much tougher on the both of us, I am intensely relieved that we waited so long. I am finally in a position to be the kind of father this little critter deserves. Her life will be extraordinary -- that's not a prediction, it's a Mission Statement. Even though I'll be in my mid-fifties when she graduates from high school, the enriched perspective of being this freaking OLD will absolutely be worth it.

Besides, if I continue on the path of the Bad Ass Wing Chun Dude, I'll be fairly healthy, anyway.

P.S.: It's her 3-month birthday today! Holy mamma Jebus balls!
posted by Joseph at 12:52 PM

Apologies for the long absence. I have been moving. I'd go for the protracted excretion metaphor, y'know, bowel movements, constipation, etc., but maybe that's a bit too disgusting for my first post in over a month. But it would be appropriate. The end result is wonderful, as I am now in a lovely house rather than a cramped flat, but getting there was a major bitch and a half. Before the move there were all manner of financing morasses to wade through, and of course the move itself was horrendous.

Just try to pretend you're immune to mainstream consumerism when you're schlepping a few metric tons of crap from one dwelling to another. Like any other major life event, it's definitely a way to root out self-delusion. Not that I have anything against materialism; I just didn't know how dependent on STUFF I really was. I got rid of an acre of it and still gave the movers a coronary.

So yes, I am back, and have to get back into the blogging habit. Just as soon as I figure out what the hell I'm going to write about next. Eff you, YFB, I'm picking the next subject. Wanker.
posted by Joseph at 9:53 AM

Warm Fuzzies, Sentimental Sweetness, and Serial Killers

Ice-Water Enema Boy tells me that I'm not blogging frequently enough. Yet he has also told me I shouldn't treat the entries as rough drafts. I can't satisfy both "demands" at once and hold onto my inherently slothful nature. Besides, I'm so damned brilliant that my first drafts always look nicely polished. So, this entry will ramble a bit, even though there really is a single point, which I'll get to eventually.

Once again, I'll start out by pointing to the horse carcass I shall avoid thrashing, and then move on to the subject I want to address in nauseating detail.

There are quite a few folks out there who still believe that anyone who calls himself a Satanist is a serial killer, child molester, and/or ritual animal slayer. There have even been several investigations to find out the extent of Satanic cults and related crime in the United States. All such investigations have come to the same conclusion: It ain't there. Zip. Nada. LaVey thought it would be amusing to title one of the chapters in The Satanic Bible "On The Choice of Human Sacrifice." This chapter essentially discounts any real value in ritual sacrifice whatsoever, especially of an innocent animal or child. After all, if you're going to go to the trouble of killing something, why not choose a deserving victim, for the sake of efficiency if nothing else? But of course, in theory that's what capital punishment is for.

Then there are nutjobs like Richard Ramirez (The Night Stalker), who claim Satanism as a reason for their heinous acts. Folks, this is just the "Devil Made Me Do It" excuse. In fact, there are far more nutjobs who claim to be following orders from God than there are who get action plans from poor Old Nick.

I said I wouldn't beat this horse, but damned if it's not a bit satisfying to get in a whack here and there. Anyone who still believes Satanists are necessarily violent criminals will not be disuaded by any logic I advance here, however. If you're one of these, 1) I salute your courage in reading this blog, and 2) seek professional help for your delusions.

This brings me to the misconception that I DO want to address. Plenty of (I assume) rational-minded folks believe that Satanists, while possibly not bloody-minded baby-killers, are still humorless, loveless, fundamentally angry and unhappy people. There are a few decent reasons for this, among them:

1) Satanists reject a religion and philosophy whose supposed foundation is Love.
2) Satanists curse people.
3) Satanists supposedly define themselves solely in opposition to another philosophy.
4) The majority of self-styled Satanists seem to be angry young people a la Rebel Without a Cause.
5) That goat symbol is scary-looking.

I suppose I could get onto one of the less annoying BBS or chat fora to find out whether there are other, more compelling reasons. But I won't. I'm fairly certain I'm not advancing a straw man argument; yes, I was kidding about No. 5. Sort of.

Tangential Ramble Number Two: This ties into the subject at the end, I promise. As a fledgling Satanist, at about the age of 21, I studied LaVey's axiom that there are three basic ways to influence others: Sex, Sentiment, and Wonder. At that age, I could manage all three with roughly the same skill. Being young and fairly twinkiesque, I could easily manipulate others (including many of the same gender) with flirting -- especially the middle-aged. My intense stare and in-your-face diabolism was capable of inspiring wonder, especially in younger folks; teenage and twentysomething males were particularly vulnerable to this. I generally left the sentiment side to last.

Now, I have come to realize that sentiment is my strongest suit. I am extremely emotional (downright thenthitive, even), and it doesn't take much to move me these days. I love cute little puppies, children, kind words, and sympathetic expressions. When one can be touched like this, while remaining at least nominally self-aware, one can touch others almost effortlessly.

Besides, at my current age I can't pull off the twinkie act anymore, even though I do look quite a bit younger than 35. And to inspire wonder of the truly awe-inspiring variety, one generally has to take oneself a hell of a lot more seriously than I do anymore.

[/end tangential ramble2]

Come to think of it, I'm one of the drippiest, most sentimental blighters I know. And even among those less so, I can confidently state that Satanists are the some of the sweetest, kindest people I've ever met. Even LaVey, who certainly had the wonder business dialed in, was gentle and loving when interacting with those closest to him -- according to reports from some mutual friends.

It may be far more sorely neglected, but The Satanic Bible has instructions for a Ritual of Compassion right after those for the Ritual of Destruction. Nobody said the latter was more important than the former, even though the cursing gets all of the ink.

As for accusations that Left-Hand Path types are usually the humorless type, I don't have much to say except, NYAH NYAH NYAH. I thought it rather telling that the last person to dump that one on me (a neo-pagan "Goddess Energy" witch lady) took herself so seriously that she couldn't bring herself to lighten her tone, even after I responded with about a metric ton more gentleness and self-deprecating humor than she ever deserved.

I'm such a nice fellow.
posted by Joseph at 10:09 AM

Blood Work

As long as I'm displaying this lovely chip on my shoulder, I thought I'd mention a problem with the Judeo-Christian mythos that doesn't get enough press. Most of the arguments back & forth between Christian apologists and detractors revolve around the issue of human suffering. I.e., the now somewhat hackneyed question: "If God is omnipotent, omniscient AND loving, why do people suffer when God could easily prevent it? Why does he create sentient beings, when he already knows they will undergo such torment?" While I have never been satisfied with the apologists' answers, that equine cadaver has been soundly beaten by both sides.

Note to Jews and Christians who for some reason are reading this blog: Some of the following may be extremely offensive. Please spare yourself the heartache if you are hurt by casual blasphemy. This is an unmoderated, uncensored blog and I do not intend to apologize for any of it.

The Hebraic tradition, which carries into Christianity in a barely modified form, is drenched in blood. "Without blood there can be no forgiveness of sins." (I suppose there's an online Bible somewhere that could give me chapter & verse, but for now I'll just trust my memory.) Now, I understand the position of many a theologian that the concept of "sin" is merely separation from God. The more sin, the more separation. God supposedly wants his creation to be close to him in spirit, and sin gets between them. What I never understood is the reason why blood takes care of sin. In the Old Testament, blood sacrifice provided remission of sin, much like modern therapies provide remission of cancer. That is, the sin is still there, it has just been isolated and rendered harmless. God required frequent blood sacrifice to keep this sin at bay, much like a vampire requires blood to keep going: never satisfied, only momentarily appeased.

Christianity attempts to solve this problem by positing that God came down to Earth in human form, and offered himself as a blood sacrifice. Since it was a "perfect" sacrifice of a holy being, rather than the "imperfect" sacrifice of an innocent animal, this provided a permanent remission of sin to any who accept this special gift and grovel accordingly. Thus, the vampire is now able to feed upon itself, but its satiety now requires a less tangible offering from its victims -- acceptance of this "grace."

These premises being established, the question now gets closer to the human suffering challenge. Essentially, God as an omnipotent/omniscient being can set up the game however he wants. I find it offensive that he would set it up to involve the necessity of the spilling of blood. It seems he needs the spilling of innocent blood, at that -- a defenseless animal, or himself as a supposedly sinless human. Even with the Christian removal of animal blood from the equation, the entire religion still revolves around it. One must partake of wine (or grape juice in the even less Dionysian denominations) that represents the blood of Christ, and in so doing acknowledge and accept the blood spilt upon one's behalf. The hymns are also red with blood imagery. Yet no believer seems to have the slightest problem with this, despite its repugnance.

To put it less emotionally, I question why the shedding of blood is necessary for an omnipotent being. It appears to be a limitation of his/its nature. Logically, limitation and omnipotence should be mutually exclusive concepts.

Yet I'm a big fan of both grape juice and red wine.
posted by Joseph at 11:21 AM

Gah. Even though only one or two people -- whom I trust -- who read this blog actually know me by my real name, it's been tough to have the courage to post the following story. Yes, it's 100% true. It's also probably the most depressing piece I've ever written. But worse, it will give anyone plenty of fodder to psychoanalyze me and explain away everything I've written here so far.

However, I'm proud of it from a literary perspective, even though I will probably rewrite it several times. No, it's not just a rough draft, but I have several competing ways I'd like to present it. So instead of Draft One, let's call it Variation One.

My next entry will probably see me back to my usually charming self. So if you're just after entertainment, skip this one.


When I Believed In Miracles

When there's a death in the immediate family, the household is so overwhelmed by sadness that it seems as though no one will ever be happy again. When you're ten years old, you believe that in a completely literal sense. Especially when it was your fourteen-year-old brother, your best friend and constant companion, who died.

He was practically the whole world to me at the time. I was caught between being old enough to understand that death is real, and being young enough not to have any other firsthand experience of it.

This had gone on for a couple of months -- I'm not sure how long, exactly -- when my mother and her friend walked through the front door, positively beaming with sheer joy. They were very secretive about it, flashing me knowing looks as if they were hiding a special gift behind their backs. There was no impending special occasion to justify such a gift, so I had no idea what was going on. I asked them what was up.

Mom's friend said, "There's going to be a baptism." Mom cut in immediately, "But it's a surprise."

I couldn't figure out why they would be so secretive and simultaneously so happy about it. Baptisms happened all the time in our church. Furthermore, some had occurred since my brother's death, and they hadn't engendered such enthusiasm.

My young mind made an immediate leap to an extraordinary conclusion. I'd heard the stories of Jesus, Cornelius' daughter, and Lazarus all rising from the dead by the will of God. Surely this had to be the reason Mom was so incredibly happy, and why they wanted to surprise me. God had decided we had all suffered enough, and resurrected my brother. Because of this rare event, he had to be baptized again, in the presence of his family and his church. I can't say this was a linear conclusion based on a series of thoughts. It just sprang into my mind as a forgone conclusion.

Was I insane, at least temporarily? Perhaps. I'd been through a lot. It sounds insane now, but at the time it seemed perfectly rational. No one in the house can ever be happy again since he died, yet now they're happy, therefore he must not be dead anymore. However, it was more of a desperate hope than a certainty.

So the whole family and a few friends drove to a church elder's house. Baptisms in backyard swimming pools were common enough in our denomination; the water is just symbolic anyway, and they reasoned away any notion of church grounds or physical objects as being intrinsically sacred. On the way, someone asked me if I could guess who would be baptized. I was caught up in their joy, with my secret hope that my guess was right burning inside me. Yet I'd always been a secretive kid, and so terrified of embarrassment that even though I couldn't fathom another possibility, I still didn't want to look stupid. So I answered, "I think I know, but I'm not sure." They all laughed good-naturedly, accustomed to my characteristic reticence.

Everyone went inside, except my father, who pulled me aside and said he needed my help with something.

He handed me his keys and wallet. "I need you to hold onto these for me."

I looked at him blankly.

"Now do you know who's going to be baptized?"

I still hadn't figured it out.

"Me!"

After a long pause, I hugged him and, I suppose, congratulated him, said how happy I was, and so on. Meanwhile, my mind raced from its former hope to a dead end of certainty. I remembered how, a couple weeks ago, my mother and I had become very emotional over the fact that he didn't want to go to church three times a week, and how I was worried he wouldn't get into Heaven if he didn't understand the importance of church and baptism. First, I realized that even though I wasn't ready to be happy about anything, my parents must have been. Then I realized that there was no supernatural agency at work, and we were about to head into someone's backyard to get my Dad wet for the sake of a deity who couldn't possibly care less.

It was probably my first successful attempt at political expediency and a perfect poker face. It was also the end of my belief in miracles.
posted by Joseph at 4:26 PM

Gehenna

I figured after a couple months of blogging, I might explain the use of Gehenna and Outer Darkness.

I am on a journey that may have no end, but it damned well isn't circular. I started my life as a devout Christian, raised by same. Now that I'm a Satanist, I'm sure as Hell not going back. I am convinced that there is nothing about the Christian God that appeals to me whatsoever. I'm also an All or Nothing sort of guy.

Gehenna was originally a little valley in Israel that was used as a dumping ground. As a result, it became a metaphor for Hell, and in later Christian theology, the word used for Outer Darkness, as in "They will be cast into Outer Darkness, where there is weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth." (Sorry, I'm away from my Bible right now & don't have the chapter/verse.) In other words, Gehenna represents eternal separation from God, after folks have used up all of their wild cards and the Big Guy has completely given up on them.

When I first came up with the idea to use Gehenna as a nom de plume/nom de Interweb, I told an acquaintence about it. She was supposedly a black magician, yet she said, "Ooh, I don't think I'd want to identify myself with that kind of energy." Pffft. Shit or get off the pot, I figure. Separation from the collective dream of mankind is a source of profound power. I don't see the point in holding onto the option of deathbed conversion. Either you're afraid of the Big Guy or you're not. If you are, perhaps you should address that before making commitments to a Path that's a bit more challenging than a game of Sunday bingo.

As for why it's outerdarkness.blogspot rather than gehenna.etc, it's because somebody had already taken that address. It didn't occur to me until too late that I should have picked notesfromgehenna.blogspot. After all, the original gehenna blogger has apparently abandoned it, and I guess blogspot doesn't release used addresses when they've gone defunct. Oh well, it's all nifty and keen.

And yes, as a matter of fact I am the life of the Christmas party.
posted by Joseph at 3:00 PM

LaVey, The Church of Satan, and Cults of Personality

Recently, I've been reminded of how easy it is to forget where one disagrees with someone when one is busy being impressed with his/her sense of humor, personality, or perspective. Luckily, I can count LaVey's statements with which I've disagreed on one hand, and without dropping my pants for #6.

I wish I had all of my books in front of me now, but then again, I'd probably have to transcribe so much of the man's work that it would constitute copyright infringement. The Nine Satanic Statements, the Satanic Rules of the Earth, the Six Deadly Satanic Sins, and on and on. So instead, I'll just refer you to the books, should you have the courage to be caught with copies in hand: The Satanic Bible, The Devil's Notebook, and The Secret Life of a Satanist (this one cowritten by his wife, Blanche Barton) are my favorites. Honorable mention to Satan Speaks!, The Satanic Witch, and The Satanic Rituals. Sorry for plugging Amazon so much; it was the easiest way to get the URLs.

I'll make vague reference here to ancient practices I have since stumbled upon, but I won't describe them here. However, I have no such illusions about this brand of Satanism: I admit, it was basically a cult of personality started by a guy in the late 60s. These books do, nevertheless, point to what I view as universal truths that are too often overlooked.

There are those who awaken, question and challenge, and those who are determinedly, deeply asleep. The questioners, the "tricksters" (nudge nudge wink wink), are what I'll call Satanists, regardless of the opinion they hold -- if any -- of the one man who started this little circle of misfits about 35 years ago. Those who continue to dream their idyllic or nightmarish dreams, stubbornly refusing every offer of a wake-up call, are the rest. They range from ignorant, backwater religionists to self-important, atheistic armchair philosophers. Some who still sleep in the arms of God have either rare or frequent fits of consciousness, and some who are reasonably intelligent individuals are no less asleep than the tent-revival handclappers.

It's difficult to decide which points to amplify, and which to allow the books to discuss for themselves. The above paragraph is my own beloved tirade, however.

Now I'll switch gears somewhat and talk a bit about the man himself.

Many have labeled him a con man and a charlatan, and not just outraged Christians, or neo-pagan wannabes who are terrified of being associated with him. (As if. He had a special distaste for self-righteous "witch" types who practice what a friend of mine recently called "new wine into old wineskins.") No, I'm also speaking of those types I described above, the smug critics who can't absorb a single sentence without composing a mental review before they get to the period. "It's just like that other guy! And this! And that! There's nothing new here!"

Con man? He did idolize P.T. Barnum. The Satanic Witch even provides a primer for underhanded manipulation. But that's the point: Every con he pulled, he stated explicitly in published works. My favorite example was his $100 fee to get a membership with the Church of Satan. It turned out to be fairly easy to bypass the fee -- if you contacted him, and impressed him with your intelligence and/or otherwise amused him, he'd give you a free card. He even stated bluntly that the fee was to be paid by those who felt they needed to belong to something. He never said you had to be a Member to be a Satanist.

Another aspect of this man that I loved was his willingness to "lead with his chin." He was out there in the public eye, not just in an exhibitionistic sense, but sharing a great deal of his personality. Even enough to allow the above-described pundits a chance to psychoanalyze him from the comfort of their coffee houses. He didn't particularly care. There was even one reporter for Rolling Stone who got an exclusive interview with the man, even though it had to be obvious the guy wouldn't give him a fair shake (and he didn't). LaVey's interest in "Artifical Human Companions" was the butt of many an inflatable-girlfriend joke in the press. Once again, he didn't care. Check out the essay "Let Me Entertain You" in The Devil's Notebook for a concise view of his attitude on outsider opinions.

I'm sure this all sounds like I'm in Full-On Fanboy Mode. Later I'll describe my few disagreements with LaVey.

Hail Satan.
posted by Joseph at 10:53 AM

Note to newcomers to my blog: My archives keep disappearing. I've republished them 3 times in the last 2 days. So if you're interested in past entries but can't find them, please check back later. Oh, and welcome.
posted by Joseph at 9:49 AM