St Louis Sinner issue 13

Issue 13 Feb 2010

Gloomy Sunday What about the American children?

UNMASKED

The Sinful Art of

MBE Photography

Fear & Publishing Madness, Mangos & Massive Egos

Life is full of madness, to some extent it just depends on how much of it we invite in our lives. Some are minor instances, like when I wake to Ritardo Moccaban rubbing my leg each morning. Don’t get me wrong, the cat’s cool... the wife even likes to say that he loves me. I’d say that over the last two years the fat bastard has learned that if I feed him he’ll leave me alone, get back in bed with the wife, and just perhaps, not piss on our bathroom rug to piss me off. Nothing more.

And that’s certainly madness. Maybe this animal does love me, in some sense, rubbing my leg endlessly, almost worshiping me as I sit on the shitter praying to “hessoos kristo” that all this shit I question will somehow work itself out – and I mean far more than the shit falling from my ass. That’s why I call him Retardo Moccabon, never to be confused with Ricardo Maltoban. There’s something seriously wrong with the animal. And whether or not he knows it, he’s a pawn of sorts in my madness, and the fear, man... and that’s fear & publishing, a self-inflicted madness when you break it down.

Is there a cure to this self-inflicted madness, or this gig called indy-publishing? I could say mangos, yet that would be a lie. Mangos fend us from flus, like the Swine, so I do eat one every day. There are no pharmaceutical, nor god-given cures to the madness of indy-publishing. I will concede that it’s a much saner path for a sinless publisher, and a much more challenging one for a drunken bastard like myself who too often lets it run amuck.

In my defense, know that after holding this beast by a leash for 72 months, I found myself in a weakened state a year ago, allowing this madness to run mad.

I’m certainly guilty of that. I found myself attacking a few bars that denied The Sinner distribution – only on MySpace, though. I did some crazy shit, like ask for a boycott against those few establishments who were so worried that The Sinner might corrupt the children and old folks patroning their establishments. Of course, like in Seattle, these same managers and owners didn’t have a problem with the kids or old folks picking up the weekly paper and finding “1- 800-CUM- FUCK” ads. I guess I have a problem with hypocrisy – or some jackass fucking lying to my face. Perhaps my ego got the better of me. I had began to believe that I was, “The Sinner, bitch!!!”, and I am, but The Sinner has never been me, nor what I believe it to be. It’s a forum, perhaps the most notorious letter to the editor, or “Idiot”, as I put it in issue #1 of The Seattle Sinner. It never has been, nor ever will be, an extension of myself. It’s you, your neighbor, your mother, your brother... got it?

If considering a life in indy publishing, I hope you heed my warning, that enduring the excessive madness of being a true indy paper for years on end will create egos, whether or not those will make you an asshole is your fate.

And be prepared to deal with a daily diet of mangos or other fruits to fend off flus, because you won’t have any extra cash for doctors that average folks visit when ill. But that’s the nature of this beast. It’s not for everyone, then again, neither is a lot of the meaningless careers and hobbies we each trot off to every morning. The most maddening aspect of this gig, however, is when those who should support you, don’t. Take my big brother for example.

He says it’s a Jesus thing, that I’m a sinner. I thought we all are, according to the Bible that I grew up reading every Sunday morning. Not him, he’s holier-than-thou, or some old biblical shit. Seven years ago, after the first issue of The Sinner landed in his mail box, he decided he would call all my advertisers and complain that they were supporting a devil worshiper, meaning his little brother, The Sinner – he didn’t get it then, and he still doesn’t. He even went as far to call the Humane Society and demand that his tax dollars not go to support The Sinner, as an ad ran for them every month at the time. The director of the Humane Society explained to my big brother

that for one, he didn’t live in the state of Washington, so his tax dollars were irrelevant; and two, that The Sinner, run by his devil-worshiping brother, gave the Humane Society the ad for free. In nicer words, he told my brother to go away, fuck-off, then called me so I would know what my Jesus-toting brother was doing behind my back. Needless to say, I had to quit mailing him and my mother copies of The Sinner – mom, too, since mama’s boy lives next door to mama.

When it comes to mothers, mine strangely accepts what I do, even though she’s one of my targets, or her organized religion is. You could say that we have never seen eye-to-eye on most issues since I have grown older, like politics, religion, and my choice of women. As a matter of fact, she’s never dug any chicks that I brought home either, except for the last two wives; my second one being my high school sweetheart/bitch, the third, my soul mate/partner. I’ve never really understand her obsession with Jesus or FOX News, but she believes that without her God fating me to the third wife, I wouldn’t be here writing nor publishing this nonsense to begin with. I’d be chasing whores in some pub, slinging my dick as hard as I do my hammer like I use to. I’m still slinging that hammer pretty hard, but I’ve swapped chasing whores for indy publishing. I guess Mom’s proud of that, of me, but not what I do. As a mother she inspired me to be a better person, one that I know I never can be. She told me to love Jesus, to never compromise what I believe in, to never sell out, and to always love my only brother, regardless of when he might offend. I have let her down on the “hessoos” thing, and I certainly did when I changed my conservative opinions for more progressive ideas regarding this country’s responsibility to its people – and perhaps even more so when I voted for Obama. I do still love my Bubba, though, even though he has offended me on numerous occasions, just as she has asked over the years. I guess I have let her down more than once, but none more perhaps than the one time I know I sold out, as minor as it may seem.

It was some time in the early 90s, way before this madness of indy publishing and the third wife. My roommate and I sent this cat to stand in line for us at the mall the night before tickets went on sale for Pink Floyd’s last gig in Huntsville, Alabama. We couldn’t go as members of the 96% working-class on a Thursday afternoon; the cat we sent was one of the 4% of unemployed at the time, unlike today’s 10%. We gave him $20, a half-gallon of cheap whiskey, and a 1/4 ounce of decent pot to sketch a line in the concrete for us a day before we knew other Floyd freaks would. That meant about 24 hours in line without access to food or water or a rest room. It was quite the scene when we found him third in line with about 50 or 60 Floyd fans behind him, hungry, drunken and stoned. At least he had enough sense to purchase some fast food the night prior, and to piss, drink, and smoke in line after the mall closed and security had passed. I wish I could have been there for that, just for the pictures. But that was hardly the sell, of any sorts. What was came days later.

Too many freaks stood in line for that show... so many that our boss at the trailer plant in Bum-Fuck, Alabama, issued an official warning: “Miss Work Monday, Loose your Job!”. I sold my two tickets days later for twice their value. At the time there was no war to protest and government was good, or so I thought – only child support kept me in fear and line. In the ticks of a clock that Monday morning I moved from “number 3” on the “kiss-ass” list to “number 1”. My two roommates, my boss, and three other cats in our crew were fired the following Tuesday when they dragged their Floyd-happy asses in. I felt like a piece of shit that morning and every time I walked through the door of our home after work, as I was the new foreman. Let me tell you, I still wish I had went to that show, almost twenty years later. I wish I had told that fat bastard of a boss to fuck-off! I still wish

Mothers, Brothers, & All Those Others that we had all quit that Friday morning, before he could have enjoyed firing us that following Tuesday. Being a sell-out is a mother-fucker, even more so when you live with two of the cats you sold out. And, no, there is no other word in any language to describe being a sell out, other than, mother-fucker. I hope to never sell out again, and that means keeping yourself and your ego in check when you decide to be an independent publisher, and about anything else you do in life.

Looking back at those days in Bum-Fuck, Alabama, and those not so long ago when my ego went astray here in Misery, I feel compelled to warn of enemies that will share this path of indy-publishing with you, too often dressed in a sheep’s wool. Be prepared for brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers to shove you upon the thorny path, yet even worse, yourself. And if that ever happens to you, be prepared to know what “mother-fucker” really means, not mother-f@#%er!.

And that my dear, sinner, is just another tale of fear and publishing in two cities...

News, Rants & Politics 2. Fear and Publishing

4. A Good Family Man 4. Your Government At Work 6. Piper’s Pit 7. What About The American Children 8. How’s It Supposed To Be 9. Oppression Can Take Many Forms

Music, Film, Art & Entertainment 10. Huggy Talk 11. Saence Unmasked 12. Saence poster 14. On The Scene With Malice 16. A.N.A.L. and The Reebs 17. Sinners Movie Queue

18. Art Potion

19. The Sinful Art of MBE Photography

Religion, Sex, & Other Sinner Shit 20. Campfire Tales

20. Skin Deep with Stu 22. This I Shamelessly Tell You 23. Bitchin’ With Lucifer

Publisher: Chuck Foster Layout: Terri Daniels & Danielle Correll Cover Art : MBE Photography Writers, Ranters, Opinionists & Other All-Out Freaks: Mark Taylor-Canfield Rajkhet Dirzhud-Rashid Paul Blow Buddha Lucifer Saab Lofton Malice Henry Nicolle Danielle Correll Stu Kimberly Peters Jeff Diggs Fish Kristen Ivy Matthew Gorman Billy Glover Greg Correll Zak Weedman The Sinner is a group of contributing writers. Their opinions, rants and ideas do not necessarily reflect the views of The Sinner itself. The Sinner encourages contributions from its readers but retains the right to edit material due to content or length of submission.

For advertising or submission information, contact us at chuck@theseattlesinner.com.

Submission deadline is the 25th of every month.

A Good Family Man, but only for families he approved of; a generic issue becomes specific and personal

by Billy Glover It is possible for most people to live and not really know what is going on, in the real world outside of their own little world. This is what I thought of when I started reading in the local press comments praising a man who just died as a "good family" man who did much for the community. I, being a homosexual citizen, an outsider to the people giving all this praise to a man who recently died, felt I should point out to these people that the man they praise limited his "family" to those he approved of, and worse, used his business, a barbecue restaurant, to promote hatred for homosexual citizens.

What young homosexual Americans have to deal with is when the generic becomes specific. I spent most of my life working to gain equal/civil rights for homosexual Americans. But I personally have had little problems living as a homosexual, since I had no fear of losing my job, my family and friends and neighbors did not reject me, and I ignored the false teachings of my church, since that church had taught me that the church had been wrong in the past, about such things as promoting slavery, etc, using the Bible to support their lifestyle choice.

But there comes a time when you realize that society is still in transition about minorities, even racial minorities, even in the time of an interracial president and many celebrities who say they are homosexual.

I knew this man, I ate his food, and it was not until he joined his church and put a sign in front of his restaurant supporting a law in the state to ban same sex marriage that I had to face the fact that people I thought were good were in fact acting and voting to harm me. I told him I thought he was wrong and never ate again at his restaurant.

That is what those who oppose bigotry have to do. Take it personally. It is your life that these "good" people are harming. He could be thought of by clueless people as being a good family man, who knew and fed generations of local citizens. But there were generations of good family" white people in this area who supported slavery and then forced/legal separation of the races. How do you decide who has a good family or what a good family is?

It is hard to see young people who can't understand, with Obama as a president, that it was only in the 1960s that laws preventing Obama's parents from marrying were ended. And that probably 80% of people wanted to keep those laws that told others who they could marry. Just as a majority of people opposed President Truman's racial integration of the military in 1948.

Again this race issue was personal for me as my family had benefitted from slavery and keeping black Americans as second class citizens. And it was a relative, whose son is now a judge, who devoted his life to trying to find devious "legal" ways of stopping desegregation in Louisiana. And when he died I and others went to his funeral and heard him praised as a good family man and citizen. The fact is that only a small number of white people thought that, few black citizens did.

I wonder if any of those praising this man are keeping up with the lawsuit in California concerning the religious people and many black citizens who voted to take away the right of homosexual citizens to marry? It is when society tries to tell these people who to marry that it will suddenly stop being a generic issue and become specific and personal. That is why homosexual Americans have to work for their rights, and those who love us will join us. And find restaurants to eat in that are truly conservative and don't want to control our personal lives.

YOUR GOVERNMENT AT WORK

by Greg Correll

* Real Estate: In 1986 the National Park Service bought a half acre of land in southwest Washington D.C. for $230,000. In 1988 someone discovered that the park service already owned the land - They had bought it in 1914. * Streamlining the Pentagon: During the 1980s Department of Defense efficiency experts saved between $27 million and $136 million each year! However, the efficieny experts cost between $150 million and $300 million each year. * Sociology: $84,000(was) approved by Congress for a project to discover why people fall in love. * National history: $107,000 was appropriated by Congress for a project to study the sex life of the Japanese quail. The Illinois Department of Conservation spent $180,000 to study the contents of owl vomit. * Bureaucratic Irony: The Consumer Product Safety Commission ordered 80,000 buttons promoting toy safety.

They said: " For Kid's Sake, Think Toy Safety." The buttons were recalled when the agency found out that they had "sharp edges, parts a child could swallow, and were coated with toxic lead paint." * Medical research: In 1993 the Physicians Committee for Responsible Medicine termed an "outlandish" $3 million, federally funded research project to determine whether MARIJUANA will make rabbits more subsceptable to syphillis and mice more prone to contract Legionaires' disease. * Fighting Poverty: $5 million was approved by Congress, in an interestfree loan to Sears under the Federal "anti-poverty" funds program.

photo courtesy of Architect of the Capitol

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* Space travel: NASA spent $23 million to build a prototype toilet for the space shuttle- a 900% increase over the original estimate. WHY THE OVERRUN??? The astronauts wanted a manual flush toilet rather than an automatic one.

myspace.com/stlouissinner

What Haiti Produces written by Saab Lofton

“Baseballs are coming along nicely. They’re produced in U.S.-owned factories where the women who make them get ten cents an hour – if they meet their quota. Since meeting the quota is virtually impossible, they actually make something like five cents an hour. Softballs from Haiti are advertised in the U.S. as being unusually good because they’re hand-dipped into some chemical that makes them hang together properly. The ads don’t mention that the chemical the women hand-dip the balls into is toxic and that, as a result, the women don’t last very long at this work.”

--Professor Noam Chomsky, from his book, Secrets, Lies and Democracy Professor Chomsky won a 2005 poll which named him the world’s top public intellectual, so he’s most trustworthy.

I pride myself on having an extensive library, and thankfully, I managed to hold onto my copy of Secrets, Lies and Democracy over the years.

I mean, you never know when something will come in handy... ...for instance, Rush Limbaugh recently said this about Haiti: “The Haitian economy is entirely dependent on foreign aid. They produce nothing, zilch, zero, nada, and it’s been that way for the longest time.”

Now, if by “foreign aid,” Limbaugh is referring to how Haiti has been raped by capitalism/imperialism since Day One, then sure, I’ll buy that (no pun intended). However, that callous line about how the Haitians “produce nothing, zilch, zero, nada” pissed me off to no end and it must be combated.

Limbaugh’s motive is clear: As a wealthy white man, he’s obviously petrified that Obama will grow a backbone, tax the rich and then use the revenue to create opportunities for a bunch of NIGGERS who may eventually contribute to ethnic miscegenation. It’s a very old story, but the problem is Limbaugh has tens of millions of fans because the rich and powerful (the rightwing) pay for the airtime that makes a fat bastard like him FAMOUS. In contrast, I’m one of the poor and oppressed (the left-wing), so all I can afford is to send commentaries to an OBSCURE newspaper. Aside from my impoverished existence, the negative consequence to this is all too many will walk away assuming that Limbaugh is supposedly correct; that the Haitians are lazy welfare cheats who “produce nothing, zilch, zero, nada” when Professor Chomsky – the world’s top public intellectual – pointed out how just the opposite is the case.

Jesus H. Christ, people! Haitian women have suffered greatly by dipping their hands into toxic sludge in order to produce baseballs!

BASEBALLS! As in America’s favorite past time! But who’s going to tell Limbaugh how wrong he is? More to the point, who’s going to tell AMERICA? It’s nice to see so many have come to Haiti’s aid because of the earthquake, but since Limbaugh has an audience of tens of millions, he could potentially curtail future donations by pandering to that age-old fear whites have of NIGGERS taking advantage of them. Well, even

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though I only got hundreds of fans (if that), I’m still morally obligated to try and counter the adverse effect Limbaugh will invariably have.

Sigh...

To those who claim that all one has to do is work hard, behold!

“While some multimillionaires started in poverty, most did not. A study of the origins of 303 textile, railroad and steel executives of the 1870s showed that 90 percent came from middle- or upper-class families. The Horatio Alger stories of ‘rags to riches’ were true for a few men, but mostly a myth, and a useful myth for control.”

– Professor Howard Zinn, from his book, A People’s History of the United States To those who claim Professor Zinn is too biased to be believed, behold!

“I personally think that society is responsible for a very significant percentage of what I’ve earned.” – Warren Buffett, Number Two on the Forbes 400 By the way, that Warren Buffett quote comes from a 2004 press release which reads as follows: “Whether helped by public research and government contracts, public education, wide-ranging taxpayer-financed infrastructure, or the myriad publicly supported and regulated institutions, no one can claim they did it alone.

And yet, the myth persists [that ‘useful myth for control’ Professor Zinn spoke of]. A growing danger is that the myth can be used to justify reducing public investment in the very institutions and infrastructure that not only enable more Americans to become wealthy, but maintain a strong economy.”

I derive no pleasure in being an unknown underdog and I certainly don’t like playing defense – which is to say, wait for some fascist like Limbaugh to say something stupid and then respond – so let’s take an offensive stance for a change, shall we?

From now on, if anyone happens to see Rush Limbaugh on the street, grab a baseball and throw it at him. I’m serious.

Toss it at his hard-to-miss fat ass and say it’s from Haiti. I’m not a Stalinist; I’m against any form of censorship, but there has to be SOME consequence to demonizing the working poor and hurling Haitian baseballs at Limbaugh is as good a punishment as any.

Here’s the wind-up -- the pitch ..!

myspace.com/stlouissinner

What about the American children?

by Jeff Diggs

O

n January 12, 2010, a massive earthquake struck the island nation of Haiti causing catastrophic damage inside and around the capital city of Port-au-Prince. Haiti was already the poorest and most underdeveloped nation in the Western hemisphere before the earthquake. According to UNAIDS, Haiti has the highest HIV infection rate in the Western hemisphere resulting in an estimated 384,000 orphans under the age of 15 who lost both parents to AIDS. Haitian orphans make up 8% of the children population in Haiti. The orphan population is expected to increases due to the massive loss of life caused by the earthquake.

On January 19, 2010, Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell personally flew 53 Haitian orphans to Pittsburgh, PA. Special approval was granted by the White House, the State Department and the Department of Homeland Security.

At the time of this article, seven of the orphans have been permanently placed with adoptive families. While 53 adoptions may not sound like many, there are over 500,000 United States children in the foster care system. That’s 500,000 US born and raised children who want so badly to be placed in a permanent loving home with someone they can call “mom” or “dad”.

The Joint Council on International Children's Services (JCICS), a US advocacy organization, says it has been receiving 150 enquiries about Haitian adoptions every day since the earthquake disaster. Normally, the agency receives fewer than 10 inquires a month. I certainly commend our fellow Americans for showing such compassion during a true moment of need for Haiti. However, what about the 500,000 plus children already in the US that need a place to live and a family to support their growth and development into productive and successful adults? Why does our society not show the same compassion for our fellow American children? In 2008, Americans adopted 17,475 children from foreign nations and relocated those children to the US. During the same year of 2008, there where 123,000 American children in the foster care system that were adoptive ready and just waiting for a family to pick those children.

The American fascination with foreign adoptions peaked in 2004 with 22,990 international adoptions. Foreign adoptions have certainly been influenced by the large number of well-known media figures conducting foreign adoptions over the last 10 years. Public media figures are horrible examples of adoptive parents for the American people. In fact, celebrities are horrible role models for families and marriages. Madonna has two adopted children from Malawi. Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have 3 adopted children. They adopted children from Cambodia, Ethiopia and Vietnam. It is widely speculated that a forth adoption is in the works from Syria.

Officially on January 27, 2010, Angelina and Brad have separated with Angelina retaining custody of all the children. Honestly, what kind of role model is that for adoptive parents? Children need stable households with supportive parents acting like responsible role models. These adoptions are nothing more than publicity stunts to get their pictures and names flashed across media networks worldwide. If they truly cared about children, they would start by helping to educate and raise the orphaned children in America. Why not adopt just one American child instead of a litter of international babies? Critics of the adoption craze point out that the money it costs to adopt one child, could help many others. Rosie O'Donnell reportedly spent $5,000.00 to locate a birth mother for her adoption.

There is also a general concern that celebrities are more concerned about the public relations benefit of adoption rather than providing families for young children.

According to the National Adoption Center who keeps track of adopted children, 67% of the 500,000 orphans are black, 26% are white and 7% other races. Families that adopt in the US are 67% white, 31% black and 2% other races. There is definitely room to improve on encouraging minority families to adopt.

Each year approximately 120,000 children leave the foster care system as adults 18 years-of-age and were never adopted. Over the last 10 years, that’s roughly 1.2 million young adults who have been dumped into our society without the support or backing of a caring family. How can we honestly expect these young people to have good decision making skills when starting a new family of their own? They were never exposed to an environment that displayed a strong family unit with parental support.

As a society, we all share in the responsibility of nurturing our young, setting good examples and providing opportunities for personal growth. Foreign adoptions should be limited to extreme cases only. When a child is adopted and relocated to a foreign country, the child losses its heritage and cultural identity of its birth place. America has more than enough wonderful children who are in need of a lifetime home and lifetime family. It’s time to change our slogan. Buy American, Adopt American.

ESSAY | How It’s Supposed To Be

by Henry Nicolle Do you remember the question that drove many of us from a career in science or philosophy? It went something like this, "If a tree falls in a forest and there is no one to hear, is there a sound?" Well, that was a pretty stupid question, if you had asked me then and I remain convinced even today, that it still is a pretty stupid question.

Back then, when my science teacher asked it of me, I replied something along the lines of, "Well, it depends upon what you mean by "sound". Little did I understand at the time that I was challenging authority and preaching the future at the same moment. I was trounced then as an idiot who would not listen and obey in class. In a later year, I instantly understood the answer, "That depends upon what ‘is’ is.", to a similar question posed by different idiots.

In any case, that first moment ended any thought of finishing high school and began a stream of consciousness processes which have made life somewhat contentious and insular among the more successfully indoctrinated of my fellow Americans. The later comprehension merely confirmed that I had unlearned my earlier lessons well.

I joined the Marine Corps instead of finishing the last three years of high school. The subsequent four years put a pretty significant twist in my perceptions of "Authority". It took thirty years to erase the propagandadriven mind-control of my prior existence before I outgrew the imposed disabilities of artificial un-thought and maliciously suicidal indoctrination.

If "hate" were a useful word in my personal vocabulary, it would not be unreasonable to hear me state "I hate the bastards that did that to me!" The truth is, hate is a waste of emotion and revenge a waste of time if expended upon other ignorant, brain-dead artifacts of societal manipulation.

Thoreau was right, "Strike at the root." Go to the source. Don't worry the leaves and branches.

Eliminate the cause and the effects wither and disappear.

I am Free, but I am surrounded by a population of cretins and cowards, the residue of incredibly successful social engineering and thought control over many generations of Americans. I was one of those and even though I am now free of the mental bindings, I must struggle around the innocence of my fellow Americans like the skitter of a raindrop on a puddle of hot oil.

"Democracy!", the People demand! "What

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of it?" I ask in reply, "I will have none of it."

"A Republic, not a Democracy!" others proclaim.

"Not much difference, at the core." I respond. "We have a Constitution!" they say. "What good a Constitution or a Republic or democratic processes if all of the debilitating aspects are carried out and none of the limiting factors are dutifully obeyed?" I ask.

We are free until we meet someone willing to exercise physical power to make of us a slave. And if then, we do not defy their ambition with similar or greater power, we have become slaves in our own land.

We won our Liberty and created a government to preserve our individual Rights and Liberty. Then, we abandoned true Self-Respect, Honor and Liberty for the tinsel of governmentapproved prosperity, government-issued security and government-approved freedom. The GoldStandard of American Liberty has been replaced by the fiat values of our political, financial and social rulers. Those, a class of humans whose most productive function would be stretching various fiber suspensions like the fruit of an alien tree.

“You cannot change City Hall!” “It takes a village to raise a child.” “If it saves the life of a single child, it is worth the sacrifice.” “If we force people to get a license and insurance, it will prevent unnecessary hazard to the population and save the taxpayer a lot of money.” “You can’t have a civilized society if everyone goes about doing as they please.” “Taxes are necessary to provide the services that society demands.” “The constitution is a living document, changing its meaning as the language and circumstances of our society change.” We hear these and other similar falsehoods from all quarters and from all elevations. The uniformity and universality of the lies cannot disguise their false claims.

What is so wrong with Liberty for the individual and for our society? Liberty is unsafe for the unwary, the unprepared, the uneducated, the slothful, selfish, self-serving, greedy and etc. Is it dangerous for society to tolerate such individual failings? Only if your society is composed of individuals who are incapable of self-reliance.

No, if the society is composed of free men and women who practice and love Liberty, for they will preserve our society by their own virtue of determination and competent self-reliance.

For me, Liberty, now.

myspace.com/stlouissinner

Oppression can take many forms

written by Kristen Ivy

A

small group of elites hold power, and the government makes decisions that are not in the interests of the people. Our country suffers from the illusion that we live in a utopian state of freedom. In fact, the world of nobles and peasants still exists around us. The shadowed side of our ruling class is not political, but financial.

One of the founding beliefs of the American system was that the state should exist to serve the people. If freedom is the highest good, then laws should be made to preserve that freedom at all costs. Those in power would like us to follow the fascist and oppressive belief that people serve the state. The founders of our country were worried about corporations and monopolies. Jefferson saw a wealthy elite of businessmen as a threat to freedom, equal to totalitarian government or oppressive religion.

Now, government and business are nearly indistinguishable. From agenda-setting lobbyists to corporate welfare and bailouts, endless examples come to mind of how the interests of elites hijacked our system of government.

The US government now owns a third of Citigroup, and is the largest shareholder of GM. These steps were taken in the 'national interest'. But the ones who benefit are not the common citizens who make up the nation, but the leaders who profit from a strong nation-state. The leeches.

The interlocking nature of these leaders is a complex subject. Professor G. William Domhoff from the University of California has tackled it. The website theyrule.net provides a visual (if somewhat outdated) way to look at the small group who have connections to various companies and policy-making groups. You can see which corporations have board members who are part of the Council on Foreign Relations, without a lot of reading.

The line between government and corporate leadership is so blurry it’s become indistinguishable.

This leadership is what Karl Marx once called a “band of hostile brothers.� They may squabble for dominance, but they stand together like the sons of a feudal king. They control our economy, make decisions on safety regulations, labor practices, foreign policy, and information accessibility.

Mussolini is credited with saying, "Fascism should more properly be called corporatism because it is the merger of state and corporate power."

This is uncomfortably close to home for Americans. What happened to the idea that everything is subordinate to individual freedoms?

That idea doesn't turn a profit.

Healthcare can make good money for shareholders and executives, though. Especially when people are denied care for pre-existing conditions. The system doesn't exist to benefit you. You exist to put your money into a system that will deny you care if they can get away with it.

Ask not what the company can do for you, ask what you can do for your company. Instead of owning the company, employees helplessly have their benefits cut, wages frozen, and hours reduced so the shareholders make more money.

And let's not forget how profitable war can be! The elites can make billions both at war and rebuilding war-torn areas. The war profiteers in Iraq get richer, US citizens are taxed to support the war, and the politicians show no sign of ending the madness.

This economic tyranny is just as dangerous as political oppression. We can refuse to re-elect politicians who don't serve their constituents. But what to do with corporations who act like tyrants instead of servants of the people?

In theory, a state can disband a corporation, revoking its charter. Some states allow citizens to sue for revocation. Disbanding corporations may seem like a long shot, but it is our best chance to make a fundamental change in the system.

The elites won't just release the financial stranglehold they have on us. The citizens of this country have to support legislation that takes away from corporate power, and use litigation to change the absolute power corporations have. Not to mention taking an active role in local government to keep the profiteers out of our communities. These are big goals, but attainable.

Meanwhile, people can work toward a better system by bartering, buying used, and buying local.

Avoid corporate banks, corporate media, corporate everything. As much as you can afford, spend your money with companies who provide a fair wage to their workers and a reasonable salary to their executives. Its not as exciting as rioting in the streets, but the little decisions you and I make every day either feed or starve the new nobility.

These parasites have enriched themselves at our expense for long enough.

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by Paul Ace Diamond “Huggy” Blow

If You Can’t Be a Rock Star, at Least Be the Next Best Thing: a Prima Donna! That’s right, it’s time for another “Paul Diamond Blow Starting a band” article.

This time I tackle the subject of prima donnas – why every band needs one, and how to be one.

Seriously, every REAL cool band has at least one prima donna, and there really is room only for one prima donna in each band. Mick Jagger is a prima donna, Axl Rose is a prima donna, and of course Yngwie Malsteem is a total prima donna (or maybe he’s just a dick). The prima donna’s role in the band is to give the band a sense of “we’re too cool for you”... of course, many musicians claim to hate them, however, often times the prima donna is the most talented one in the band. To be a true prima donna, you need three things: A big ego, mood swings, and talent. You can’t get away with being a rock’n’roll prima donna if you have no talent – without the talent you’re just another asshole.

Here’s how you too can be a prima donna musician, or at least act like one: 1) Show up late to the gigs: let everyone wonder if you’re ever going to show up. Show up 10 minutes before your band plays, if at all. Axl Rose has this maneuver perfected.

2) Act bored and disinterested: while playing the show, look like you’d rather be somewhere else.

Stand up against the wall with your legs crossed while playing guitar. Don’t smile. Wear sunglasses at all times. You can also play with your back to the audience.

3) Demand special treatment: If your band mates each get two drink tickets at the show, demand that you receive three or four. Demand that you get extra people in on your guest list. Demand M & M’s on your rider, with the red and green M & M’s separated.

4) Complain about the sound: Yell at the soundman – tell him you can’t hear yourself in the monitors.

Tell him to turn you up louder than everyone else. Call him a moron, even.

5) Refuse to load gear: Before or after the gig, refuse to load any gear, except maybe your own guitar.

Tell ’em “it’s the roadies job!” If you are a singer, don’t touch nothing!

6) Ignore your fans: After the gig, when audience members try to talk to you, just give ’em a nod and then ignore them. Again, wear sunglasses at all times. This shows them that you are a true prima donna to be contended with – a “player”.

7) Don’t show up to practice: Tell the guys, “I’m not the one who needs the practice.” Show up to every other practice, but only if you feel like it.

Do all these things, and you too can be a cool rock’n’roll prima donna. (Guys, the girls seem to love ’em!) Now go rock!

HUGGY BLOW’S ROCK STAR OF THE MONTH: David Bowie: David Bowie, in my opinion, is the most talented artist of our time. Not only does he have an incredible voice and is an amazing singer, he actually writes most of his own songs – and they are GREAT songs – and he also plays guitar and saxophone on many of his recordings. He is the complete musical package, the real deal. David Bowie is also probably the classiest rock star in existence with his supreme elegance and his way toocool British demeanor, and the man always looks good, even in his “old age.” In fact, David Bowie is so talented, sexy, and cool he could very well be an alien sent to us from another planet. What really makes David Bowie so cool – besides being the most talented artist alive – is how he has transformed his image so many times in his career, from the glam-era ZIGGY STARDUST to the soul-singer of the 80’s, to the dance/techno orientated Bowie of the 90’s and beyond, and every one of these transformations has been a success. This man knows how to evolve and stay current and hip, which many rock stars do not, and that, along with his totally awesome voice and sexy rock star coolness, makes him my rock star of the month.

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David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust

myspace.com/stlouissinner

UNMASKED written by Chuck Foster photos courtsey of Saence

L

ast month in The Sinner I mentioned this three-piece, meal/rock powerhouse after catching their set a few nights before print. I described Saence’s rare acoustic set as “mind-blowing”, as it was an overwhelming experience to witness an entire metal/punk crowd of all ages hurdle around the trio for a half-hour in complete mesmerization. I spoke with Dean that night about the band, its direction, and how it surfaced upon the scene in 2007 without being noticed as the force they truly are by every local paper in the area.

Saence features The Hierophant (Dean Preacher) on vocals and bass; The Magician (Jackie Flawless) on guitar; and The Chariot (Rya) on drums, or the skins as Saence puts it. Dean Preacher describes the trio as three talented and powerful mediums that connect with the living through the works of the dead. A seance, if you will. As far as the name of the band goes, the three believe that their

sound and name relate and connect to one another, so that in a sense, the music and the name chose themselves and one another, not the band.

If that’s a bit over your head on the spiritual realm of things, then know that the band’s influences are not musical ones, but spiritual and physical ones of this universe. As Dean put it, they are the secrets of the lost and wicked, paths traveled by the lonely, boxes full of memories under stairwells and lies that sift through the hour glass of time. When asked to categorize their unique form of heavier rock-n-roll, the band holds firm that they are not a metal band, but a heavy rock, dark ambient, unpredictable, intense, hypnotic, transcending, beautiful power.

Perhaps that’s the heaviest part of this band, its depth in thought, word, and song.

After listening to Saence’s three plugged-in tracks on MySpace, I asked about their acoustic set that I caught last

month. Dean says that the band just wanted to connect with another group of people by taking their sound somewhere that none thought it could go.

He said the group thought that it was totally cool to take their heavy music and rewrite it into an acoustic set. “It was like getting off on our music for the first time again as we wrote it.”

Speaking of those three tracks featured on MySpace, it would be misleading to say that there’s not a hint of that Tool “feel” present, but what Saence does masterfully is take that “feel” and repackage it into their own unique persona. All three songs are longer than average, yet this aspect of each song creates part of their hypnotic vigor. It’s easy to get lost in each individual track over and over again, a mystical characteristic truly rare in music today, especially in the heavier genre.

To add a sense of humor to the piece, I asked Dean if he had any crazy road tales to share, as most heavier bands often do.

He recalled an outa town show with a crackedup midget, toting a bat and trying to steal their gear while they were playing, and a sweaty-pitted, red dressed whore who pissed in their rodie’s shoe. But he says that was

definitely not the craziest. He says that they once played with this local band that they loved but then figured out that they were on acid and were actually watching themselves.

On a far more serious note, Saence have recently signed with A@E Entertainment here in St. Louis. They also have a new CD coming out in April on the 17th, and a big show at Pop’s to kick it off.

The band’s also planning on playing as many shows from one side of the states to the other to promote their new disk. To find more general info on Saence, like shows and merchandise, you can always send them a message at their MySpace page: www.myspace.com/saence. Or to find the newest show updates, log on to www. myspace.com/vqmanagement.

And better yet, you can get off your lazy asses and check them out live at Just Bill’s in Overland on February 27 – that’s guaranteed to be a show that will lift you to another state of mind... if not realm.

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FRIDAY & SATURDAY 7-12PM $1 LONGNECK COORS LIGHT MILLER LIGHT

I’m Back!

On the Scene and Heard with malice at The Library

photos by Rabid Rabbit

T

he Library has became our home away from home, a place we can go without a plan, without knowing anything about any of the bands. There’s always something going on. This is OUR scene, not just mine. I never feel like I’m dragging the Man out against his will to see a band he doesn’t like in a bar he hates, where he’s just going to make me happy – (let’s face it, my husband is not wild about some of my bands). This town has a lot of bands with really cool names, they just don’t always measure up. But that’s what this is all about – experimenting with new bands, new sounds, new metal beasties in their own environment.

When I go see a new band I’ve never heard anything about, except the name on the flyer, whatever image sticks in my brain carries me through until I actually see them on stage. Unlike some venues, The Library is a place where local musicians hang out, not just the four bands playing that night, so you’ll see a varied assortment of who knows what… which is part of the appeal. There’s a little mental game I play with myself: by process of elimination, I try to figure out which guy belongs in which band?

Sometimes, I completely miss the boat, but then those clowns didn’t even look like they belonged on the same planet, much less the same band. Most of the time, though, I’m dead on, in every city every time. C’mon, PLEASE, can you at least LOOK like you belong in the same band? But, I digress…there have been some great bands with really cool names that we have recently caught, like STINKFOOT, STATE OF MIND, PANIC ATTACK, & CARDBOARD ROOM. Experimenting with new bands is just so “Blind Date/Craig’s List”, you never know what you’re letting yourself in for. You could find yourself hanging from a meat hook…and you just might find you like it like that. It’s a gamble.

STINKFOOT (www.myspace.com/stinkfootband), offering a FREE CD with 2 KICK ASS songs on it “Smile”, and “Stronger”, is one band I plan on seeing LOTS of in 2010. They look like truckstop heroes in their ball caps and working class garb, and their sound is intense – no nonsense, no frills, no need for stage props, simple, honest, straight-up Rock & Roll, a guitar parade. They bring a feel good, thank God the week is over, let’s throw down it’s the weekend, sound. In spite of the questionable name, I want to see this band again, on purpose.

PANIC ATTACK was pretty good, too, not at all what I expected. I can relate, panic attacks are frequent visitors to my door. This band has a very tight sound musically, rawk with BALLS, and the singer’s a chick! Definitely worth a second listen.

STATE OF MIND (www.myspace.com/somband) is a band which I will definitely be needing a repeat performance from, and SOON – great songs about stuff I could imagine doing all day. They had a good crowd, many of them the bass player’s co-workers, although he did have to bully them a bit to get them down on the floor. THIS band is one you have to SEE to fully appreciate. A guitar parade, as I do likes my guitar heroes, always makes me very happy.

We were dancing too much for me to take any notes about their songs, other than we had one of the best times out that we’ve had in awhile.

We had a great time, devoured fabulous munchies, stayed out later than we had planned, drank waaay too much – speaking of which, there is a new service that is being offered for FREE for this location: DDD (Dependable Designated Drivers). Someone will drive you home in your own car while someone else follows them to take them back. Their number is 314-361-4444. Now your DD doesn’t have to be bored shitless because they have to drive your drunk ass home after watching you have waaay too much fun dancing on tables and flirting with the band…it’s a bad scene…avoid it at all costs. Both of you can get silly drunk and lose your heads, but not your license, your life or your dignity (mugshots don’t offer the most flattering lighting to the drunken ruddy complexion, trust me on this one.).

So now that I’m in a better frame of mind, I can face another grueling week in the world of retail, get back to my everyday routine with a couple of new bands on my horizon, some new tunes to spend Drunk Laundry Day with and a plan to see them again for a repeat performance.

I leave you, Kind Readers, in a new STATE OF MIND and a STINKFOOT…I’m not sure WHAT to make of that visual, but I’m sure you’ll do what you can.

Until next time, Sinners!

TOK @ AB’s Place 5627 Manchester Avenue

As I try my best to get this out hours before print, with my eyes and mind shutting down, I find myself compelled, if not obsessed, to share with you sinners two new tools in the area necessary for a rockin’ time: AB’s Place and TOK. OK, I know that TOK’s not new, but they seem to be reborn. Some of you readers may remember the small write up we had on TOK last year. Well, this seems to be a different band today. Not that TOK ever lacked a strong stage performance with their unique mix of stoner/garage rock, nor energy, but they’re not the same band that we caught last year at Lemmons. They’ve stepped it up a notch, if not three. I highly recommend catching this three piece later this month at The Library on February 19th.

NOW something that is new to the local venue scene is AB’s Place on Manchester. This new joint has all the ingredients of a solid rock venue, like better than average sound, good bands coming in, cheap drinks, kickass grub (which is also quite cheap), and plenty of parking. And fair covers!

There’s something else about AB’s that gives it an edge, its dive/ punk atmosphere. Tattooed freaks, punks and the less trendy fit right in at AB’s. And it’s bringing in the crowds that are very accustomed to venues like Lemmons and The Wayout Club.

I highly encourage checking out there facebook page for future shows, and going to check one or two out.

Now good night...

Your pal, Malice

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myspace.com/stlouissinner

A.N.A.L.

at the WayOut Club photos & text by Chuck Foster

Who doesn’t like a little ANAL every once in a while, it’s supposed to be good for you, right? The A.NA.L. that I’m talking about is the band, not the sex act. As an acronym for America’s New Ambassadors of Love, the band says that they’ll make your heart smell like poop. I can’t say that about A.N.A.L., but this group of misfits with Sheena Von Love on vocals punks it out like some of the best in town, and this was their first set. Of course, they have Ruby Casino on bass, Chris Foxxx on guitar, Pamela Lee Kowalski on drums, and Mysterious Mustachio’d Man on keys – yes, Mysterious Mustachio’d Man. Classified as Punk / Garage / Comedy, these cats will kick you in the gut with stiff sounds and have you rolling with laughter. Be sure to check them out on MySpace (www.myspace.com/analisgoodforyou) for more info and dates.

The Reebs were also on stage this wild and crazy night at The Wayout Club. This gang of psychobilly freaks know how to put on a show, trombone, stand-up bass, and all. Look to find for more of these cats in The Sinner real soon. To find more on them, go to www.myspace.com/thereebs. Or you can catch them live at AB’s on February 26th with my Boys, The Saw Is Family! I know where we’ll be that night!

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myspace.com/stlouissinner

Stoned Flix with Zak Weedman

Let me first say, this is one weird flick – and pot needs to be administered to truly enjoy it.

First of all, you have Jason Priestly cast as a gigolo, and Mommie and her sister played by Charles Bucsh. Like I said, it’s weird, and you’re going to need some pot.

Then add in the dysfunctional family, with the creepy daughter/ father relationship and flaming gay son, who is a bit too close to mommie, too.

Now throw a murder into the mix, and another, and a fake murder and a federal agent with a big dick that everyone’s killing to get their mouths on – then you have half of the plot. The other is worth saving for the finale, which is more than stoney enough to make this film a stoner’s classic!

be said. Your mind is already ROCKY HORROR! Nothing else need own fluid falls down on unkn e swimming in rice and toast whil ks with water guns. For the you in the darkness of night from frea experience – especially on any unprepared, it can be a frightening t, the sequel to Rocky Horror, tmen form of psychedelics. Shock Trea se, it was never meant to be. is hardly the same experience. Of cour ive the terrors of To fill you in, Brad and Janet surv in the suburbia es Rocky Horror only to find themselv r eave to-B e-itnightmare of DTV, a Leav ork reality-style TV set of real life. Super-D ntly, enie conv and y, tuall even Brad is t’s placed in an insane asylum so Jane ming beco , DTV on career can take off the next big superstar. cast While not featuring the original And le. ceab noti form Horror, it’s hardly ien O’Br ard Rich of tion the combina and Barry Humphries as the evil duo replacing Tim Curry as Dr. Frank N. e Furter is more than enough to mak . flick ed ston isc clas a this one

NAUGHTI GRAS 3 RECAP

N

aughti Gras III was filled with two incredible evenings of fun, complete

with art, entertainment, and the newest features, the Naughti Market and the down-

stairs bar area.

As you walked in from the main entrance you were greeted with some amazing pieces of art surrounding you. Taking it

A RT O P E N I N G S

all in, you wandered through to the bar area to grab a tasty bevy. Even more art surrounded you as you walked through the annex, aka: pass through into the enter-

Friday, February 19, 2010 ;6:00 PM- 10:00 PM

tainment room. The entertainment area had additional space for a second stage

Photo by Jamjessop

and the floor plan had been carefully laid out for patrons to walk through and enjoy themselves. Also a 40+ foot bar had been

Bring Your Hottie to February’s Third Friday at Third Degree Glass Presented by Third Degree Glass Factory Bring your Hottie and hang by the fire. It’s time to snuggle and spark. Our FREE entertainment will get your heart pounding. See glassblowers and their heat defying moves as they create beauty from glowing globs. Shop for glass gifts in the HotShop Gallery. How about fireside dining Third Degree style? Designing Chefs serve up comfort food with Italian flair. Reserve your dinner online for $21 plus tax. Work with our instructors and make a paperweight, a holiday tile keepsake, or glass beads ($30 - $20). Enjoy a free chocolate tasting by Kakao Chocolate. At 8 pm put your feet to the beat with tunes by Salt of the Earth. Third Degree East Gallery opens with Hot Color: Paintings by SusTTan Reis, and Childhood Icons: Cast Glass by Cortney Boyd. On view through March 16. Third Fridays are free and family-friendly. Cash bar.

added in this area. Pass the bar area a new feature was added, The Naughti Market. The market had pieces of artwork from artists like Mark Swain, and Jane Linders. Also included were a few sexy toys, jewelry, leather gear and some erotic candy, as well as a tarot/palm reader.

Down stairs included more entertainment from local area bands and burlesque.

These two evenings were busy, entertaining and if you missed it, you definitely missed a great time!!!

Photo by Jamjessop

Anne Murphy (314) 367-4527 Ext. 205 anne@stlglass.com www.stlglass.com Third Degree Glass Factory 5200 Delmar Blvd.

St. Louis, MO 63108

February 8th through February 28th, 2010 “Critical Mass Creative Stimulus” Presented by Regional Arts Commission

Photo by Jamjessop

HAVE AN ART OPENING? CONTACT US TODAY!

Photo by Jamjessop

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chuck@theseattlesinner.com

Installations created by the 2009 recipients of the first Creative Stimulus Project, sponsored by Critical Mass for the Visual Arts, a nonprofit organization that promotes contemporary art in the St. Louis area. These commissions, selected by jurors Terry Suhre, Shannon Fitzgerald and Dana Turkovic, recognize artists by providing an honorarium and an opportunity to exhibit their work at the Gallery at the Regional Arts Commission (RAC). Curated by Emily Blumenfeld.

Gallery at the Regional Arts Commission 6128 Delmar Blvd.

St. Louis, MO 63112 Diane Kline (314) 863-5811 marketing@stlrac.org www.art-stl.com

myspace.com/stlouissinner

The Sinful Art of

MBE Photography W

hen I first stumbled upon MBE photography on MySpace last year, a cryptic figure first caught my attention, like the shadow of a lone wolf captured in front of a pale blue moon howling to the gods. The figure present possessed a disturbing solidarity, like that of the lone wolf, which inspired me to delve deeper. Once inside his world, though, nothing is quite as it seems about Michael Bradley Estes. There are shots of models, and Mardi Gras, and Halloween parties, and of him, his young daughter, and even of his wife tastefully shot nude. Not nearly as dark as his profile picture.

The image in question has roots which run 8 or 9 years deep, a time when Mike says that he didn’t own a camera “worthy of being creative”, so he began playing with Photodelux 2.0 (a really crude earlier version of what we now know as photoshop). He admits that he mainly pissed-off people, and friends, by putting there heads on things that heads didn’t belong upon. He eventually got pretty good at it. The self portrait he produced in such sinister fashion some years later came to be as Mike is not one who is fond of having his picture taken. He shares the same curse as many other photographers. He says that was the sole reason he decided to go with a two-tone look instead of full color. Beyond his personal feelings about himself in the shot, his creative nature demanded a background with about 8 layers, the use of 10 different brushes, and about a half an hour of intense focus. “All that to end up in my scrap folder...” he laughs. The image actually sat there until a good friend suggested he use it for his profile. You could say the rest is history.

Like many photographers, Mike developed a passion for photography at a young age. At the age of 10-years-old his first shot consisted of spending hours to properly position a couple of Star Wars figures in the sand, just for one stolen picture on his mother’s camera. While Mike wishes he could say that from that day forward he progressed into a world famous photographer who makes more money than he knows what to do with, he admits, “It just ain’t so.” He does believe that he’s owned every type of camera available, including a 110, 220, 35mm, disc film, (not CD, just disc film), and an array of digital point-and-clicks once they were available.

There were several shots by MBE that we considered for our front cover, but we went with the one titled, Yissa. Mike says that this shot was inspired from a shoot with his friend Courtney Hunyar, a once local belly dancer and model who now resides in Chicago. About half way through the shoot she pulled out these swords, which led Mike to ask her who the goddess with all the arms is? Kali, was the answer he was looking for. Although they did get some great shots that day, Mike says that he was more excited about the post production, and his plans for a small set of choreographed poses that would eventually become Kali.

I asked Mike what he thought to be the biggest misconception of independent photography. “Glamor” was his answer. He explains that when someone finds out that a lot of his art features beautiful models, sometimes half-naked, if not totally naked, they too often call him lucky. In reality, he adds that a lot of the time the scheduling of models, dealing with all the flakes (and yes there are a lot out there), and the pressures of getting the shot once you get the models, lacks glamour altogether.

As for the future, Mike says that he always tries to set attainable goals, but with that being said, he has always dreamed of working for a magazine, that it would be the ultimate challenge. When it comes to advice for those new to photography, he says, “Don’t let people discourage you from what you want to do, and try not to allow yourself to do things that suck the creative process out of you. And don’t dread on situations where your shooting and you don’t feel like you have the right equipment or shooting vantage (bands or events). Don’t just think outside the box, try blowing the f**cking box up, and see what you get.”

To end this piece Mike wanted to credit Teya King, owner of outrageous productions, and starter of the St. Louis artist photographer/model co-op on meetups.com, for her constant support, encouragement, and overall friendship which has made him a better photographer today... “Oh yeah, and my mom, too!”.

To find more of MBE’s sinister works, check out these sites: www.flickr.com/photos/ mike_estes_photograph; www.myspace.com/sirmikealot1; www.linkedin.com/in/mbephotography; and www.modelmayhem.com/mbestes. I promise it will be an experience much like finding that lone wolf in front of a pale blue moon howling to the gods.

written by Chuck Foster

Campfire Tales

Gloomy Sunday written by Matthew Gorman

I

s it possible that simply listening to a song could drive someone to end his or her own life? Can a song be cursed? According to an urban legend that has been built up around a song composed in Hungary in the early 1930s, the answer to both of these questions is a resounding, yes. The song is sometimes known as ‘The Hungarian Suicide Song’, and by some accounts it can be linked to over 200 deaths by suicide the world over in the seventy-plus years since its inception. The title of the song is “Gloomy Sunday”.

Self-taught Hungarian pianist, Rezsö Seress, and the Hungarian poet, Làszlò Jàvor, who would provide the song’s melancholy lyrics, co-wrote “Gloomy Sunday” in 1933. Legend has it that Seress wrote the song’s tortured melody on an actual gloomy Sunday, pouring out his broken heart into his musical arrangement in the wake of a failed romance. And Jàvor’s lyrics recount the woeful tale of someone contemplating suicide after their lover has died.

Seress allegedly met with one rejection after another in his attempts to publish the sheet music and lyrics for “Gloomy Sunday”. One publisher went so far as to tell him, “It is not that the song is sad, there is a sort of terrible compelling despair about it. I don’t think it would do anyone any good to hear a song like that.”

Eventually though, Seress was able to get “Gloomy Sunday” published, and within a week the song became a moderate success, propelling Seress into a world of semi-acclaim and financial gain. Feeling confident once again with his newfound degree of notoriety and an upstart fortune, Seress, some stories claim, made an attempt to reunite with the very young lady who had inspired his melancholy anthem in the first place. In a somewhat dubious twist to the tale, however, it is said that this girl then poisoned herself to death on the day after Seress had contacted her. On a piece of paper found next to her lifeless body, the legend says, Seress’s former lover had supposedly written just two words: “Gloomy Sunday”.

Another version, however, has the lyricist, Làszlò Jàvor, as the lovelorn protagonist in this tragic tale of unrequited love. Jàvor’s original lyrics, in their native tongue, are so renowned for their unabashed bleakness that no translation is said to have ever done them proper justice. And yet it is of Seress, and of the heartbreaking melody that he composed, that most people speak of

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when they speak of “Gloomy Sunday”.

What is known for sure is that while investigating the suicide of Joseph Keller, a local shoemaker, in February of 1936, told police in Budapest that the cobbler’s suicide note quoted the lyrics of the recently popularized song.

This was to be the first of many alleged suicides in Hungary that were connected to the actual song “Gloomy Sunday” itself.

A month later, in March of 1936, Time Magazine reported that shortly after the suicide of Joseph Keller, seventeen additional suicides had occurred in Hungary, each and every one somehow involving the song “Gloomy Sunday”. The brief article recounted how two people had blown their brains out while listening to a Gypsy band perform the song. It also claimed that several people had apparently drowned themselves in the icy waters of the Danube River while clutching copies of the song’s sheet music to their breasts. The article then went on to tell of yet another man who had reportedly requested that a band in a nightclub play the song for him, and had then walked outside into the street and promptly shot himself in the head following the performance.

And while little to no verifiable evidence exists today to substantiate these additional claims of sonically induced suicide, the burgeoning saga of the song “Gloomy Sunday” and its inferred causal effect (despite the questionable veracity of such an ostensibly folksy yarn) did very little to stop the savvy machinations of the world media.

Not long after the Time Magazine article, in fact, The New York Times would go to press with the sensationalistic headline of “Hundreds of Hungarians kill themselves under the influence of a song”.

Now, Hungary at the time had the highest suicide rate of any country in the world. In the fractured and pessimistic culture that existed in the country during the 1930s, suicide was considered a reasonable solution to the overwhelming troubles of life. Also not uncommon is for suicides in any country to incorporate popular lyrics or writings into their final letters to the world. As such, it could be wholly possible that the Hungarian suicides did, in fact, occur, but for reasons far less mysterious than originally extolled. And yet, an air of foreboding has seemed to linger around the song and its dark history all the same.

Well, that’s the facts, and after that, the story, as is so very often the case with many an urban legend, becomes a bit murky. Some sources claim that in light of the song’s strange (re: fatal) effect on the populace, Hungarian authorities actually officially banned the song from ever being performed or broadcast over the airwaves throughout the entire country. Other historical accounts claim that the musical number was simply squelched in a number of Hungarian municipalities by an overwhelming public adherence to generally accepted social conduct. In other words, the Hungarian people within their respective communities, in the interests of “good taste”, unofficially banned the composition, with radio stations and musicians soon following suit.

But the tale grows deeper yet. Apparently, after the fervor surrounding the song and its purported effect had gradually began to wane, the B.B.C. agreed to release the song in Britain as long as it would only be performed instrumentally (by some historically questionable accounts the song had hitherto been banned throughout all of England by this time). This was until a London policeman patrolling his beat heard the song being played over and over again from an

apartment during his travels. Having heard of the controversy surrounding the musical number and deeming it rather odd that someone would play such a tune again and again so incessantly, the lawman went up to investigate. His curiosity soon turned to horror as he found the apartment’s occupant, a young woman, dead from a self-administered overdose of barbiturates, and with the instrumental version of “Gloomy Sunday” repeating itself over and over on an automatic phonograph. It was then, that the B.B.C. allegedly reimposed the ban on any version of the song. A ban which some say still remains in effect today.

Now, whether or not there ever was, or if there still remains, a ban on the song “Gloomy Sunday” in the U.K. is a matter for researchers far more adept and well, let’s face it, far nerdier than I. So, if you do happen to have the time on your hands between your “X-Files” and “Dr. Who” marathons and your busy schedule of not getting laid to instigate some sort of amicable, epistolary correspondence with some fellow nerdling who just so happens to have unfettered access to the B.B.C. policy records from the 1930s until present day, please let me know. I’ll buy you some “Lord of the Rings” collectibles for your effort.

Honest.

But seriously though, the London incident did actually occur, and remains one of the modern aesthetic backdrops wherein the tale of the “cursed” song is still relayed. I, myself, first heard that it was the highly popular Billie Holiday version of the song that so many people had offed themselves to, and that her cover of “Gloomy Sunday” was the last record found on their phonographs or gramophones when their bodies were discovered. Well, the phonograph thing was indeed true in one instance at least, and perhaps more than that, although not with regards to the Billie Holiday version of the song. But then that’s just how legends grow, with a dash of truth, and a whole lot of ad-libbing.

The thing is, some sources believe that it was only the original Hungarian version that had “caused” people to kill themselves, while others will attest that the sorrowful song in any form can still exude its enigmatic influence. Many claim that it was the lyrics that had given the song its power, and that when it was translated into other tongues the song was rendered harmless. As such, they believed that the song was only deleterious to the Hungarian population, and yet tales of suicides connected to the song, such as that of the London woman, began to pop-up in several European countries not too long after the suicides in Hungary.

In Berlin, a young shopkeeper hung herself, leaving a copy of the sheet music to “Gloomy Sunday” below her dangling feet. An errand boy in Rome who had been riding his bicycle through the streets purportedly heard a beggar simply whistling the song’s melody. The youth, it is said, parked his bike, gave the beggar all of his money, and then drowned himself in a nearby river. In the United States, a young girl working as a typist in a New York office building put her head inside her gas oven and asphyxiated herself. She left a note requesting that “Gloomy Sunday” be played at her funeral.

Reszo Seress Which brings us now to the song’s influence in America. After news of the morbid hype surrounding the musical number reached American shores, it wasn’t long before musicians in the U.S. were practically chomping at the bit to record their own versions (be they simply instrumental or with the original lyrics translated into English) of “Gloomy Sunday”. American lyricists Sam M. Lewis and Desmond Carter each authored translated versions of the original song lyrics, with Lewis’s version eventually becoming the better known, and more often covered of the two. In fact, in 1936, the very same year as the original reported rash of suicides in Hungary, Hal Kemp and his Orchestra, employing the Lewis translation, would record the first American version of ‘The Hungarian Suicide Song’. The band claimed that it took twenty one takes to achieve a performance suitable for recording, and every band member reported feeling uneasy and pessimistic throughout the entire ordeal.

It was the Billie Holiday version of the song, recorded in 1941, however, that would become the most popular interpretation of “Gloomy Sunday”. To this version was added a third stanza in which Billie sings that her wish to die had all just been a dream. This was done in the attempts to temper the pessimistic feel of the song, but it seemed to do little good. There were alleged reports of young jazz enthusiasts committing suicide after listening only to Holiday’s version of the song.

To date, “Gloomy Sunday” has been recorded by artists as diverse as Billie Holiday, Louis Armstrong, Ray Charles, Björk, Sinead O’Connor, and the Satanic songstress Diamanda Galas, to name but a few, and has been translated into a number of languages including Swedish and Japanese.

A myriad of theories still abound as to just what element it is within the song, or whether it is perhaps an amalgam of all its properties, that gives “Gloomy Sunday” such purported power. Some claim that the depressing monotony of the instrumentation set in C-Minor helped to create some kind of disheartening resonance that could dramatically affect the psyches of certain individuals, and even this theory of tonal influence is further bisected by some proposing a scientific cause and effect and others one more supernatural. It is even said that the French government employed psychics at one point to study the ‘Suicide Song’ and its strange effect.

When asked about how he felt about his song and its purported connection with so many suicides, the composer Seress answered, “I stand in the midst of this deadly success as an accused man. This fatal frame hurts me. I cried all of the disappointments of my heart into this song, and it seems that others with feelings like mine have found their own hurt in it.”

Seress jumped to his death from his Budapest flat in 1968.

myspace.com/stlouissinner

Skin Deep with Stu Photography by LB Photography (LBfoto1@yahoo.com)

L

et me start by Saying that the purpose of this monthly column is to offer information and a personal view on matters involving body piercing and modification and is in no way meant to put myself above any other artist in the industry. Secondly, if you have a horror story and choose to share it with us, DO NOT give the name of the artist involved as I will just omit it anyway. There are many artists in the St. Louis and surrounding areas that deserve nothing but the utmost respect from myself and supporters of our shared profession. If you have a question about piercing/modification, a story, or just a desire to better understand the culture and would like that answered, please send them to: stumodifies@yahoo.com.

Hey I have a quick question...if I get a surface piercing and the jewelry I get it with is shaped like a staple, would I be able to take it out to change it easily? Or would it just be easier to get a normal barbell ?

Lauren Miller -CT HELLO LAUREN Thanks so much for sending in your question. I DO NOT SUGGEST STRAIGHT METAL BARS FOR SURFACE PIERCINGS. The reason for this is that the skin, on all parts of the body, wraps itself much like canvas to a frame. It has patterns to its wraps which are known as cleavage or tension lines.

These patterns help the skin to move fluently over the body. This fact is important to remember when collecting any kind of body modification. A large factor for why surface piercing may migrate or reject is that up-pressure is caused in the tissue after the material is set. Think of it this way… if you were to take a slightly rounded surface and wrap latex or any other stretchy/elastic like material around it and then place a straight bar between the two the tension in the latex would be wrapped more tightly over the two ends of the bar and slowly work itself through the more you stretched and moved the elastic like wrap. Where as if you were to insert a slightly rounded material that’s ends pointed in a direction that flowed evenly with the patterns of the latex, the stretch would be more likely to adapt its shape to the new addition. (note charts 1 and 2).

For me personally I use PTFE barbells that I shape and sometimes even flatten myself, however many artists work only in metal and there is no problem with that way either. It is purely a matter of professional preference. What matters most is that the material is inserted in a way that compliments the patterns of the skin and the natural shape of the surface area.

The surface bars can be changed pretty easily, however all surface piercings will reject or migrate at least a little during the heal. This means that if you have a surface bar that is 1” after it heals and later finishes setting itself to where the skin feels comfortable with its presence, it is possible that only 3/4” will be still under the skin leaving exposed bar on both sides, so be certain that you have another barbell that will make up for the difference in loss of depth if any amount occurs at all.

As for changing it yourself, I do suggest having an artist change it for as any amount of irritation can speed up the rejection process, but if you do decide to change it yourself then it would go like this: place your clean/new barbell on a clean towel and remove one bead; on your piercing unscrew one bead and place your thumb next to end of the bar that is now without a bead; place you index and middle fingers on both sides of the bar end that still has a bead and pinch, being careful not to push the bar through yet (this pinch will help the barbell pass). Now with your free hand pick up your new barbell and use it to push the old one through making sure to maintain a good pinch and then replace the bead.

If you have any more questions about this or anything else for that matter please send them in.

Thanks for writing.

All questions will be answered by email or by a request for you to call me directly and may be in the next issue of the St. Louis Sinner! Thanks for reading! Stu (Myspace.com/StuModifies - Facbook.com/StuModifies) Self Inflicted Studios (Myspace.com/sistl) 1328 Washington Ave in St. Louis - (314)-621-4660

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This, I Shamelessly Tell You

by Rajkhet Dirzhud-Rashid

Why are little girls (and some young women) still being trained to be bimbos, my reflections on Haiti and some juicy stuff too

Goody Goody of Burning Hearts Burlesque!

A

s I sit here half asleep from both the gloom of two weeks of rain (one whole week solid, with almost no sun at all) and not enough sleep (the ‘wages of sin’ my grandmother would have called today’s malaise, since I was up late having fun), several things go through my befuddled brain. First of all there is me recovering from, or mostly trying to get through the financial mess made by a clusterfuck from three government agencies – two state and one federal. Then there’s my disbelief and horror as I watch the situation in Haiti unfold on my telly-screen, and having my roots go back to Haiti, I’m that much more horrified than most folks around me (some of whom seem more intent on running me over in crosswalks than helping anyone for any reason).

Still, benumbed brain and all, what I’ve been most

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upset about (until I saw the first photos out of Haiti on the evening news), is how it seems there’s a new story about how some woman or girl’s been abducted, killed, or assaulted at a bus stop or on the street by some no-nuts guy. Really, it’s an epidemic of crazy if you watch the evening news or read the ‘police beat’ in my local paper (and I do confess to a morbid obsession with both), and I have to wonder is it that men are just that messed up. Or is it that they are that messed up, but also young women – the main victims besides teenaged girls – are still being raised to think they’ll always have a man around to rescue them, so they needn’t learn anything to protect themselves? I think it’s both.

I think this is a quieter backlash from ‘the powers that be’ than say, trying to unseat as many liberal minded politicos as possible or openly bashing our current president under the guise of ‘caring for the little people’, when they’re really just racists. I believe women are doubly whacked by a media campaign to keep them forerver helpless and dependent upon ‘rescue’, and targets for an increasingly angry, unhinged male population of crazies. Especially in Washington state, where the situation is so bad that I almost expect my turn to have to fight for my life against some unruly buttcake in the near future. I already deal with a growing population of deviants in the low income building I live in, but I don’t think of someone rescuing me. I think of taking as much flesh off the offender as I can before the cops get to me and take over. I hope I’m not the one arrested, as has happened to women who

defended themselves against attackers before.

I guess having been a victim at my own father’s hands for the first eleven years of my life, I know it’s highly unlikely someone will rescue me, so I’ve learned to think like a warrior when I’m out in the world. To be honest, I scare myself with my dark thoughts of what I’d do to a would-be rapist or robber, more than those jackoffs could ever scare me. Nothing like the adrenaline of fear to make me think disembowel the sucker before he can get his pants down, and rip his face to shreds before he can threaten me. I believe I could do that too.

In fact, thinking of doing violence to bad people makes me excited in a way that’s probably not natural. I am, after all, a sadist in a consensual s/m relationship.

I think from the time they’re walking, girls (and some boys of a delicate disposition), who should be trained to attack like little pit bulls, instead of being fed on ‘Hannah Montana’ and other such treacly crap. We should all know how to make sure the person who attacks us goes down like a giselle in one of those nature films, and that we’re the lion doing the damage, not the other way around. Not that we need to hate our brothers out there to the point where we’re always angry, and not able to enjoy what good there is in the world, we just need to be ‘on point’, and act like walking victims. After all, I’m tirerd of my sisters getting the raw end of the deal on Planet Earth. Men need to fear us if they’re planning harm for us, and heck maybe if they’re not. Or at least not think we’re pushovers.

So, as the day ends and the trio of ‘frat boy types’ (usually involved in heinous crimes against people like me – Trans/psychic/too attractive to leave alone/you name it) have finally started their journey out of the cafe

where I’m typing this, a little of the caffeine from my tea kicks in. Not enough to keep me awake tonight, but enough to get me home without wandering into traffic.

Now I think of my honeybunny/life partner, who showed up after a hard day at work to give me a ride home from Rustycon, the kickoff sci-fi/fantasy event I do each January. he warm feeling like the Christian Brothers brandy that used to be my favorite drink ‘back in the day’ comes over me and my edges mellow, just a bit.

I look forward to our day tomorrow, going through a mental checklist in my head, planning the scene we’ve been talking about for two weeks now. One in which zee’s incarcerated (‘zee’ by the way is ‘new speak’ for Trans folks, since regular nouns are just more confusing), somehow in my tiny apartment for a chosen length of time (keeping in mind work and responsibilities have to still have their due). I imagine us seeing the movie I picked for my birthday and having zee wear the ‘rhumba panties’ under her pretty skirt, as I’ll want her ‘dressed’ in girl-drag while thoughts of violence turn to dripping candle wax on her skin and maybe using the new blade I bought in the dealer’s room at Rustycon. I also think of how to help raise money for Haiti, where people with my same blood are in turmoil and need so much. Yes, here I can think these thoughts and feel mildly safe, for a moment. Out the door, however, I will become once more a dragon, ever ready to fight off some yayhoo, should he be foolish enough to try and take a piece of me. I, after all was raised in a sort of hell, not trained to expect rescue and I don’t.

This, I shamelessly tell you.

myspace.com/stlouissinner

Bitching with Buddha Lu c i fe r

Dear Most Evil and Dark Lord, I am a home owner. I bought my house a couple of years ago when the housing market was up and everyone said it would only go higher. Back then the TV market commentators said real estate was a sure thing investment for retirement and would only appreciate in value. Now those same asshole commentators say they saw it all coming and we shouldn’t have ever looked at real estate as an investment. So I’m stuck with a mortgage for a house that’s worth crap now. The bank isn’t interested in re-negotiating the terms of my loan, giving me some long winded “no”.

Here’s the thing, I have a job that’s pretty secure. I can make the payments but what really am I getting out of it. It would be better to save that money for retirement, right? So I’m thinking about walking away. My credit history be damned. About half my neighbors have left and I know my leaving would be screwing with the property value of those neighbor’s who haven’t split.

So what’s your opinion, should I walk?

– Sincerely, Wearing me Snickers Dear WS, So you want me to be your moral compass? I love You already.

Look, even if your house lost 25% of its value, the chances of you regaining its former worth in your life time is about zero. Now when you sign on that dotted line and enter into a contract you accept the appreciated or, in this case, depreciated value of your purchase. That’s true of everybody, except banks. They got Congress to bail them out of their bad investments, and you got stuck with the bill. I still laugh when I think of that one, especially since they’re the guys who ruined the country’s economy. So where’s your bailout?

Fuck the banks, and don’t walk. RUN! You’ll be doing your neighbor’s and yourself a favor. The money you’ve already paid towards the mortgage is gone, down the toilet. Forget about it. Don’t flush anymore of it away. If you walk the bank will repossess your house and your credit is down the toilet for ten years. You’re not going to buy another house are you? Now if everybody had the mind to walk away from their houses, leaving the banks to repossess all those devalued properties, that would get the bank’s attention. Right now your loss is their gain, but if you walk it’ll become their loss. If enough people walk that should motivate the banks to renegotiate the terms of the mortgage for your neighbors who decided to stay. You and your neighbors win, the bank gets a bloody nose.

Doesn’t that give you a warm feeling inside? -Lu Dear Lord of Darkness, I see my friends lose their businesses and jobs in this recession. It’s because the banks aren’t loaning the billions we gave to them. Weren’t they suppose to loan out money to keep the economy running if we bailed them out? Instead they’re still giving themselves million dollar bonuses. I want to hurt them so good, but what can I do?

– Misbehaving Well M, have you tried moving your money into a local bank or credit union? If you are banking with one of the five biggest banks, which are too big to fail, like Wells Fargo, JP Morgan Chase, Citibank, Bank of America, Morgan Stanley, or Goldman Sachs then take your business elsewhere. If enough people do this it won’t close them down, but it’ll be like kicking them in the balls. Besides, these banks are going to be out to bleed as much money as they can off you in an effort to make up lost profits. There’s a movement going across the country full of people who are tired of these big banks getting away with their excesses and stiffing us with the bill. Visit “moveyourmoney.com” and learn how you, too, can screw the big banks. - Lu If you want to talk to God, see a psychiatrist, or email: god@theseattlesinner.com. To intercourse with the dark lord Lucifer, drink a bottle of Everclear, or email: lucifer@theseattlesinner.com.

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