Halloween Countdown: October 14 - a curious fetish

In today's installment of Armagideon Time's Halloween Countdown, the esteemed Dr. Thaddeus Bodog Sivana reads a passage from the Dictionary of Popcult Shorthand...

Reductive? Certainly. Culturally insensitive? Probably, but you'd be hard-pressed to find a better resource for drag-and-drop plot devices that won't tax your audience's thinkin' muscles.

Leave the detailed explanations of syncretistic religion, the Loa, and their interdependant relationships to the anthropologists, this is what the audience expects...

...so why let a little thing like accuracy get in the way?

at weekends will change their behavior

With all the hoopla regarding the circus of pain and stupidity known as the 2008 presidential election, it's easy to forget that there are other electoral contests being held this November 4.

With that in mind, the two candidates for the state representative seat in my little corner of Boston's northwestern suburban sprawl have been packing my mailbox to the brim with reminders of what's really at stake.

The answer is "not that much." It's a symptom of the problems of living in a de facto one-party state. Not that I'd ever vote Republican, but the presence of an active opposition would at least motivate some of these party hacks to try a bit harder, and not settle for the traditional paradox platform of "lower taxes/more and better services" that the average suburbanite can't seem to get enough of. "I want decent roads and a great school system, but that extra fifteen bucks a year in taxes is too rich for my blood. I have Escalade payments to make, after all!"

I take my civic responsibility seriously, and take pains to vote in every election, no matter how inconsequential. Even if it's a futile gesture, I refuse to cede that marginal say in how things are done. Besides, at least I'm balancing out the vote of one other motivated idiot. The state rep decision is a bit of a puzzler, though, because I really don't care for either of the choices.

No matter how intently they look me in the eye during a door-to-door meet'n'greet and promise the sun, moon, and stars that they won't fuck over civil servants ( which both the wife and I are) on contract, benefits, or pension matters, no matter how much they swear they won't roll over for some out of state developer's plans to drop a massive luxury condo complex in our backyard, their records speak for themselves. (C'mon, I can't be the only person to pay attention to how these folks vote in the legislature and city council. What, I am? Oh.)

In the end, I'll probably do what I always do in these situations: cast a write-in ballot for my dog Oscar. Given the steady decline in voter turnout, I fully expect the little guy to win one of these years, too. He is better qualified for the office, that's for frigging sure.

Here's a sample from today's prodigious haul of eco-unfriendly landfill fodder disguised as campaign literature. See, that One Guy has been hammering that Other Fellow over his blue state bona fides. It's an argument that I'd ordinarily be receptive to, if that One Guy tossing stones didn't have a strong record of DINO tendencies himself:


My initial reaction to this was "Wait, the Catholic Church is allowed to donate directly to candidates?"

The Damned - Anti-Pope (from Machine Gun Etiquette, 1979) - Though quantum theology has predicted the existence of anti-popes, it wasn't until the constuction of the Large Liturgical Collider by Saint Hippolytus in the 3rd Century A.D. that one was actually observed in action.

reach out and touch faith

My wife bought the above painting at a yard sale last Saturday. My first reaction upon seeing it was "Jesus was a human resources director?"

After some consideration, though, I realized that it made a lot of sense...

Good afternoon, please have a...no, no, you don't need to kneel or indulge in glossolalia, honest...please, have a seat.

Now you may be wondering why I wanted to meet with you. It's about your conduct as a member of this organization. I've reviewed your performance records and it seems to me that your actions frequently contradict our core precepts.

What? You say you've only been following what's in the employee handbook? Ah, I see. The thing is that when we were a small start up in the Levant, we never imagined the eventual scope or longevity of our operations, and so there's a lot of things in the manual that weren't meant to be taken outside very specific cultural and historical contexts. Because I was otherwise occupied at the time, the actual task of writing fell upon subcontractors, and their individual biases are reflected in the finished product.

And don't even get me started about the translation errors, my friend.

Confusing minutae aside, however, the handbook is very clear about the essence of our mission statement -- pacifism, forgiveness, forbearance, and compassion -- none of which seem to be reflected in your behavior as member of this organization.

Militarism? "Prosperity Gospel?" A rush to pass harsh judgement upon others? Turning spirituality into a pyramid scheme?

Really? This is really what you think we're supposed to be about, you id---

...

I'm sorry, forgive me. Occasionally my temper gets the best of me. (Just ask the moneylenders.) Be that as it may, it seems that your self-righteous fixation on details and has led you to overlook our actual mission statement, the "spirit," if you will, of what we actually stand for. In doing so, you have -- either intentionally or not -- propagated a creed that is fundamentally opposed to ours.

Even worse, you've presumed to do so in both my name and the name of this organization.

Though it pains me to do so, I must hand you this official reprimand. Think upon your mistakes and learn from them.

Go in peace.

Yeah, Jesus is quite the softie, unlike his father, who'd bring down plagues and lightning bolts on anyone caught accessing MySpace on company time.

King Missile - Jesus Was Way Cool (from Mystical Shit, 1990) - The Gospel According To That One Stoner That Shows Up At Every College Party.

Depeche Mode - Personal Jesus (from Violator, 1990) - The Song Guaranteed To Be Played At Every College Party That One Stoner Shows Up At (Also, "Love Shack" and "She Sells Sanctuary". I'm not dating myself at all.)

the angels got together

I've tried on more than a couple occasions to make sense of the theology under which the Archie-verse operates, but have yet to reconcile the many troubling doctrinal contradictions at work in Greater Riverdale during the early 1970's. While Christian fundamentalist overtones were unmistakably (and vehemently) present, there were also strong occultist (if not outright diabolic) undercurrents in the mix, such as classroom discipline through Satanically-directed face melting (apparently face-melting was "in" that year) and the presence of an actual coven of witches within the city limits. While I would qualify that last example by stating that Sabrina did repudiate, more or less, the dark side of her sorcerous heritage, she did still dabble in forbidden arcanery very frequently.

(Come to think of it, Sabrina has a lot in common with Orion, the son of Darkseid, in that both have attempted to turn their backs on their unpleasant family legacies yet make use of their gifts of heritage when circumstances require it. I smell a fab slashfic idea!)

Over in Josie and The Pussycats, the writers tried to split the Manichean difference with stories engineered to cash in on the popcult explosion of interest in all things occult (engendered by the runaway success of The Exorcist, among other things) while retaining a state of proper Christian grace. The whole teen rock band concept was pushed aside for a time in favor of numerous supernatural-themed stories involving haunted houses, ancient curses, and other manifestations of spiritual evil.

"Vengeance from the Crypt" from Josie and The Pussycats #72 (October 1973), finds the 'Cats setting aside their ongoing feud with the scheming Alexandra as they accompany their frequent foil to the Cabot family crypt. While Alexandra pays her respects to her recently departed grandfather, Josie wanders down to the crypt's lower level, where she accidentally huffs a lungful of uncut Stygian black smoke:

The hit of damnation dust causes Josie to behave in strange and terrible ways.

First she tries to set the Cabots' drapes on fire...

...and then she begins trashing the furniture.

And while those actions in and of themselves might not suggest demonic possession over the more mundane explanation that Josie is simply discovering her inner Keith Moon, her vicious attack on the vision of loveliness that is Melody...

...pushes her beyond the limits of acceptable behavior, rock star or not.

Alex, Alexandra's twin brother and the Pussycats' manager, attempts to subdue Josie, who has moved on to the profanity-shrieking stage of possession:

During the struggle, Josie reaches for something suitable to bash Alex's head in with, but accidentally grabs a conveniently-placed Bible instead. With "a scream from the very bowels of Hell," an agonized Josie throws the Good Book away from her person. This gives the rest of the crew an idea, which results in one of the greatest panels in comics history...

PRAISE JESUS!
The full bikini exorcism is a success, and the unclean spirit is cast out of Josie...

...though the implied place of its exit is better left unsaid, methinks. "Bowels of Hell," indeed. (I have exorcised many diabolic fast food meals from my body in a similar manner.)

The arrival of the elder Mr. Cabot sheds some light on the source of the demonic incursion. A spinster aunt of the Cabots had cursed the family on her deathbed, and had somehow mobilized the legions of Hell to intercede on her behalf, with the gruntwork subcontracted through an unwitting Josie. (It may sound like an efficient arrangement, but just try and get the Hadean comptroller's office to sign off on a work-for-hire pay voucher.)

Armed with this new knowledge, the gang decides to put an end to the curse, but not before indulging in some pre-game hosannas...

I'd just like to point out that Alexandra herself is a practitioner of the dark arts who has used her witchity powers to vex the Pussycats on several previous occasions.

She must be a Unitarian.

Down inside the crypt, the kids are all set to unleash some Deuteronomic whoop-ass on the wayward aunt's earthly remains...

...only to discover that the Big G has beaten them to the punch. I suppose incinerating a old casket is easier than, I don't know, solving world hunger or some other work with wider beneficial consequences, but I'd have thought an omnipotent and omniscient Being would set the bar higher for Himself or Herself.

So what have we learned today?

1. You may think you're being with it and groovy, but snorting ectoplasm can have dangerous consequences.

2. Always keep a Bible handy, lest your bikini-clad friend go on a demonic rampage in your living room.

3. Don't piss off spinster aunts, and if you do, don't inter her body in the family crypt, but instead leave the corpse out to be worried by jackals.

4. Archie comics stories from the early 70's are really fucking disturbing.

Josie and The Pussycats - Real Wild Child (from the Josie and The Pussycats OST, 2001) - Featuring Kay Hanley on vocals. I know there are some of you out there who will violently disagree, but I thought the movie was pretty entertaining, and far better than what I expected, even if I can never fully accept the idea of professional booze vacuum Tara Reid as the goodhearted and pure Melody.

Josie and The Pussycats - (They Long to Be) Close to You (from Josie and The Pussycats, 1970; collected on Stop, Look, & Listen: The Capitol Recordings, 2001) - Just in case you didn't get your full RDA of diabolic evil for today.

I know it ain't and so do you

My god is a god who wants me to have things. He wants me to bling! He wants me to be the hottest thing on the block... The god I serve says, 'Mary, you need to be the hottest thing this year, and I'm gonna make sure you're doing that.' My god's the bomb! - Mary J. Blige, quoted in the May 8, 2006 issue of Us Weekly

Lovely, isn't it? It was such a obscene example of celebrity self-importance that I recorded it in my journal after stumbling across it eighteen months ago. I dug it out and dusted it off after reading this article on a senate inquiry into the tax exempt status of certain televangelical proponents of the so-called "prosperity gospel," a strain of evangelism that equates wealth with God's favor. That contradiction of Christ's (you know, that guy Christianity was named after) well-documented teachings about wealth, poverty, and asceticism is justified through a rather loose interpretation of Deuteronomy 8:18, a line of scripture which could be otherwise summarized as "Remember that your success is owed to God."

Given this country's love of both the Almighty God and the Almighty Dollar, it isn't surprising that a synthesis of the two objects of affection would find an eager audience, appealing to haves and have-nots alike. Sure other sects may be uncomfortable with the prosperity gospel's Mammon-in-Christ's-clothing ideology, but Sen. Grassley's probe has led them to argue such actions are a slippery slope leading to government control of religious doctrine. A patently absurd claim, but perfectly tailored to rally flocks accustomed to respond to perceived "persecution" of Christians.

I'm sure their real concern is that such an investigation might raise further questions about the finances and flow of money within not only the individuals currently being scrutinized, but in their own organizations as well. It's amazing how the specter of an external audit can lead one to champion the separation of church and state, even when one has spent the past couple of decades actively attempting to undermine the principle.

Depeche Mode - Blasphemous Rumours (from Some Great Reward, 1984) - Not only does God have a sick sense of humor, he's really into slapstick.

XTC - Dear God (from Skylarking, 1986) - God has prepared a form letter response for all such inquiries. "Dearest TOM, I am sorry to say that I cannot help you by CURING YOUR DYING MOM as it is all part of my Mysterious Plan. Plus I was busy helping Mary J. Blige become the hottest thing. Love always, GOD"

Ragnarok 'til you drop

There's nothing like the threat of an impending snow/ice/shit storm to add just the right tone of hysteria to the holiday shopping season. My weekly trip to Target for household essentials earlier this afternoon meant getting caught in the middle of the seasonal War of All Against All, fought by doughy suburbanites with pinched faces, furrowed brows, and luxury SUV's.

It's been a long time since I dropped out of Congregationalist bible school, but I'm pretty sure that nearly running down a family of four in order to get a parking spot close to the entrance or spending hundreds (or thousands) of dollars on soon-to-be obsolescent crap while there are folks out there in need of basic necessities probably isn't how the Prince of Peace would have wanted his birthday to be observed.

I'm a filthy little atheist myself, so I personally have no qualms about clotheslining an obnoxious soccer mom if it means getting the last roll of sale-priced toilet paper on the shelf. Where's your messiah now, Mrs. Bourgeoisie?

The Blood - Such Fun (from Oi! Oi! That's Yer Lot, 1982; collected on the 2005 reissue of False Gestures for a Devious Public, orig. 1983) - When I was a kid, my friends and I used to ride our bikes up to Monkey Hill and dare each other to try and race down the almost vertical slope leading to the sandpits. It was something only the most reckless would attempt, surrendering one's fate to gravity and good fortune while trying to keep from doing a header over the handlebars...and yet loving every terrifying second of the experience. Listening to the Blood's early material -- this track, "Megalomania," "Calling the Shots" -- evokes a similar sensation.

Saint Etienne - The Way We Live Now (from Finisterre, 2002) - Not nearly as sweet and soothing as the song might have you believe, but things were different five years ago.

mocking voices ring the halls

Following on the heels of All Saints' Day comes All Souls' Day, because why should intercessionary figures and revered martyrs have all the fun? And so this day is set aside for honoring the "faithful" departed. In the byzantine metrics that govern one's place in the afterlife, these unfortunate spirits have brought a few venial sins too many to the express checkout to the Great Beyond, and have thus been directed to spend some time warming the benches in the spiritual waiting room known as Purgatory.

(Y'know, between this post and yesterday's, I've come to realize that there isn't much difference between discussing theology and discussing comic books...and I don't mean that in a way that ennobles the latter.)

Here are a couple of "soul-ful" tracks featuring vocals from the ranks of the departed. I'll leave the "faithful" qualifier for the individual listener to decide.

Joy Division - Dead Souls (from Substance, 1988)

The Blues Brothers - Soul Man (from Briefcase Full of Blues, 1978)

the shadows still remain

Today is All Saints' Day (and before anyone asks, NO FUCKING WAY) which is as good a time as any to rediscover religion. I went looking for mine this morning, and it turned out to be up in the attic, packed in with a collection of failed hard drives and obsolete video cards in a box marked "unneeded junk."

Back when I used to work weekends at the college library, the portion of my shift that didn't involve playing "roust-a-pervert" or explaining to patrons that "no, this is not Boston University" was spent reading books and journal articles on whatever subject had captured my fancy at the moment. It's amazing how much one can learn from books when one knows there isn't a term paper or final exam at the end of the tunnel, and in terms of my educational development, I certainly came away from the experience with far more than I ended up getting from my actual college curriculum.

As I said, my choice of reading material was entirely whim-based, which led to some places that I would never have gotten to on my own. For example, I spent a couple shifts delving into St. Augustine's City of God, which despite my aggressive atheism turned out to be quite an engrossing read. It was written in the wake of the Visigoths' sack of Rome and is laden with spiritual-versus-earthly dualism (reflecting Augstine's own personal demons more than it does Christ's teachings). I was drawn to City of God by its apocalypticism, but in the end I found myself to be more fascinated by the implications of Augustine's detailed demolition of Roman pantheism, implications which the author himself could not bring himself to acknowledge.

A good-sized portion of the treatise is given over to an extended, almost god by god, refutation of the pagan and animist religious traditions practiced in the Empire at the time. Augustine strikes an almost mocking tone in these passages as he highlights the absurdities of having, for instance, separate deities for doors, frames, and lintels. It's as thorough an argument against irrational superstition as one can find, even if it doesn't entirely jibe with Augustine's intent, which was to posit the superiority of Judeo-Christian monotheism. The problem is that core elements of his arguments against pantheism -- the silliness, the contradictions, the twisted logic underpinning the system of belief -- can just as easily be applied to Augustine's own religious convictions, whose superiority in his mind is that God is more benevolent (which is a matter of practice, in truth), "real," and offers cool perks to His followers in the afterlife.

It's a common enough phenomenon whenever analytical philosophy collides with religious convictions. The same thing occurs in Descartes's Discourse on the Method, where, even when all other criteria for determining "self" are called into question, the existence of God is taken as an unassailable truth. It is as if having walked down to the shoreline of existentialism, Augustine, Descartes, and their philosophical and theological descendents cannot bring themselves to dip their toes in the water.

The Skids - The Saints Are Coming (from Scared to Dance, 1979) - It's a rare accomplishment for a song to survive being transformed into benefit porn by the likes of U2 and Green Day. Fortunately this bit of Scottish punk (co-written by the late Stuart Adamson, a member of The Skids before he went on to form Big Country) has bucked the odds and retained its ability to inspire awe in the listener despite having been used as a post-Katrina anthem and in an embarassingly preachy video.

What amuses me the most about that turn of events is that back in the old days, I used to describe The Skids to people by saying "they're kind of like U2...if U2 didn't suck."

The Saints - This Perfect Day (from Eternally Yours, 1978) - Long-haired Aussies who crashed the 70's British punk party with a ferocious Pop-inspired (Iggy Pop, that is) sound.

Big Sleep - Saints & Scholars (from a 1985 flexi) - DIY indie rock out of scenic paradise that was 80's Belfast. (Correction: The band actually hailed from Newtownards, ten miles east of Belfast.) It's a bit like a John McGahern story boiled down into a two-minute pop song: "This land of saints and scholars/is a land of fools and clowns."

Halloween Countdown: October 22 – the flavor of the beast

For several millennia, humankind has labored to grasp what the real nature of evil truly is. Is it an abstract, relative concept? Or a concrete and absolute force? Is it embodied by a big, red guy with cloven hooves and a pitchfork? Or, as I and many others have come to believe, does its physical manifestation come in the form of the vile weed known as cilantro?

While the theologians, philosophers, and gourmands of the world attempt to hash out details of this thorny debate, filmmaker John Carpenter has offered his only theory about the nature of evil. As detailed in 1987's damp squib of a horror movie, Prince of Darkness, Carpenter posits that evil is actually a couple dozen gallons of swirling green goop shakily contained inside the bastard child of a water cooler and a lava lamp.


Last night, I sat in on my wife's annual viewing of Prince of Darkness (as part of her Halloween season movie-watching marathon). It had been a while since I'd seen the film in its entirety, and while I didn't think it has aged well compared to my memories of past viewings, it was still an enjoyable experience. It's not a great (or even a "really good") movie, but it is John Carpenter working his familiar "spooky Alamo" trope with some interesting cosmic horror elements tossed into the mix. Unfortunately, it's those latter elements, used in contrast with more traditional film scare tactics, that ultimately derail Prince of Darkness.

Cosmic horror, dealing with epic concepts and existential terrors, is a difficult genre to translate to film because the visceral, immediate "gotcha" moments that are the trademark of Hollywood spookshows matter less than the the tonal slow burn of mounting dread, fueled by revelatory exposition and a sense of the unspoken, terrible answer looming at the periphery. Even the grandmaster of the cosmic horror genre, H. P. Lovecraft, was not immune to falling back upon less subtle spookwork in his stories. (The shoggoth chase in "At the Mountains of Madness," for example.)

The exposition-heavy set-ups required by the cosmic genre tend to work better on paper, where it's easier to pass off "non-euclidean angles" and "colors outside the earthly spectrum" without having to fall into the Helen of Troy trap (that is, the problem of visually depicting the indescribable). What all this fancy talk means in terms of Prince of Darkness is that the movie plays out as a lumpy stew where the characters attempt (and fail, mostly) to couch Christian theology in terms of quantum physics while fending off hordes of the demonically possessed.

Imagine a version of Resident Evil where the characters stop to recite passages from Richard Feynman's work every ten minutes or so, and you've pretty much got the idea. It's a shame, because the ideas being bandied out in the movie are quite fascinating, despite the confusing and haphazard way in which they're presented.

The film does have a number of unsettling moments sprinkled amidst the confusion, and features appearances by several Carpenter regulars, as well as a scene featuring Alice Cooper impaling a man with a bicycle. For sheer terrifying power, however, nothing in the film tops leading man Jameson (Simon & Simon) Parker's aggressively disturbing blonde mustache. (Between that, his Ken doll hairstyle, and his compeltely hairless chest, I found myself referring to his character simply as "Chad Pornstar" when discussing the film with my wife afterwards.)

Gaze upon the facial fuzz of evil, and despair!
Here we have the theme from Prince of Darkness, along with an excellent gothic-tinged cover -- courtesy of AT fave Blood and Roses -- of the best film theme the multi-talented Mr. Carpenter ever composed:

John Carpenter - Prince of Darkness (from The Essential John Carpenter, 2002)

Blood and Roses - Escape from Precinct 13 (from Enough Is Never Enough, 1985; collected on Same as It Never Was, 2007)

(Finally, if any of my readers happen to know the exact location of the church where the film was shot, please leave a comment or drop me a line. My wife is dying to know The church is now the Union Center for the Arts in Little Tokyo, not too far from City Hall. The interior shots were done at a studio in Valencia.)

a church of my own

I was looking for some mustard, but instead discovered a profound ontological dilemma wedged in behind a rusty head of lettuce.

The electric eels - Refrigerator (from God Says Fuck You, 1992) - Raw, ragged proto-punk out of early 1970's Cleveland. The song kept repeating in my head as I was cleaning the fridge this morning (see how sparkly it is inside!), thus spawning this exercise in inspired laziness.

today I might be mad

Today is Good Friday, commemorating the death of a wise man who tried to explain that compassion is more important than dogma. The powers that be nailed him to a cross for his efforts, and the blood has been flowing freely ever since.

Yes, yes, there have been plenty of secular atrocities in the history of mankind, but finger-pointing is not absolution. Tossing statistics around or trying to establish a moral equivalence index for atrocities overlooks the fact that each death – any death – is a tragedy, regardless of motivation. Besides, when a given religious creed has to posit itself vis-à-vis Cambodia’s Year Zero or the French Reign of Terror in terms of relative brutality, the issue becomes rather moot.

Humanity’s capacity for missing the point must be encoded in our genes. Take the most benign message of love and understanding, and there will be some idiot out there who’ll try and craft it into a weapon to use against others. How else could one explain the transmogrification from “The world can be a cruel place, so treat others with kindness” to “I hate queers, feminists, and anyone else who is different from me”? If you're going to follow the scripture to the letter, then follow all of the scripture. Don’t cherry-pick the parts that best justify your own narrow-minded world view, like you were some teenaged boy dog-earing the most salacious passages of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

I’m not opposed to spirituality, though I have little use for it myself. It ought to be a personal voyage of introspection, rather than simply swallowing and regurgitating received doctrine without question. It’s not the words or gestures that count, it’s the meaning.

Tegan and Sara – Where Does the Good Go? (from So Jealous, 2004) – Where? Well, after one deducts the mandatory laziness, misguided intent, apathy, unforeseen consequences, and selfishness taxes, the take-home good rarely exceeds 12% of the original gross total.

Herman’s Hermits – I’m Into Something Good (from The Very Best of Herman’s Hermits, 2005) – My wife uses this song to dislodge other unwanted songs that get stuck in her head. I employ “Heart of Glass” for similar situations.

The Easybeats – Friday on My Mind (from Friday on My Mind, 1967) – I guarantee that some time between five and six PM today, this song will be played on a classic rock/oldies format radio station. I have more confidence in that statement than I have in the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.

The Associates – Tell Me Easter’s on Friday (from Fourth Drawer Down, 1981) – Do marshmallow Peeps dream of gloomy new wave?