the roots i sought to poison.

i have been taken. by myself.

on journeys, endless journeys pursuing divinity. pursuing a place amongst the ghosts of integrity, amongst the antihero's of untold creation myths.

i have been unsettled, within myself.

ungrateful for my achievements, unimpressed with my decisions, weary with where my energy has been placed. participating in the shadow i am at war with. i seek to define its silhouette in a barrier of visibility.

i try to pluck the seams of my culture, to unravel it's deceptive weave.

the tools i enter the battle with have been broken. i stand naked with myself, only able to direct my own path. the tanks and cannons i have built to wage the wrath of my convictions have only been weak mirror images of one piece of my truth. indirect.

roots define the health and prosperity of its display. i have been taken, on a journey above soil, dancing amongst the displays and exaggerations of truths and lies, of culture and structure, of people and creature, of system and chaos. my end lies in the depths. my journey calls me to bury myself, to mimic the plants of fall.

i seek to drop my display, shed my attractive elements, and dig deep in the underbelly of our disease. here i'll find my enemies, my dead lovers, my broken self, all of my answers, and here i'll fall prey to the unbeatable.

here, so buried beneath our world, i will finally fail. i will be unable to surface, and the worms will feast on the gifts of my passing prosperity until my journey ends in decay, feeding the roots i desperately sought to poison.

to society

you will give birth to me, you will feed me and let me grow, you will teach me, wire me, program me, you will try to indoctrinate me, but i won't receive it.

and so

you will banish me, you will pass judgement, you will curse me, spit at me, you will not forgive me, you will watch me rot, let me die, you will take all from me, you will kick me, you will strike me, you will leave me to die in the gutter

and that's where I'll be, that's where i am, that's where you left me, and i will thrive here, i will build an army, i will cherish this ground of shit gifted to me in spite, i will use it against you, i will feed it so it expands, desecrates your church land, i will forge weapons out of mud and disease, i will grow soldiers out of your feces and saliva, i will take your waste, and I will turn it against you,
we will rise, we will find you, we will take back all that you've murdered, we will reclaim the wilderness, we will pass judgement on you, and in your final moments, you will see it in my eye, you will call it out, you will Remember Me Feral, you will Remember Me Feral, you will name me all that is wrong with your controlled environment, you will call me a virus, you will label me the antichrist, and i will cherish you for it, before i destroy you and feed you to my waste warriors, we will consume you, we will consume ourselves, and all that will be left, is wild, untamable, wilderness, and in the brilliance of the pattern, we will live, and we will Remember All Feral.

movement.

Whether we acknowledge it or not, we are a movement.

A movement that is not unified by a common vision, but by a common enemy. This enemy miseducates your children, teaches you that life is about the pursuit of money. This enemy controls your life through violence, manipulates your actions and desires. This enemy has created a controlled environment for you to live in, in which you are systematically utilized as a resource.

Label it what you want, corporatism, capitalism, republicans, democrats, western civilization, machine culture, it doesn't matter. Each of us must spend time identifying this enemy for our self, beyond simple labels and buzzwords. What matters is that we are unified in our desire and instinct for dissent against a clear, well defined, and personalized enemy. This is warfare.

Identify and embrace what you love, what stands between you and it, and dissent. Spend time acknowledging your natural talents and your current skill set, define the tactic that is appropriate to you, and live by it. Whether its making food for activists, handing out fliers, organizing events, spiking trees, blowing up dams, making art, writing, it doesn't matter. Identify, engage, and live by it.

Do something. If you do nothing and you are just a passive arm of the enemy. If that is your choice, so be it, we will see you on the battlefield.

This life is warfare, and we mean to live by it.

the other side

I am from the forgotten district of western cascadia, on the other side of the wall of dead cops and past the lake of pretend smiles.

Here normal people camouflage doesn't work, and everyone is ashamed.

We hide our faces in hollowed coconuts and dance around deep forest fires. We accept our cowardly ways and punish ourselves. We'll continue to do so until the tallwoods tell us otherwise.

We kill machines that we've stolen from the normal side, and drown those who come looking.

I came here after my smiler broke and my heart withered. When i could no longer dance among the plastic dead, nor hide beneath intoxication. I can't return, my way has been forgotten and the crumbs I left to find my way back have long been eaten by spirit crows who darken my path with circling shadows.

Waiting to pounce when I've forgotten.

This is the wasteland of shattered hearts. We are broken here, diseased, and we lash back at those who have cracked us with lashes. This is the wasteland, the other side, where our freedom is obtained by way of desperate separation.

It is wild here, and though we are lost, we will not be forgotten. You'll remember us through our story. And we'll remember you through yours.

When the talltrees have tired of you, they will shake loose the roots of your lifecities. As your buildings crumble in, we'll watch from the otherside, laughing and dancing, and you'll hear us through the screams and chaos. The skies will cry red and the fires will rage high, and as your system dismantles, you will Remember Us Feral.

feast

they're feasting on me. on my wrinkled spirit.
seeking out any faint presence of a unique characteristic.
they feed on individuality until all that's left is one of them.

they're feasting on me, enveloping me.

i live in between them and me. they've eaten enough that i've become seperate from myself.
but not enough that i've gone lost amongst them.

when the tide turns

when the tide turns, i will find you.
among flowers blooming on industrial wreckage,
on moss swallowing concrete,
i will walk to you.

the open sky will illuminate your beauty,
through spring buds on fresh vines
your presence will be celebrated
by the return of migratory songbirds.

when the tide turns
i will no longer play dead.
my roots will erupt through broken foundations
cradling your soft spirit, allowing all your splendor to grow.



--

weary

I love you.
In capacities experienced only by the dwellers of the deep, ocean creatures unfound and unimagined.
Yet, imagined to be unfound, found to be unimagined.

I see you.
With a weary heart I've marched towards your castle in the sea.
With every step i think your touch will set me free.
But with every step, i perish, taken by the sea.
The waves have worn the sands of heart, granules lost to me.

I fear when i arrive to you, I'll be gone.

the rain runs

As the day drifts on, the rain runs. Washing out tracks I laid for you to follow.

The further I travel, the less i can see you, perceive you, but your silhouette wraps it's roots around my spirit.

Whispers warn me that you'll never find me, for the rain runs, washing out tracks I laid for you to follow.

dangle

A tattered, worn, but spitefully effective noose caresses the flesh of my weathered neck as i dangle in empty defeat. The hangman stands emotionless at my ankles, motionless except for a brief moment when he runs his finger gently across my skin. His flesh burns with coldness, the texture i can relate only to some form of crude metal.

The gallows are an open wasteland, a vast industrial landfill, a graveyard for one use products, containers, outdated machinery, and the skeletons of memories.

As i hang, my last breath seems to last forever. my blurred vision slowly returns to me, providing a closer look at my situation. Rusty tentacles protrude from my flesh in multiple locations, tubes of passage feeding a master. One such cyborg limb extends from my left ribcage, cracked and dry blood mark its entrance into my body. I follow it with my eye, through a maze of wreckage and death, it makes it way to an oil rig. still powered by the energy i provide it, it drills into an exhausted and dried up earth. Another erupts from my right thigh, and connects to a series of power lines that go for as long as the eye can see. Anything in it's path removed, leveled, and destroyed. The vague shape of a distant power plant sits on the horizon. I can't tell if it's actually visible, or a cruel hallucination stemming from the guilt of my spirit. Another tentacle connects to a bank. Another to a grotesque monster with circuit boards for teeth, giant clocks ticking backwards for eyes, and gears and motors pumping it's life force through its purely machine self. Created by the politicians of the old world, this machine of war and brainwash still shapes the reality of our post apocalyptic present.

My vision again blurs, too tired to look any further at what I have been forced to live connected to, and what my broken dead body will continue to feed until every drop of resource has been extracted from my very soul. harvested by doom's minions.

The hangman looks up, his eyes are empty, his carcass is empty, the next evolution of human... empty.

coffee shop rant

my Earth is wild,
I dream rumble in Shadow, and grow Broken…

broken, like my shattered dreams in combat with injected memories, programmed desires, and intricate seams sewn delicately by crude machines.

broken, like choosing your identity with a multiple choice test, an open book dialogue, check a box and contrive yourself to fit.

broken, like a species of animal defining itself by being beyond animal, put here by God to take, take, take, control.

broken, like poisoned lakes and polluted streams dammed and murdered by corporate teams for financial means and a diseased ego.

broken.

my Earth is wild, I dream rumble in Shadow…

rumble, like studying the symbols that give a regime power and systematically destroying them.

at war with them, in dark Shadows we rumble. passing vehicles illuminate momentary glimpses of the struggle, you see… hegemony, hierarchy, patriarchy, money, lies, deceit, money, war, disease, poverty, money… kicking me in the gutter.

you see, I struggle to get my blows in. you see.

rumble, like attacking the enemies ignorant enforcers, using sticks on cops, bricks on windows, bombs on dams, bulldozers on buildings.

rumble, like polluting the civilized atmosphere with screams of anger, anguish, and pain.

rumble, like the drums of the diseased youth taking back the streets. rumble.

my Earth is wild.

wild.

like hurricanes overcoming levies, tsunami’s enveloping shorelines, tornadoes reclaiming houses, wild.

like a single flower erupting in blossom through a crack in the sidewalk.

wild, like the unimaginable chaotic intricacies of the ecosystem.

wild, like a bear picking you off in the forest.

wild, like intense sweaty fornication in deep forest meadows.

wild, like Roy’s tiger finally biting that motherfucker.

wild, like no borders, no enforcers, no registering humans with the state, no banks, no laws, no industry, no representation, wild, like nothing defines me.

like you are not the boss of me.

My Earth is wild. I dream rumble in Shadow, and grow Broken.

permitted actions

I attended Take Back the Night in eugene oregon this past thursday night.
thanks for all the energy that went into putting together the event. the speakers and radical cheerleaders and community theater group in the beginning were all really great.

the march however, left me with really overwhelmingly conflicted feelings. I abondoned it after a few blocks.

After supporting an event focused on raising awareness about sexual assault & violence, to then be led on a march by a motorcycle cop smiling as though he was the front line of our march was far too insulting for me to deal with. I understand that permits were gotten for this event, which some organizers choose to do, and so the cops knew about it and had strategically shut down traffic for us on our route and led the march... from the view of onlookers looking at the approaching march, they'd see a motorcycle cop waiving with a big banner behind him saying 'Take Back the Night'. This was so over the top for me i have to raise some questions.

First off, i just don't feel right inside when walking behind a cop leading me on march during an action. Thats a personal thing and so i won't really address it.

This event in particular is about sexual assault awareness. One of the biggest rape convictions i can think of in recent eugene oregon was of a eugene police officer. so how can we let a member of his crew lead us on our march? let to rapists lead the way? what?

Beyond that, police officers are municipal soliders hired to enforce hegemony. Hegemony, being the root of alot of issues, leads to hierchy and to patriarchy. Patriarchy being the root of the issue that this action is about... womens rights and sexual violence... how can we let the muscle hired to enforce hegemony in our community... thus hiarchy... thus patriarchy... lead us on our walk?

So this all led me on a spiral of anger and resentment and frustration, which ultimately has led me to question the concept of permitting an action.
What is the point of marching down the streets shouting and holding signs? Raising awareness may be a part of the point, but it can't be much because we aren't actually accomplishing providing education or information... so it must go deeper than that, right?
Is it to show the systems of control that lie above us on the hierchy chain that they don't have control over us? That we can gather in numbers bigger than them at any given moment and shut down intersections, traffic, and corporate enterprise for the purpose of defending ourselves and our rights? If so, then why would we tell them about it get a permit? Are we trading the effectiveness and point of the action for a bit of protection so we don't get beaten and arrested? Do we want their protection? I know i don't.

I don't want to be represented, protected, or helped in anyway by the systems that govorn and monitor us. I am capable of providing for my family. Food, clothes, and shelter... i don't need anyone to help me with this except my community and family. We can provide for ourselves... well, we would be able to if we weren't forced to 'pay' to exist. Being forced to pay for space, pay for services i don't believe in, pay for agencies that tyrranize me and my way of life, pay for the right to be treated humanly, etc is not a form of violence commited upon my family everyday that i take lightly. I will not accept the help or guidance or protection of the forces that instill, enforce, and contribute to this. And when i feel like standing in the face of these forces, and making enough noise to let them know that we are angry, in control of ourselves, and that there is a lot of us... i sure as hell don't want any paperwork filed in advance telling them when and where I am deciding to do it. Lets think past our physical bodies, and imagine the symbolic nature of this. Symbols are aguably one of the most powerful tools accessible to anyone, as they are weapons against the very psyche and unconscious of not just individual humans, but entire communities. What sort of symbols are we choosing to send?

on organization

... well. the Tea Party recently gathered in Eugene OR drawing over 1000 republicans in a hugely successful grassroots effort. wow. what the fuck is wrong with our movement that the Tea Party can out gather us.

Sarah Palin is in town tonight... a lonely group of 50 or so community members stand in protest of the sold out dinner/speak event at the Hilton.

Rarely is the lack of organization on our part so painfully obvious. as far as i can tell, the radical and liberal communities that supposedly share my beliefs, passion, and sense of injustice might as well be called the passive community. reaching out tonight hoping to be proven otherwise. Please note: i am not talking down to my community members, i openly acknowledge i am as guilty as you. The question is, how do we regroup, address this, and change it?

i'm tired of feeling like the far right has more guns, more radio stations, more land, more members, more blind followers, more farms, more 'activists', more money, more organization, more conviction, and i kid you not... if the system crumbled tomorrow... more control and power than us.
is our sense of hopelessness so crippling that we would rather not gather and act?
"EVEN IF THE WORLD WERE TO END TOMORROW I WOULD STILL PLANT A TREE TODAY"

there can be no compromise, no laziness, no passive anything in the face of injustice, greed, poverty, torture, and slavery. If we stand in passionate example of our beliefs, regardless of whether or not we think we can achieve the vision those beliefs create, we can at the very least let our enemies know we are here. Here and unwilling to tolerate.

I for one am tired of arguing about tactics. Debating what is the right or wrong way to demonstrate our convictions, or to let our voice be heard. There is no right way, nor wrong way. I am a feral animal, and the only action i consider to be right is one acted out in instinct... in the moment.... fueled by the passion of the moment. Arguing our tactics among ourselves is creating seperation within the movement, and much worse, creating paralysis.

I am tired of caring if how i act will be 'worth it' or if it will 'do anything'. I urge all of us to let our passion, whether that be fueled by anger, depression, or hope, make our decisions for us.

Most of all i'm tired of feeling alone.
Is anyone else so fed up that they know beyond a shadow of a doubt the only thing left to do is to hold on to each other and make as much noise as possible, right now, in this very moment?

On Electricity

Spending some time today contemplating electricity, and the effect I have on the world everytime i turn on a light, turn on my computer, use my electric stove, run my refridgerator 24/7, use my electric washer/dryer, listen to music, etc.

Everytime i turn on a lightbuld in my house i am contributing to mining, deforestation, the destruction of salmon habitat, and oil wars. A massive range of exploitation and violence takes place to harvest the materials, ship the materials, process the materials, build the dams/wind towers/drills/power plants, run the cables along every road and hillside across the country, all so we can have a little convenience. I know its not worth it, i know that when i stand in the woods at the side of a creek that i would not dare bring a bulldozer in and destroy its beauty so i can have a light in my house or an electric stove. Who does these things?

Why it seems no one else shares this ultimately simple and clear feeling, i just can't figure out. Even my 'likeminded' peers don't seem to be willing to give up their computers and cell phones and lightbulbs for the sake of the earth. I wish i could figure out how to generate enough income to pay rent and eat without using any electricity.

I cherish the thought of the day after the collapse, when all goes dark...

Public Interest Environmental Law Conference 2010

Yesterday i spent the day at the PIELC (http://www.pielc.org/)

Sat in on panels featuring speakers like Tre Arrow (recently released political prisoner), Jeff Luers (recently released political prisoner), Nik Hensey (Resistence, journal of the Earth Liberation Movement), Kim Marks (Cascadia Rising Tides), Victory Lefey (Portland IndyMedia), Allison Lance (SPECIEES), Matt Rossell (In Defence of Animals), Lauren Regan (Civil Liberties Defence Center), Ben Rosenfeld (Civil Liberties Defense Center), & Michael Luurtsema (Tiga & Hugh Defense Campaign).

Afterwards, i attended the Civil Liberties Defense Center benefit, which also featured Jeff Luers, as well as Ramona Africa, and some great bands.

Made for a very long day.

Despite the fact that we live under a fascist government not only willing to, but commited to, violent exploitation of land and animals for the sole interest of profit... yesterday gave me the gentle reminder that i am not alone. Not alone in my instinctual need to defend myself and the life around me i care about. Despite the fact that our fascist government is not only willing to, but commited to, using any means necessary to silence the voices of reason and truth, there are still warriors all over the world willing to, and committed to, fighting back. Yesterday was a particularly good reminder that the green scare and terrorist enhancement hasn't sent all of us hiding behind a rock, but there are still those committed to direct action. Even when our government has labeled peaceful protests and legal exercises of our constitutional rights as eco-terrorism, and even when they have imprisoned our brothers and sisters with sentences of unprecedented consequence.

If you are not familiar with these concepts, i urge you to do some research on Operation Backfire, the Green Scare, Animal Enterprise Terrorism Act, and our movements current political prisoners.

I often feel isolated in my radical beliefs, especially around my support of direct action as a tool. The government and specifically the FBI has done a very good job scaring activists away from the direct action that was strong and steady in the late 90's. But i was once again reminded that we cannot let that deter us. The only thing wrong with direct action is that not enough people are doing it. I heard a lot of inspiring quotes throughout the panels and speeches, gentle reminders like 'why would we let our oppressors define our method of engagement to free ourselves'... 'how did we become a country where desiring clean air, clean water, no poison on our foods, and speaking out for it was labeled terrorism'... ' how did a movement who has never harmed a human or animal, but rather defended the rights of both, become the #1 domestic terrorist threat? What about the anti-abortion movement who has caused over 13,000 injuries to humans?'... ' How are activists practicing constitutional freedoms being lumped into terrorist categories alongside people who allegedly fly planes into buildings and commit mass murders?'... 'Its no coincidence that the FBI's grip on our movement has tightened at the same time that a worldwide awareness of climate change and our environmental impact has been heightened'... 'legal and non legal have nothing to do with right and wrong'...

The FBI is out to destroy us from the inside out. COINTELPRO and its methods have never stopped being put into action, and post 9/11, post patriot act, post terrorism enhancement has only given them more fuel to cripple our movement. But as isolated and distanced from the movement we can sometimes feels, the important thing is that we are not alone. There are people fighting across the globe, and it is all one revolution. We must use any and every means available to fight this war, and to get media attention for this war. 'We may have jobs, but this is our work'.

Feeling refreshed, re-excited, re-empowered, and re-motivated to embark on the next phase of the battle.
See u on the battlefield.

Broken Spirit

I awaken on the verge of vomiting with guilt.
Alive in an open grave, the whispers of my disease are delivered to me by the dead spirits of salmon, polar bear, carrier pigeon, timber wolf, buffalo, rivers, trees, mountainsides, and indigenous humans.

Unable to breath without feeling the winds desire to choke the lungs of my species.
Unable to face the forest without shame.
Unable to face my fellow humans without disgust, resentment, and hatred.
Barely able to shake the dust of paralysis off my tired bones.
Barely able to scare off the crows who perch in large numbers in the cavity of my skull,
preventing clarity of vision and thought.

We have built a broken home out of dead carcasses, which separate us from life. We no longer know how to participate with the trees and animals.

Participation breeds feelings of happiness.

Our brains are nourished with the conversations of our fellow human, as our unnurtured spirit wastes away, unable to hear the life providing whispers of the elements.
Our happiness is deceptive and lives behind a false grin, but our eyes cannot tell the lie.

Do I walk the humans concrete path into the tree carcass building in which they gather, or do I abandon the herd and the language of our participation, trading it in for the lonely language of wind and earth.
I fear, but accept, the inevitable insanity of either choice.
I feel it approaching, with footsteps ever growing in volume and impact, shaking the foundation around me.

Self made outcast, without the union of community,
I must embrace the archetype of the trickster and make a choice before the sands of paralysis bury my broken spirit.

Welcome

Greetings, Welcome to my Blog. Please take the time to read the note in the link above titled 'About Me and this Blog', which explains a bit about myself and my intentions.

If you are interested in reading more, please follow this blog by clicking 'Follow'.

I hope to inspire some conversation and debate, so if anything wills you to do so, please comment and/or message me.

Stay Up & Fight Hard

C