2014

I need to be more clear and specific now. I have experienced a series of events in the past months that have changed my life forever, and I have gained a lot of knowledge and as well as lost a lot through mistakes. I'm usually very metaphorical and poetic when I write, but I need to change that. I need to be more clear, and easily understood. Misinterpretations have ruined too much.

I'm ready to begin working on my band. Our name is Distinctive Twilight and I will be performing vocals and guitar. The name is inspired by the phrase "the fate of destruction is also the joy of rebirth." My variation of the Wolfsangel is our logo and it perfectly captures the core of our music. I'm not the first person in art to talk about the unification of the worlds of destruction and creation, nor will my music be limited to that, but the image conjured of a distinctive dusk or dawn is what I hope people will envision when they think of us. Besides, it's about time someone reclaimed that word away from the god-awful teenage vampire series. Some people will be upset by the fact that our logo was used by Nazi Germany - I can't really say anything other than pointing out that the first word in our band is "distinctive" and that the symbol can be traced back to ancient runes far back before Hitler was even born. Regardless, our art and intentions are pure, and I hope our integrity and passion for our work will be recognized.

There isn't a single ounce of musical talent in me, but that's something that I feel will be a representation of commitment and willpower. Words fail to provide justice to certain ideas in my head; I need music as another form of expression and hopefully people will be able to relate to what I/we have to express.

This isn't just about me, even though it's my project. I want people to experience something important when they attend our shows. I want them to make my music a part of them, a form of catharsis or comfort, a lucid dream they can join.

Additionally, I would like to speak about why I planned on joining the military, and why it did not work out. I feel that human survival depends on the competition for resources. Nations fight one another for them, and there are men and women putting their lives at risk so that we can enjoy luxuries that the majority of the population takes for granted. I don't feel comfortable with the knowledge that there are people right now making their hands dirty so that we can keep ours clean. I don't like that only a certain percentage of our nation's population is out doing essential duties to keep our country stable, even if its just economically.

From my experience, the majority of people who join the military are from a bad family or have limited life choices. I'm no exception to that. My father was abusive, my mother was a disgrace, and my sister deserted me. The opportunity to join was stripped from me because I am currently in the middle of an immigration procedure to help my mother return into the country. Despite no longer being in my life, she is still causing damage - but "fraudulent enlistment" is also another factor into why I was afraid of going forward into service, something I will not expand on but those knowledgeable can read between the lines. An investment with no return is not a smart decision.

Despite this, I still trust that I can find true family in the world, and there's been people I've met and had close to me that meant more to me, and me to them, than my own blood. We don't choose into which circumstances we are born into, but it's how we handle the cards that we are dealt that matter. This is why Satanism is such an important influence, and symbol, for what I believe in. Worship yourself, look out for what is in your best interest, cherish your loved ones, and take responsibility for your actions - especially your successes. As well, I love the fact that one's own birthday is the highest holiday.

I am not, and never have been, a follower or disciple of Satanism, it is just a religion that runs parallel to what I believe in, and labeling myself as a Satanist is just a way of describing myself more specifically. The term is commonly referred to so many different practices, but before Anton LaVey started his church in San Francisco, there was no organized group or set of beliefs labeling itself as such. Therefore, I highly encourage people who wish to read an intelligent, knowledgeable, and productive view/interpretation of the subject to read The Satanic Bible or visit www.churchofsatan.com

I will become an official member by the end of this year. Affiliation is purely a personal spiritual matter, not a need to provoke outrage or controversy.

Thank you for reading, and more will be posted shortly.

A People's History of the United States

Howard Zinn has always been an author who has exposed me to many obscured and important facts about the United States, and though I do not agree with his pacifist politics, I hold him in high esteem of being a political author who has changed the way Americans view their previous history. And he is upfront about his intentions too, giving the important thesis in the beginning of his book A People's History of the United States with "...this book will be skeptical of governments and their attempts, through politics and culture, to ensnare ordinary people in a giant web of nationhood pretending to a common interest." In an oceanic abyss of bias and predetermined agenda when writing history books, his statement is quite admirable in that he doesn't disguise what point of view he is trying to present.

This year has already proved to be quite a vibrant battleground for the advancement of myself and the things I would like to accomplish in life, and Zinn's book is one that although I first came to read during my high school years, never finished, and that is something which will be accomplished in MMXII. Skepticism is not something which will be necessary for me to remember to utilize, it is already embedded in my nature. I am prepared to read history from a particular point of view, but what sets Zinn apart from other historians is his honesty and lack of fear to present unpopular facts about our nation's background.

Sometime in the future I would also like to read another version of American history, but for a starting point, the dissemination of obscured knowledge is a good introduction. I do not seek information - I want hardcore knowledge, and here lies the bedrock of government coverups and systematic Darwinian attempts of national expansion and population control.

Now, if you excuse me, I have a lot of reading to do...

Marines

In a very unstable period of my life, I felt that joining the Marines was the only option I had for myself to advance and feel accomplished. Other branches of the armed forces did not interest me at all because I wanted to experience the biggest challenge available. To this day I can't help but feel anything other than admiration and respect for anybody who has been able to survive the Crucible and met all standards in Recruit Training Depot at Parris Island or San Diego. It is the ultimate test of will for an American.

Additionally this is a good time to mention that I have been on my own in one way or another since the age of 18. In order to receive federal financial aid within the United States you need to show your parent's tax information except if one of the following applies to you:

• You have a family member or child as a dependent
• You are married
• You are under the age of 24 and both of your parents are deceased
• You were a ward of your state until you were 18 years of age
• You are 24 years of age or older
• You are a member of the United States Armed Forces
• You were a foster child after the age of 13
• You are an emancipated child as determined by a court judge
• You are homeless or at risk of homelessness as determined by the director of a HUD approved homeless shelter, transitional program, or high school liaison.

None of those apply to me and when I was homeless I did not gather any documentation describing my status. So essentially, if I want to go to school before the age of 24 I have to pay for it out of my own pocket.

Joining the Marines was a great option for me because it would consider me a "member of the United States Armed Forces" and it also came with much of my schooling being paid for. My intentions were to join either an intelligence or communications MOS with a development plan to become an Officer. After four years of active service, I planned on coming back and immediately joining the Police Academy to which I would have been well prepared for with plenty of training already accomplished and good solid experience.

I was attending weekly USMC Poole sessions and overall preparing myself to head off  to bootcamp sometime in June or July, until something was brought to my attention that devastated me.

When I saw that haunting paragraph it felt like my world had been destroyed. The despair was so crushing I could not even shed a tear. My life felt like it had no way of getting better and that I would forever be stuck in a static position filled with the stench of broken relationships, unsatisfying work conditions, goals forever postponed and a feeling of entrapment in my own complacent persona. Unmovable. Stuck. Trapped. Static.

The remorseful conversation I had with my Staff Sargent confirmed that eczema is a strong disqualification because it is considered an open wound and causes complications with the small pox vaccine given to every member of the Armed Forces.

With this incredibly rich life option being taken out of my grasp, my mind turned into a defeatist cycle of darkness and despair. I will always remember April 2011 as a dizzy and turbulant circle with California's retarded sunshine heating up my room and my face as I did my routine of biking 10 miles daily to work. But this counterproductive attitude did not last long, and around the time of this blog post entry I started reverting back to my original plan of moving to Portland.

Now I'm living in a state of accomplished desire and I am working simultaneously on getting even more work done. There will always be an unsatisfied yearning to go through bootcamp and receive that highly valuable experience, but there is something an ex-girlfriend once told me that excites me and makes me feel there is still a chance for personal redemption though will:

Jonathan: "I'm impressed by the training soldiers go through, with drill instructors yelling at them all the time and pushing their limits."

R: "Well it's more impressive if those soldiers were able to push their limits without drill instructors. It's more difficult this way too."

And that's my plan.

"Faith of My Fathers"

"Your father is a big admiral," he shouted. "Now we take you to the hospital." It was hard not to see how pleased they were to have captured an admiral's son and I knew my father's identity was directly related to my survival.

I began to recover my wits and my interrogators came to the hospital to resume their work. The beatings were of short duration because I let out a hair-raising scream when they occurred and my interrogators appeared concerned that hospital personnel might object. Eventually I gave them my ship's name and squadron number. When asked to identify future targets, I recited the names of north Vietnamese cities that had already been bombed.

In late December, they decided to discharge me. To my great relief I was placed in a cell with two other prisoners, Air Force majors "Bud" Day and Norris Overly. There has never been a doubt that Bud and Norris saved my life. They later said their first impression of me, emaciated, bug-eyed and bright with fever, was of a man at the threshold of death.

Because of his injuries, Bud was unable to help with my physical care. Norris, a gentle, uncomplaining guy, cleaned me up, fed me and helped me on to the bucket that served as our toilet.

In April 1968, Bud was relocated to another prison. Norris had been released under an "amnesty" and I would remain in solitary confinement for more than two years. It's an awful thing, solitary. It crushes your spirit and weakens your resistance more effectively than any other form of mistreatment. Having no one else to seek counsel from, you begin to doubt your judgment and courage.

The first few weeks are the hardest. The onset of despair is immediate, and it is a formidable foe. I reconstructed from memory books and movies I had enjoyed. I tried to compose books and plays of my own, acting out sequences in the solitude of my cell. I had to carefully guard against my fantasies becoming so consuming that they took me permanently to a place in my mind from which I might never return.

In mid-June 1968, the camp commander, over an inviting spread of biscuits and cigarettes, asked me if I would like to go home. I wanted to say yes: I was tired and sick and I was afraid. But the Code of Conduct was explicit: "American prisoners cannot accept parole or amnesty or special favors."

Despairing of any relief from pain and further torture, I tried to take my life. After several unsuccessful attempts... I gave up. I signed a confession that "I am a black criminal and I have performed the deeds of an air pilot". The guards ordered me to record my confession on tape. I refused, and was beaten until I consented.

Vietnamese prized us as bargaining chips in peace negotiations and they usually did not intend to kill us when they used torture to force our co-operation. I was released and flown home at the end of the war, in March 1973. I had been incarcerated for 5 1/2 years.

We were told to have faith in God, country and one another. Most of us did. But the last of these - faith in one another - was our final defense, the ramparts our enemy could not cross. This was the faith I had embraced at the Naval Academy.

It was my father's and grandfather's faith. In prison, a filthy, crippled, broken man, all I had left of my dignity was the faith of my fathers. It was enough.

- John McCain, adapted and extracted from "Faith of My Fathers."

Marines Corps Medical Disqualification

There is a strong chance that I have a medical condition that will disqualify me from joining the Marines Corps. Initially I felt strongly disappointed, and later in the day I experienced some relief.

This was supposed to be the ultimate redemption, a way to clear my head, and able to be comfortable in my own skin. I'm highly elitist, and judge myself and others harshly. Passing the challenge of Marine Corps boot camp would have been my lifelong pride. Taking it a step further, going into active service for four years as I planned, and experiencing war was something else I looked forward to.

Another case of "walking the talk."

And now that I've reviewed the medical conditions throughly I'm thrown back into my life, and I don't know what to do. Should I continue training? Is there a chance that I may not have eczema, but some dry skin condition that doesn't disqualify me?

I'm confused also with how I feel. There's relief in that I won't be in a desert with bullets soaring past me, and that I can continue living in the civilian world, but I have also lost one of the biggest challenges that a human can experience....

Parents & Independence

I hate people who wear the illusion that they are independent. Idiotic kids who turn 18 and think they are entitled to do whatever they want because they are now "adults." It infuriates me to see them talk about how big they are, when they provide no means for themselves and are still dependent on their parents for support.

I resent those given jobs by their parents. Their claims of having a "rough family life" make me want to spit in their face. Sucking Daddy's cock for a nice job, when others struggle day by day to raise themselves up without any cum slurping.

I resent those with the luxury of being able to move to another state for their simple pleasure of discovering something new. Their emotional "adventure" is seen as a hard task by them, instead of the glorious rewarding option that it is.

I hate 26 year olds who still live with their parents, and go snowboarding every other weekend. They spend their money on luxurious things and don't even go to school. At the end of things, they will probably fellate their father as well for a job, and wear the image that they found this hard job by themselves.

I hate smug whores who grab claims to independence yet they don't have a real job. They talk enormously about what important people they are, and how they don't need anybody, yet they don't have money for their own school or other necessities.

I hate the bastards who are able to collect financial aid. In California, the state stupidly assumes that you are financially supported by your parents until you are 24. I have been on my own since I was 18 and I don't qualify because I can't provide a parent's tax information. A parent? As if I had one.

When I go to war, I will take pride in the fact that although I don't receive any help or assistance, I was able to take care of myself and go forth. And if I die, equally, knowing that I was pushing myself to my own limits and entered into a compromise that would give me a better future.

So, little bitches, go ahead and continue thinking that you're what you say you are. Meanwhile real men are walking the talk.

Happy Thanksgiving, Trent.