"We are all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing." ~ Charles Bukowski
Lev Six The Marijuana Apologist Rides the Train To See Doctor Anti-Weed
Lev, dialog after riding the train to the doctor’s office:
by Lev Six
When I am seeking medical treatment and a neocon starts espousing useless lies to me, I will go off every fucking time! Yes, I have a disorder; I am allergic to idiots. Watch, she is going to refuse to have me as her patient on the next visit and assign me to another doctor. U mad, bro?
Doctor: Do you smoke marijuana?
Me: Yes, it is my medicine.
Doctor [angrily]: It is still illegal.
Me: So is collecting rainwater in some parts of the country.
Doctor [frustrated]: I guess there is no chance I can talk you out of your addiction?
Doctor: It can impair the motivational centers in your brain. It will kill all of your motivation eventually…
Me: I spent 2 hours on the bus and trolley to get to your location on the fringes of El Cajon.
Doctor: It can hamper your cognitive abilities. How long have you been smoking?
I was biting my lip and trying not to laugh, I couldn’t believe the bullshit she was feeding me.
Me: 25 years. You’re still trying to talk me out of smoking, by the way, even though I said you can’t.
The doctor began typing, red-faced and angry. She remained silent, whaling away at her keyboard for 2 minutes.
Me: I bet I can type faster than you when I am high.
The doctor kept typing, presumably diagnosing me with some variety of mental disorder.
Me: I can write better than you when I am high, too.
In today’s episode of social-guerrilla warfare, we have a case of a woman who was tricked into flying across the country to meet an amazing band…
I am the Director of Social Services for a major charity and have an office in downtown San Diego that serves the nation’s third largest homeless population. I have an open door policy and all of the hard cases are referred to me by other agencies. I maintain one of the largest caseloads in San Diego County and depend upon a small staff of volunteers. I assist an average of one person every 5 minutes. I provide too many services to list but some examples include counseling, housing referrals, free prescription eyeglasses, food, employment training, clothing, and blankets. I deal with everyone from the chronically homeless to veterans on pension who can’t make ends meet.
Today I received the following call while a schizophrenic man was dancing in my lobby:
Woman (elderly voice): Hi, I have called every agency in San Diego looking for help… my daughter is trapped in San Diego. I live in Pennsylvania and she is stranded on the streets until Saturday.
Me: Is she mentally ill or a substance abuser? Could you please elaborate on how she arrived here then became homeless?
Woman: I…I…you need to understand she is a good person…she is not one of the homeless…this has never happened before…
Me: You can be homeless and a good person, I believe that many people are homeless because they are too kind and don’t understand how to survive within a predatory economic system.
Woman: Well…yeah…ok. My daughter…I am so concerned… ::breaks down sobbing::
Me: It’s ok, m’am. I will do whatever I can to help if at all possible.
Woman: Oh thank you, thank you. You’re wonderful.
Me: Go ahead, tell me what happened.
Woman: Well, someone convinced her that she won a vacation to tour with Slipknot and she flew out to meet the band.
Me: REALLY? WOW!
Woman: Yeah, it wasn’t real. They said everything would be paid for. She really believed ::sobbing:: that she was going to live the rock star lifestyle! People are so cruel. She asked her 4 children if they minded if she spent her income tax return to buy a round-trip ticket to San Diego and they agreed. They said, “Yes, mom, go follow your dream!” When she arrived and went to Slipknot’s address, the occupants had no idea what she was talking about. She is stuck there until she flies home on Saturday.
Me: Oh, I am so sorry she got tamed by a Slipknot hoax. That is so upsetting and tragic.
Woman: I know, it is just awful! ::sobbing::
Me: Okay, well I can try to get her into a women’s shelter. Does she need food?
I had to meet this victim to complete my day.
Me: I can give her a bag of groceries if you send her to my office.
Woman: Oh, God bless you! You are an angel! I will send her right over.
Her daughter walked into my office an hour later and she looked about 60 despite being my age. She had a lot of teeth missing from obvious crystal meth abuse.
Me: Oh, hi honey. Are you the one whose mother called? I am so sorry you got tricked.
Woman: I did something really stupid, I feel so dumb.
Me (in radio announcer voice): Well don’t worry, I am not from the government and I am here to help.
I gave her a bag of groceries and successfully got her into a women’s shelter after making a few phone calls.
My main problem is that now I feel compelled to buy a Slipknot album and autograph it pretending I am the band members then mail it to her anonymously. I would like to create a fake record label letterhead and write the following message:
We heard about your trip out here and we’re so sorry about what happened. Please accept our gift as a taste of the amazing MTV lifestyle.
Keep on rockin’,
Slipknot, at Hollywood, Los Angeles, California.
Fuck yeah, America! We need to devour taxpayer resources to punish this asshole! The citizenry is in control. Yeah, really. True story. Snowden exposed illegal spying and now he is being charged with spying. If you don’t understand the reality we’re living in yet, you’re utterly blind. Those of us who are willing to sacrifice our lives, whether figuratively or literally, understand the courage it takes to face down the flaws of the world’s last superpower. I hope he escapes. If not, we are Legion. Get on board or fuck off.
[EDITOR’S NOTE: Reflected on this post is Lev’s comments regarding the recent developments in the Edward Snowden/Booz Allen Hamilton domestic spying scandal that has rocked Obama’s Administration, from his personal Facebook page. It was accompanied by THIS LINK on CNN’s website.]
Leviathan Darkside, Pontius Autopilate, and Phone Sex With Stephen Hawking
Getting acquinted with the underground writer and personality known as Lev Six
A first-person recollection by Zack Wentz
Photos are from the personal Facebook of Lev Six. His current public feed is HERE.
I first came into contact with Lev Six in 2000, maybe as late as 2001. Back then he was better known as Leviathan Darkside. We somehow got in touch, I think over a cult song that was circulating online called “Phone Sex With Stephen Hawking,” which was every bit as twisted as you can imagine. Hopefully more so. This was before MySpace, and the online music world was much less streamlined, more genuinely anarchic.
He released his music as Pontius Autopilate, and that was one of his most notorious, passed-around tracks. The PA work struck me as an odd mix of early Devo, artists like Foetus, Negativeland, maybe Tit Wrench, and something I couldn’t really put my finger on. It was sick stuff, strategically designed to both upset and amuse, and insidiously catchy. Subversive and homemade, but not just noise. He knew his way around a hook.
If I wrote to him about anything he would get back with thousands of words about as quickly as the miserable computer I owned at that time could be refreshed. Always very tidy, grammatically correct, but extremely intense, compressed, and wickedly funny. It was hard to tell what was serious and what was a joke. Often hard to tell if he knew. All over the idiomatic map. Obscure occult references interlacing insider breakdowns of various bureaucratic institutions, punctuated with offhand pop culture gags, and tied up with some odd bit of theoretical physics or ancient history.
He was one of the first “trolls” I knew of, well before the term was part of the common vernacular. It wasn’t just for “LOLZ” either. This was the kind of activity Anonymous is well known for now: pranks that were really designed to demolish organizations from the inside. I remember he was dealing with some fairly dangerous people, neo-Nazis, KKK nuts, infiltrating their chat rooms, first enticing, then dominating them socially, and when he had them eating out of his virtual palm, pulling the rug out, ravaging their online bonds by exposing them to each other as hypocritical saps. He did mess with plenty of harmless folks, Golden Girls fan clubs, and such. Sometimes you felt guilty for laughing.
I remember an odd phase he went through, composing bizarre porn screenplays around old Stephen J. Cannell/Glenn A. Larson type shows. The really off ones like Automan and Manimal. Hysterical stuff. Seemed to have endless energy for any stray idea, high-brow, low-brow, whatever. Went at it all with the same manic gusto.
He was always very generous with his words, but who he was and what he did was more than a bit mysterious. I remember once getting the idea that he possibly worked for some sort of intelligence program. Some kind of dis-info unit. Could have been the case, for all I know. I asked him, and he laughed it off, but still didn’t quite answer. I did gather that he had once worked inside Wall Street, the really nasty business, and was also intimately familiar with a wide variety of illegal substances, although in what capacity was left ambiguous.
It was a long time before I actually met him in person. Actually took a long time just to learn that he was located somewhere in Philadelphia. The band I was in was starting to tour nationally on a regular basis, and he offered to house us when were in his neck of the woods. The next time we were in Philly we put him on the list, and at the end of the show a very pale man in dark clothes, slicked-back black hair, came up to the stage smiling impishly. He looked like a cross between a young Christian Slater and a Secret Service agent, and although he talked much like he wrote, his words were delivered in sort of arch drawl. Say if Jack Nicholson had to play William Burroughs. He had a handful of pet words he used in strange ways, like “flipper.” They would get stuck in your head, and then you’d find yourself using them, as if he was teaching you his language subliminally.
The house he was living in was quite a ways outside of downtown Philly, in an upscale neighborhood. Big place, immaculately kept, but seemingly empty. He had a room upstairs that was almost more like a kind of temporary office, or monk’s cell. Very Spartan. Just a bed, chair, desk, computer, half-dozen or so thick books, guitar, and a synthesizer. He had one picture pinned to the wall: a grotesque portrait of himself as a special Olympian, playing basketball from a wheelchair.
He had bought us a lot of beer and some whiskey, made us food, an excellent host. The only thing he seemed to share the house with was a fish that lived in a bowl in the kitchen, and he was especially attentive to it. The rooms he set us up with didn’t seem to belong to anyone. Guest rooms, but not dusty or stale. All with fresh bedding, as if a spectral maid had just done them up, but no sign of regular occupation.
I remember the sound of him typing well into the night, and he was still typing when I woke up. I don’t know that he ever slept, which explained a lot. When we emerged from the rooms, he offered us breakfast. A lot of the whiskey was gone, and everything again was nice and clean.
I still have no idea who the house belonged to, but it seemed better not to ask at the time. As if it might be safer not to know. Probably was safer not to know.
[Editor’s notes: Lev Six will be releasing a fictional account about a female android prostitute that takes place in the far flung future wherein she takes part in the second American revolution. He’s described his writing here as being “very tight like an android prostitute.” Zack Wentz runs an online literary journal at New Dead Families and lives in domestic bliss with his wife and cats in Sherman Heights, a neighborhood of San Diego. He and Mrs Wentz sometimes play in their band, The Dabbers, around San Diego and elsewhere.]
If you’re in Los Angeles right now you might want to stop by 451 South Buadry Avenue and witness the end of the world in style with the extremists at the Extreme Futurist Fest where they’re having sex in tents.
Okay – we don’t have proof of that, but “Red Pill Journalist” and informer to The Illuminati Lev Six is there. We’ve been posting his words here on the Press blog for a few weeks. He’s with novelist/alt-writer Lisa Crystal Carver in her display…