Thursday, December 29, 2011

E-book publishing? No thanks

I’ve pondered this issue for quite some time, set to write this entry, pondered it again and again and reached the same conclusion:

While I’m usually fairly quick about using new technology if I feel it can benefit me, I won’t this time. While my books will probably be published digitally eventually… it won’t be any time soon.

I feel that it is very much an inferior product. It is that simple, really.

Except for the much quicker distribution method, the reasons for staying with paper as the sole media are so much more significant. The paper book is so much better when it comes to the actual reading. My experience with proofreading has only confirmed this. It is easier spotting mistakes and the enjoyment is greater. While reading on a screen will always remain a muddled experience, at best, the words stand out clear and strong on white paper. I’m very encouraged that many teenagers have come to me and said they agree with this. Reading on a screen will always be unnatural. The paper book will always be right for reading. It doesn’t matter if you have read digitally from birth, like more and more children do. They will still feel more comfortable with a natural, «real» book.

I’m currently writing a novel set in New York City in 1979, a place I have only visited in passing. I did most of the research on the internet and did get a fairly good impression of the city, but it was when I borrowed a book from the local library that the learning process started in earnest. I read a novel digitally and didn’t like it. I reread a used, torn copy later, during a boring train journey and loved it. Suddenly, it was as if the story had been rewritten and the characters had suddenly been made interesting and inspiring.

There are several other more or less important reasons (me being disgusted with IPad, Kindle, Nook and all that shit among other things), but this is the gist of it.

Those I probably will publish digitally first are stories that are less fit to turn into real books, with a length between a short story and a novel, «novelettes», as coined by Stephen King. I have a few of those.

Or I might just publish them in an anthology, even though I usually hate those.

They say the publishing of new paper books will be a thing in the past by 2020. Goddess, I hope they’re wrong.

I should point out that until this point I’ve been at the forefront of the digital revolution. Self publishing would have been much harder, both in terms of financial and practical problems, if not for the fact that I have done everything with the books myself for ten years, content, cover and formatting, except the actual printing and inexpensive world-wide distribution handled by my printer Lighting Source. Of course that would E-book publishing take care of. That’s also why it remains tempting to me.

The day I can sell E-books directly from my computer or website without the current trappings and traps, I will probably do it, or the chances will be higher for me caving…

The day I or anybody could print inexpensive paper books in the living room would be even better. There are such machines in stores already.

It is strange. I wasn’t fully aware of how much contempt I truly felt for total digital publishing before I had written this and actually read what I had written. The intent was to write a fairly neutral piece.

I want the reading of my books to be an extraordinary experience. Only a story told on paper can make that a reality.

More about the art of a truly independent author/artist on Midnight Fire:

ShadowWalk - an alternative description
Final proof
Messy detours
Santa and his amazing helpers - nine online stories
Author's word - ShadowWalk
Author's words - Dreams Belong to the Night
Author's word - The Defenseless
True to life
For what it is worth
Poet's word
Sites supplementing my books
Making covers
True artistic freedom - Stage 1 to 4
Hysterical and fanatical grammar defenders
Doing it yourself - technical advice for self publishers
Kill the dog one of the very best advices when it comes to writing fiction...
True artistic freedom - stage 4
Author's word - Night on Earth
Author's word - The Slaves
Celebration mighty and true
Author's word - Your Own Fate
True artistic freedom - stage 3
True independence
Modern slavery
The Storyteller
True Artistic Freedom (II)
Reading it again
The chores of an independent author/artist
My fifty cents
True artistic freedom
Labeling and genre writing
Alarums of reality
The difficulties in describing a complex storyline

Other links:

Firewind - my stories, art and poems on the Web
My writer «CV»
The Janus Clan

Monday, December 26, 2011

ShadowWalk - an alternative description

About my novel (alternative blurb):

Jill comes from far away to seek a new life for herself. So do Stacy, Tamara, Jason, Kieron, Travis and Loeh. They all do. There is a yearning inside them, one they have suffered since the cradle, a need to understand, to know.

This is a tale about a gathering of witches, not the fluffy bunny kind, but those grounded in reality, in the real world. Magick has been lost or misplaced or dormant for years without number. Religious zealots have burned and brutalized and killed witches for centuries, but there are still more left. Witches are like the dandelion. Remove as many as you can. They will never disappear from the face of the Earth.

These are modern people. This is the twenty-first century. The young women and men meeting kindred souls in the small New England town of Northfield don’t know what they are, even though they have their suspicions. They don’t know what is lurking below the surface of their dreams and yearnings.

But they find out. They realize startled and downright stunned what they truly are under the civilized shell. The realization is slow and sudden. By the turn on a road, by the brushing aside of a veil they learn the truth about themselves and the world. As boiling passions and the townspeople’s hatred and ignorance reach a critical point, their senses open to the vast and unknown existence beyond their previous paltry knowledge.

Many centuries have passed since the last time there was such an assembly of forces on Earth. This isn’t just a gathering of witches, but the gathering, one to surpass anything before it.

Witches open up closed caskets, revealing everything locked inside. Beware everyone with a closed mind.

Friday, December 23, 2011

Spell of empowerment

I Free myself from the illusion
Of light and dark, good and evil
From wretched duality
I am free to further liberate myself
To embrace the rainbow
Of Fire and Life
The Shadow that is our eternal Self

Amos Keppler 2011-12-22

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

A great shift in perspective

When I occasionally am denied or deny myself the expression of my creativity, like most of last week all kinds of random thoughts are roaming my mind.

I let that happen, gladly, and then, both deliberately and not I go through all my current stories in my head, expanding upon them in ways I may not usually be able to do.

It’s a great and beyond useful shift in perspective, expanding both my life and art.

Monday, December 12, 2011

A number of bad turns

Anything, anything we do within the confines of civilization requires a negative shift of consciousness, diminishing the great children of the wilderness we are.

Every time I return from that vast wilderness, in its countless variations is an inevitable, major downer.

The constant and overt destruction of the human spirit reveals itself in countless smaller and bigger ways, in a pervasive oppression and lack of freedom previously unheard of.

I’m happy that my shift is virtually the abyss it is, of course. That means I’m still very much a human being, not a creature aspiring to become yet another cog in the machine currently dominating human life.

Every invention beyond the spear the last ten thousand years has done humanity a grave disservice, removing us ever further from ourselves, lessening the quality of life, not in any way truly improving it, like civilization’s propaganda claims.

Yes, technological forums, the fake lion’s dens are the perfect spot to criticize the society created by advanced technology. Where else should we find the fake lion?

Would you know more?

True life of a Human Being
Beyond insane
Destroyers (III)
Just another oil spill
The vast and obvious dangers of modern existence
What's wrong with civilization?
Tailspin suicide run
Chemical cocktail
The World Grinder
Living in the wild
The technological glorification of technology
Not fit to sustain life
Any digging in your neighborhood?
Choices of Doom

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Science as a new religion

I «guess» that it was inevitable, a kind of fate…

I’m an atheist. That means I don’t believe there is a God, are any gods. I’m even a militant atheist, one convinced that the very belief in gods and existence of religion is a bad thing for humanity.

On Twitter there are quite a few other atheists from various camps and viewpoints. Some of them count among my «followers» there and I follow them.

Atheism is many things. Atheists are many things. As stated above: the only thing we have in common is that we don’t believe there is any god, are any gods. Aside from that everything is optional, which is great, really.

But not all atheists believe that. They think all atheists should sing science’s praise, science that has long since become a new religion.

It was inevitable that I would clash with that kind of atheist on Twitter, of course, since I firmly believe that science is just as bad for humanity as all the other religions.

I will do this very methodically, going through it step by step in the hope that at least some scientists will see the error of their ways. I won’t use names or even usernames. Usually I’m not holding back those, but using them in this case would clearly be counterproductive. This concerns a general wrong, and isn’t about a few deranged individuals.

Case in point #1

This time started off with a Marie Curie quote, but it could just as well have started out with anything.

«I am among those who think that science has great beauty».

I pointed out the irony in that statement and also inferred that Curie shouldn’t be the hero she is to many people.

The irony and horror, in this case is that she died of exposure to the radioactive elements of pitchblende. She literally found death in a handful of dust and also participated in the opening of a Pandora’s Box that in ever worse ways are haunting humanity. She, among others is responsible for the invasion of radioactivity in modern human life. I pointed out that her story should be a cautionary tale, not something to celebrate. To me it’s completely ridiculous and horrible that they say she has helped save lives. The usefulness of nuclear medicine is and should be questioned. Its dangers are evident. Many claim, and I agree that using radiation in treating cancer, for instance is destroying the patient instead of saving him or her, or destroying people almost as much as saving them, saving the patient by killing him, so to speak. It’s a very puzzling and dangerous and way too common modern attitude.

By her lethal discovery of radiation in pitchblende she also contributed to the development of the atomic bomb and the disastrous and extensive use of nuclear power plants we see today.

She is a perfect example of the inherent dangers of science, of uncritical pursuit of advanced technology.

None of this seems to register in those zealots of science.

And then they started ganging up on me, of course. One, very predictably thought I was being religious, even though I attacked science for being religious… Another used the well-proven tactic of telling me how amusing he thought it was that I was criticizing science from a computer. I didn’t really bother replying to the idiot, but what I usually say to people like that is this: aren’t technological platforms exactly the right place to criticize science and advanced technology? I guess they would love that I and others shouted our opinions in the wilderness, where no one can hear them…

I have retweeted quite a few of his tweets attacking religion btw, but as expected, there is a ravine between us in the way we look at reality. He and his peers should apply a true system of inquiry to their own, boxed-in beliefs.

I do. I reexamine my view on reality constantly, and I have to, anyway, since they are constantly under attack from all religions, from christianity, Islam, even from the pagan views on life believing there are gods…

And from science.

Case in point #2 - Concerning science as a religion

I should point out that I am scientifically trained and was so inclined for quite some time, until I saw «the light» and began thinking for myself.

Science isn’t at all what it’s presenting itself as, what its propaganda says. It isn’t about independent inquiry or experimentation, but about boxing in reality, serving those ruling the world. Its propaganda is just as bad as Christianity presenting itself as a gospel of love. Reality is quite different from the platitude and deception and professed ideal.

Occam’s razor is often used as a pretext to close off a discussion not palatable to accepted science. We see that in the UFO-debate, for instance, about anything paranormal. There are a few scientists investigating the paranormal with an open mind, but they are rare. And those who are, are ridiculed and harassed, like J. Allen Hynek and his anti-dogmatic UFO-research. A Norwegian scientist posted anonymously on a science board a few years ago, stating that he believed Earth was regularly visited by beings from other planets and that this had been repeatedly proven to a truly inquiring mind’s satisfaction, but if he said that without concealing his identity, his career would be over. He is far from alone.

He was harassed, of course, and called out on his «scientific credentials», but he passed all tests the «skeptics» presented to him with flying colors.

In short, virtually everything that can’t be proven in the enclosed space of a laboratory is rejected.

Science operates also with something called the «null hypothesis», a relative of the before mentioned Occam’s razor. The null hypothesis is the currently most accepted in scientific circles, on any given subject. Very blatant and obvious bias, if you ask me…

Science has, like all religions developed devious methods to make devout followers stay in the fold.

It is, all in all amazing how obvious science’s deception is, and how rarely people call scientists out on it.

Most scientists would probably not say in public that science and its current methodology is infallible, because that would expose them for the zealots they are, but they most certainly do so in private, very smug and patronizing, really.

I’ve heard it and have heard it being referred many times.

As stated, science has left the methodology of true open inquiry long ago and become yet another cult bent on defending its position and conquests.

Case in point #3 - conclusion - the obvious consequences

This is what I have written most about earlier, the entire line of catastrophic consequences of advanced technology and the religion of science.

Some claim that science is neutral, that advanced technology isn’t good or bad, but can be used for both.

I disagree completely.

When we look at the present day human society it’s quite evident what way the scales fall. It isn’t a disaster in waiting. The disaster is already here.

We have nuclear power plants, genetic engineering, pervasive use of oil, tons of cancer-inducing synthetic chemicals, to mention a few excesses of applied science. Lurking in the near future is intelligent robotics and nanotechnology. Civilization itself is clearly a cancer on nature and all life, a tailspin suicide run, a Machine destroying ever more of what we need to survive.

Take any branch of science, any applied branch and you see demonstrated a distance from nature, from life that is downright frightening. The destruction of life on Earth we see everywhere on Earth today is unprecedented in history. And the very presence of advanced technology in society is certainly one major factor to blame. Of course it is. As stated in one of the other articles with link below: technology glorifies technology, science glorifies science, religion begets religion.

Would you know more?

An amazing feat - provocation (II)
J. Allen Hynek - UFO - a documentation (I)
True life of a Human Being
Beyond insane
Destroyers (III)
Just another oil spill
The vast and obvious dangers of modern existence
What's wrong with civilization?
Tailspin suicide run
Chemical cocktail
The World Grinder
Living in the wild
The technological glorification of technology
Not fit to sustain life
Any digging in your neighborhood?
Choices of Doom

Monday, November 28, 2011

Long overdue

I’m starting on my own, personal boycott of «family friendly» TV-shows and films and books. It’s long overdue. They are such an insult to people’s intelligence. I confess I’ve been lax here, at least when it comes to science fiction and fantasy stories on the small and big screen. There aren’t too many of those, and so I’ve reluctantly also watched those with an obviously retouched view on humanity, but now I’m fed up or rather over the top fed up.

After seven episodes of Terra Nova I couldn’t take it anymore, and don’t get me started on Star Wars and ET and the «Young Adult» genre and similar.

It’s a sick world, and concealing that reality from people through art makes it even sicker.

Some call that type of fantasy a much needed escape from life’s brutal realities. I call it a glorification of denial.

And then there are the religious connotations that certainly shouldn’t be forgotten. All natural acts are frowned at. People having sex and urges are either ignored or presented in a negative light.

«Highly moral people» like the christians and every single religion under the sun have attempted to ban, to censor reality for millennia. It’s about time we strike back.

Kill the dog.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Society’s method of crushing opposition:

1. isolate the radicals;

2. "cultivate" the idealists and "educate" them into becoming realists; then

3. co-opt the realists

This is, in short tyranny's ongoing divide and conquer tactic so successful through the centuries.

Many people keep missing this obvious truth and thus their conclusions are marred with mistakes. The result is pretty much that they aid the tyranny in their attack on true freedom fighters and in their own subjugation and oppression.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Occupy the world

Artists have begun expressing their support for the Occupy movement across the world. I’m more than happy to join them.

It’s time to take the world back, from those in charge, those oppressing us, those destroying the world and all life on it.

The true alternative movement never went away after its peak in the Sixties, but it did go into hibernation, even deep hibernation. Now, for the first time in decades, really, there are clear signs of it returning.

It began with the Arab Spring, in Tunisia in January, and spread from there, to the rest of the Arab world, to Europe and eventually the United States, and the Occupy movement in the US, in turn spread to the world, currently to a thousand cities and eighty countries. Wall Street is the United States royal castle, one symbol of the prevailing inequality and injustice. There are many all over the planet, and many of them are finally attacked.

The so called austerity measures were the final straw, a straw the masses of the Earth should have reached long ago, but better late than never. The illusion of the need for rich people has fallen, or at least it is falling. The ongoing deception in the war those in charge are waging against the rest of the population is exposed.

In the eighties social aware people spoke about the 1/8 society, a negative trend, also in western countries where wealth would be held by approximately 12.5 percent of the population. Now, in these even more fucked up times that number has fallen to one - 1 - percent. Human society has been a pyramid with the few at the top and the many at the bottom for a very long time, but is now taking a turn or ten from bad to worse.

We see again demonstrated beyond doubt how the police are the willing tools of the mighty. The ongoing brutality of the uniformed bullies should convince people once and for all that their very existence is plain wrong.

We see numerous examples of how the elite are taking steps to protect their vaunted position in society, in the pyramid, the pyramid of fear. The very existence of rich people is clearly a bad thing. They will use the power their wealth and position grant them, ruining the life of the rest of us, and the very life on the planet. We see that demonstrated every day, every second of the ongoing annus horriblis we live through. When there are rich, there will always be poor, and many poor, not just a few here and there, but billions.

Yes, there are signs that humanity as a whole is waking up from its slumber. It’s about time.

Tuesday, October 04, 2011

Conservatives are anti-freedom

Virtually every opinion they have shows that.

They support corporations and the power of money, which is clearly, obviously very oppressive.

They constantly attempt to keep people from having abortions and terrorize those who do.

They are mostly religious zealots, bent on making everybody worship their particular deity.

They defend murders, even genocide in the name of their deity or country.

They are mostly racists, with only contempt for cultures different from their own, serving eagerly the politics of hatred.

They defend eagerly capital punishment, even when the person to be executed is practically proven innocent. Troy Davies is one example of many here.

They support aggression and militarism and the police state. To them oppression is freedom.

They support Israel against the practically defenseless Palestinian people, support occupation, ethnic cleansing, oppression and genocide.

The list is long and sordid, really. This is just a taste of what they have to offer the world.

They are hypocrites and should have a foul taste in their mouth every time they speak about Freedom.

Friday, September 30, 2011

Blasphemy all year day

Today is International Blasphemy Day, a great thing, even though, like many good things it should have lasted the entire year.

It’s first and foremost aimed at religion, the scourge of mankind, but also at anything limiting the freedom of expression, at all kinds of taboos that should and must be broken.

Blasphemy is, by the religious’ definition an insult to their faith, to their very self… which is perfectly fine by me. In my opinion these people and their beyond dangerous beliefs should be insulted, should be dragged through the dirt, like they have done against humanity as a whole for so long. Humanity has been held hostage to this insanity for ten thousand years.


Thursday, September 29, 2011

Final proof

What I’ve been doing lately? Well, pretty much worked on the final proof of my novel ShadowWalk. I first did a three-week read-through, but wasn’t content with that and started again, on what ended up as an added five-week read-through with magnifying glass, a process made even harder because this is my most wordy story by far so far, almost twice as long as my average.

I go deep with this one, even deeper than with my other stories. As stated, it was already my most edited novel, and I still have a distance to go. I can now safely say that I am very happy that I set the publishing date at October 31st. With Dreams Belong to the Night I gave myself a way too short deadline and almost went nuts (even more than usual) in the process.

And it isn’t just the «editing» either, most definitely not. Far more important is the ambition behind the story, its vast depths and detailed descriptions of pretty much anything, raising the stakes on every level.

It was there almost from the very beginning and is certainly present now, at the end.

This is vigorous storytelling and it makes me proud beyond belief.

Once more I’m struck by the conviction that an editor wouldn’t have been able to do for me what I’ve done for myself the last two months. He or she wouldn’t have a true clue about what the story is about, really, except in a strictly superficial way. His or her «contributions» would have diminished the story, not enhanced it.

The editors that have read it were certainly clueless. While reading their comments and suggestions seventeen years ago I just sat there shaking my head. Had they read the story at all? Had they even tried?

Clueless is just the first letter here…

I really felt I was done with the wording of the story and such, but I found a few more complete paragraphs that needed changing. Here is one example of that, one illustration of the «show versus tell» debate:

As you will notice the result is over twice as long as the discarded version, yet again expanding the story, not trimming it or tightening the plot, like most editors would have suggested.


People gathered indoors, inside the tavern. Wild rumors circulated. About stories of Time and Shadow. They had been told of a story, that, if it was true, would have profound consequences on their perception of reality. A profound story, covering much of the unknown history of mankind. Virtually everybody gathered here was fully aware of how official, written history had hidden, distorted what really happened, how the victorious had chronicled events, twisted them to suit a purpose. Time itself had for a very long time been a mystery to mankind. Now, as the rumors would have it, one of the witches supposedly had access to time itself. The guests all sensed the fundamental in the coming happening. Some, incredibly enough were stupid and frightened enough to leave, but in most curiosity clearly won over fear.


People gathered indoors, inside the tavern, pulled there by a seemingly irresistible force.

– You won’t believe what I’ve heard, one boy whispered to another. – What we’ll hear is, according to a friend of mine an alternative history lesson to end all alternative history lessons, profound and wild beyond belief.

– The victorious alter and author history to suit their purposes, the other shrugged. – Everybody knows that. It isn’t exactly news.

– But it’s even more than that, his buddy continued, as if the other had hardly spoken at all. – These people know what they are talking about… and they are for real. They don’t practice stage magic, but true witchcraft. They…

He stopped, holding back, shaking his head in embarrassment. The other looked indulgent at him.

– Hush, a girl hissed excited, unnecessary, without malice at them.

A man stepped forward, a dark man, dressed in cloak and hood. He appeared ancient. Everybody imagined they could hear the quiet sound of their own breath. After just a few more seconds… or rather moments silence reigned in the room, in the building and entire scenery.

– Time itself has, for a very long time been a mystery to mankind. He started right away, without introduction. – Now, tonight, my friends, you will experience something unique, a glimpse behind its curtain, its thin veil…

- He is sincere… isn’t he? The girl whispered to the two boys, having momentarily forgotten her earlier call for silence. – He truly believes what he’s saying.

There was something about the entire setting, something very, very convincing, adding to tidbits most of them had experienced since they had arrived in town. Even the professed skeptics among them stared stunned at the hooded man in their midst. All guests sensed the fundamental in the coming happening. Some, incredibly enough were stupid and frightened enough to leave, but in most curiosity clearly won over fear.

Messy detours

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Santa and his amazing helpers

Keppler short and shorter stories on the Web:

Santa on the prowl

Horny women for sale

Dried blood

She Who Dances in the Forest

3 minutes+


Death and The Maiden

Fire Burning in the Wind

The Hitchhiker in the Woods

For the first time gathered in one place. Read and enjoy, read and sweat.

Only the first story is about Santa, honest...

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Living by the sword

They say that those living by the sword will die by the sword, and there is something to that, inevitably, since the chances of dying early are certainly increasing. I’m certainly not romanticizing anything here.

But those same people don’t say much about what will happen to people not living by the sword, not wielding a sharp blade when it’s called for, when it’s desperately needed.

Today, today, it’s desperately needed, not by the meek soldier, the eager puppet of tyranny, but by the true warrior, by those using any available and unavailable weapon or given method, by those hungering for freedom beyond words, beyond reason, by those eager to experience any tyranny crumble to dust, those burning by a desire to see the entire, irredeemable current human society be washed away, until only its ashes remain.

Passion, one almost consuming you, one mostly lacking in those seeking peace no matter the price, is burning in those living and dying by the sword…

Peace is for the grave, a pipe and wrong dream, and will only rarely touch the warrior in twilight.

Somewhere, somewhen a hand shaking in fire is picking up the bloodstained blade.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Messy detours

To add to my earlier thoughts concerning storytelling:

Life is disjointed, takes detours, is messy and chaotic, not very structured at all.

In other words: if you want to describe real life you should absolutely not follow the established rules of «good storytelling».

And that is only one of many reasons not to do so.

You should of course distance yourself as much as possible from what is accepted as good storytelling and the various rules and regulations of the established industry.

I do that, in big and small ways all the time.

I use the Times New Roman font, even though «all professionals use courier».

The first time I heard that rule ten years ago I spent the next ten minutes laughing. It was quite the pleasant experience, really.

Acts like that are good exercise, in order to better remove yourself from what is considered standards today.

After a while you basically ignore the imposed rules. The existing tyranny and its henchmen will keep attempting to pull you back into the fold, of course, but make an ongoing effort at ignoring them and get on with your art.

As I’ve written a lot about earlier: the established publishers and the entire system surrounding them are anathema to good storytelling and true creative freedom.

It should be rejected and ignored, like the garbage heap it is.

Whether you write stories, make music, films or some other form of art that should be your leading star, or at least one of them, not the false and destructive wisdom of what was and never should have been.

More about storytelling on Midnight Fire:

Author's word - ShadowWalk
Author's words - Dreams Belong to the Night
Author's word - The Defenseless
True to life
For what it is worth
Poet's word
Sites supplementing my books
Making covers
True artistic freedom - Stage 1 to 4
Hysterical and fanatical grammar defenders
Doing it yourself - technical advice for self publishers
Kill the dog one of the very best advices when it comes to writing fiction...
True artistic freedom - stage 4
Author's word - Night on Earth
Author's word - The Slaves
Celebration mighty and true
Author's word - Your Own Fate
True artistic freedom - stage 3
True independence
Modern slavery
The Storyteller
True Artistic Freedom (II)
Reading it again
The chores of an independent author/artist
My fifty cents
True artistic freedom
Labeling and genre writing
Alarums of reality
The difficulties in describing a complex storyline

Other links:

Firewind - my stories, art and poems on the Web
My writer «CV»
The Janus Clan

Tuesday, August 09, 2011

The current UK «riots» - the sheep fooled again

We see it every time there are protests. Established media spout the propaganda of the establishment and most people buy it hook, line and sinker, without hardly any effort at thinking at all.

The totally justified protests against poverty, oppression and inequality the tyrants and the tyrants’ tame dogs turn into a matter of riots and looting.

Reducing rebellion to thuggery is a tyranny's usual defense mechanism.

The true thugs are the police, of course. They are, have always been and will always be the tyrants’ eager and willing tools against people craving justice and equality.

If you want freedom to kill and maim people, without risk of being charged with anything become a cop. There have been 334 deaths in police custody in London since 1998, but not one conviction. The IPCC & the courts are protecting the police, not the people. That fact should be clear to everybody. Amazingly it isn't...

London is «my» city. I’ve visited many times and also lived there for years at the time. During a period of thirty years I’ve witnessed how social conditions, how poverty have grown from bad to worse to dismal. It was bad under Labour and has turned even worse under ConDems. All these political parties are an integrated part of the system and should certainly be abandoned in droves by justified dissatisfied voters.

But one thing is the various administrations, the government apparatus and the clubs the rich and the elite put up, another is all the people blindly supporting the establishment and its works. The tape recorders, as I call them, people mindlessly repeating the words and actions of others are almost worse. Counted among these are also many people calling themselves radicals. But they are clearly nothing more than more mindless sheep.

They serve tea to police officers, show up with brooms and support the insanity, the tailspin suicide run that is the modern society with every single piece of their brainwashed self.

Life isn’t being ruined by the «riots». Life has been ruined for a very long time and is ruined constantly and that is why we have the vast and great and wonderful protests, the emerging world wide Intifada.

People are frustrated, angry and enraged. The police killing one more human being in a long row is «only» the igniting spark, the trigger making it all go boom.

We live in a thoroughly unjust and unequal society. The establishment’s men and women have no desire to change that, of course. People must change it and the first step is to ignore the Law and Order and propaganda of that thoroughly unjust and unequal and oppressive society.

Tottenham Riots:- “The Language of the Unheard"

«Steal a little and they throw you in jail. Steal a lot and they make you king». - Bob Dylan

Thursday, August 04, 2011

Author’s word - ShadowWalk

«ShadowWalk is a powerful tale of magick and empowerment which manages not to sound like a mind-body-spirit-self-obsessed-hippie book. This is full-on reality. Blood and sweat and shit - nothing's toned down or dulled. The intensity of life comes through strong and meaty. Real life bursting off the pages».

Review in Green Anarchist (the original and best) No. 68/69 Summer 2003.

Trim the story, tighten the plot, that was usually what I was told to do by potential editors, and only when their response to my writing was somewhat coherent and made sense at all.

I disagreed, of course, and told them so, and they drew a blank. It seemed like they hadn’t even heard of vigorous storytelling, a sneaking suspicion that was indeed confirmed later. They just weren’t used to people disagreeing with them. They wanted all young, hopeful authors to stand there with the hat in their hands and beg for favors. I am and was fortunately made of different material.

ShadowWalk began, at least in part as a sort of excess product of what was discarded from my writing on Dreams Belong to the Night. At first I put everything that didn’t fit in Dreams there, but eventually it grew, branched out from there to encompass many directions and dynamics. I wrote the books practically simultaneously. SW was a story I didn’t choose, and that I initially didn’t see as terribly important compared to what I saw as the main story, but one that gained its own importance as I wrote it. Roughly stated, Dreams is about politics, while SW is about religion, and the upcoming, still to be completed Phoenix Green Earth is about both.

The completed story in Norwegian, what I out of old habit sent around to established publishers in 1993 and 1994 was about 200 000 words, and that was what they told me to trim and tighten.

I had really decided to abandon any contact with established publishers after their treatment of Dreams in 1991, but as stated, out of habit I decided to give them one more change…

It was yet another bust, yet another bad experience, yet another show of their completely fucked up priorities.

One said I should keep the first chapter and start over. This as one example of the quality of their «advice».

A few years later, in 1997, when I started translating SW I found that there was stuff there I wasn’t pleased with, but my take on it was quite different from the editors employed by the established publishers…

I translated, rewrote and expanded what I now see as the first draft, and ended up with a slightly different story, carefully, cautiously polished here and there, but still the same. I expanded it from 200 000 words to 300 000… and all the new strange twists and turns made it an even better tale.

The editors wanted me to trim it with fifty percent. I ended up expanding it with fifty percent, a very pleasing result.

Another great irony here is that this is one of my most edited books.

Here is one reader’s reaction that I can totally relate to:

«SW may break all the rules of novel writing, but it works.

And it makes sense if you aren't too brainwashed to understand and experience it. I never found it jumpy or disjointed. And I believe that it flows quite nicely and seems effortlessly elegant in the way it works.

When a stream flows around rocks in a very not straight line, we still find it beautiful. It will be full of back eddies and undercurrents and twist and turns. But it is still flowing. It is making sense within its own environment.

And just because it doesn't flow at one speed in one direction, you can't say that's wrong. What the stream does is right for the stream. What SW does is right for SW».

I didn’t set out to break all rules of storytelling, but realized quickly that was what I was doing, and once I did I set out to break them all the more. During the rewriting/translation/expansion I most certainly did. I followed one - 1- advice given me by the various editors and ignored/discarded the rest and removed myself and the story further from their vision (or lack of it), doing what felt natural and right.

It was really funny when I met one of them by chance several years later and told him about it. I could see that he wanted to murder me on the spot. No bull! These people, generally speaking are so set in their ways that they see any opposition to their sacred texts as an affront to their sanctity, and that is why authors should avoid them completely.

This is a story about witches written after I realized I was one myself, a fact making a considerable difference, of course. True witches are, inevitably Agents of Change, a threat to any establishment, any imposed reality. It’s about special people, about the paranormal and its place in a society denying its very existence.

Like many of my stories the events described are practically autobiographical. Almost everything has really happened, one way or another.

One more thing to note about SW and Dreams is the high number of females and/or people with a darker skin hue. I got sick and tired of the one female, one Asian/African-American/European quota in films/novels and decided to go completely overboard in order to distance myself from it.

It felt perfectly natural.

Oh, yeah, this is my least violent book, I guess, at least in terms of showing physical violence. There are no guns, except in the hands of not very present military personnel.

It’s just as controversial as the rest, though. A reader wondered why I left out homosexuality when it was so filled with other controversial issues. I replied that it was partly a coincidence and partly that I didn’t truly see homosexuality as a controversial issue, anyway, and then I asked him to read Dreams Belong to the Night when it was published in English. Well, man, it has been a fairly long wait, but now you can finally enjoy that one, too…

This is basically the same book that was first published as a paperback in 2003, with corrections and minor changes. There are only 446 pages, with smaller fonts to not make it too expensive.

It’s a book about young adults, but isn’t a Young Adult book…

Certainly not!

«Before I read ShadowWalk I thought the advertising was overblown to say it was "one of the most controversial novels ever written". Then I read it and found that to just be fact».

The book is for sale at Amazon and AmazonUK and Barnes & Noble and basically all over the world.

Tuesday, August 02, 2011

The prodding and encouragement of the human depths

I have exchanged thoughts and emails with a reader taking on my novel Your Own Fate recently, a thoroughly satisfying and encouraging experience.

It makes him think, he says, makes him ponder things he never even considered before. He admits with a grin on his face that reading the book is a learning process to him and suggests offhand that it should be a part of the curriculum at all school levels.

I admit willingly that this brings a huge smile to my face. It feels a bit surprising, though, since the inclusion of philosophical subjects and encouragement of thought and empowerment are obvious to me, an obvious inclusion in my stories. I just hadn’t consciously considered it, at least not in a while.

He says that other books he has read is like consuming overcooked French Fries and unhealthy grocery store items, while mine are a smorgasbord of independent thought and creativity.

And my smile widens to an uncanny degree. I fear I will get breadcrumbs in my ears.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

The conservative hate machine strikes again

I believe that people are ultimately responsible for their own actions.

That being said Anders Behring Breivik, the Oslo bomber and Utøya shooter, like Timothy McVeigh, Jared Lee Loughner and others are clearly a product of the conservative hate-machine, the Politics of Hatred.

The Norwegian «Progress Party» (and like minded parties and individuals all over the world), an extreme and popular right wing, anti-immigration racist party has hammered their hate against dark-skinned immigrants and asylum seekers the last thirty years. An ill wind blowing across Europe and the United States has taken a turn for the worse the last ten years.

They and others have used every single opportunity to spew their hate. Anders Behring Breivik, former member of the party was only a child when its members started their racist crusade against change and foreign cultures thirty years ago. During later elections they’ve reached more than twenty percent of the popular vote and they have been the third and even second biggest party in Norway for a long time.

Words, especially hateful words aren’t spoken in a vacuum. Words and also attitudes have consequences. When they are repeated on television and in established media virtually every single day and on websites dedicated to hate even more so.

Most other established parties also have what is very much a brown leaning. They have never properly rejected the conservative hate machine’s abysmal view on mankind. Oh, they have done so in words now and then, in party speeches, but they have pretty much adopted the racist’s policies on immigration, scared to death of what their more or less racist constituency might do.

So even if Breivik acted alone, he must share the blame with quite a few people. The sad and horrible fact was that over half of the Norwegian people shared the Progress Party’s view on immigration. Hopefully they will now reconsider and condemn them completely and openly in all possible ways and totally reject their beyond horrible «philosophy». All parts of the conservative hate machine, in all countries should be condemned and their views ridiculed and rejected.

It’s about time, way beyond time.

  Update 2016-07-22:

  Nothing much has happened, really. There has been little or no improvement. Some of the racists realized how despicable their opinions were and changed. Most of them didn't. The blatant hysterical racism flaring in the wake of the recent refugee crisis is just plain sick.
  Norway remains a racist society. The government is racist and conservative. Racist/xenophobic hysteria is growing, not dwindling.

More elsewhere:

how Islamophobia turned deadly in Norway

Thursday, July 07, 2011

Horny women for sale

The man stands outside the public marriage office and holds up a poster. A text is inscribed on it with large, black letters:


People glare at him as they pass by, as they walk into the judge’s office in their wedding dress and suit. They stare at him with condemning eyes, but he ignores them and stares indifferent straight ahead.

- What is your PROBLEM? A man in a suit shouts.

The man holding the poster doesn’t react in any visible way. The bride grabs her husband to be and whisper calming words in his ears. They both move on. Most people hurry on with flickering eyes.

The following Sunday there is another wedding in the local church. The man in question stands outside with the same revealing poster in his hands. The letters and the poster itself have obviously been through a somewhat rough treatment. The man’s face isn’t exactly untouched either.

The church bells toll. The man waves his poster. One of the late wedding guests, a gusset of a man goes for the man fond of posters and hammers him brutally. Blood and teeth jump everywhere as the poor man is struck repeatedly and also kicked after he falls to the ground. The poster is smashed to pieces.

The wedding ceremony is done. People depart the church in a good mood. The man stands there on shaky legs, holding the repaired poster in shaking hands. The big, black letters are still very much visible. The bride stares at him with haunted eyes. She throws away the flowers in her hands before she hurries into the waiting car. She and the groom drive away in a dust cloud and accompanied by the clatter of empty soup cans.

The next wedding starts half an hour later. The man with the poster is still there. He has a large bandage around his head. There is blood on it. People glare at him with murder on their mind. He stands there smiling and laughing, as if he’s having a conversation with someone. Two men glance at each other, nod and approach the man with a very decisive expression painted on their faces. They grab him, lift him up and carry him off, all the way to the gate down the road. They throw him on the ground, brushing themselves and rejoin the happy event.

Everybody goes inside and lock the door behind them. The wedding commences and the wedding march is played. Everyone smiles and laughs. The mood visibly improves.

The music stops. The bride and groom stand before the priest and he’s about to begin his deed.

A loud applause from the gallery interrupts the proceedings. Everybody stares incredulous at the man with the poster. He shouts with his loud, forceful voice.


The gathering moves like one being. With the priest spearheading the assault they charge upstairs and attack the unruly visitor. They drag him back down and out in the yard.

- Find a rope, a woman shouts. – FIND A SOLID ROPE!

They drag the man to an old tree, throw the rope over a thick branch and tighten a loop around the man’s neck.

- God have mercy with you, the priest says unctuously. – I can’t.

The man’s face is so bruised that it’s just a singular mass, without distinct features. The priest nods and everybody present pulls the rope. The man is strung up. His legs wiggle, wiggle a lot and for a long time. There doesn’t seem to be an end to wiggling. People eventually glance anxiously at the priest.

- Stay on course, he admonishes his flock. – Have faith.

People have trouble breathing and turn blue in the face, but hold on to the rope.

Something snaps and the legs finally stop moving. The stubborn unwelcome visitor hangs still. Cheers rise from the church choir.

- We have a wedding to complete, the priest grins wickedly. – Let neither God nor Satan keep us from our sacred duty.

They return to the church. The ceremony continues. The wedding march is repeated and the priest declares that the man and the woman are joined in holy matrimony, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.

- You may kiss the bride, he tells the hesitant groom.

The man and the woman embrace and kiss wild and uninhibited. He tears off her dress and when she stands nude before him he throws her on the altar and fucks her mind out. She howls in joy and mindless lust.

After having fucked her at least five times he carries her to the car and they drive off on whining tires, accompanied by the clatter of empty soup cans.

The next wedding is at the peace officer office the next day. There is a relieved mood all over town. People smile and laugh. The good mood has returned after a hard time. The wedding procession moves up the stairs in a light haze, laughing and smiling.

The sound of the accordion makes them frown. Several of those present at yesterday’s happy wedding frown deeper.

There, waiting at the top of the stairs is the man with the poster, a new and shiny poster. He’s singing and laughing with a wide and sick grin, and a loud and clear voice.


The members of the assembly glance at each other with weary eyes. The future looks very bleak indeed.

Sunday, July 03, 2011

Thy true will

Do thy true will, not the one imposed on you, but the one growing from your center. Find your center and you find your true desires, find everything important.

Saturday, July 02, 2011

Out there

On the night they threw Henry David Thoreau in jail for civil disobedience, a friend came to see him, saying:

- Henry, what are you doing in here?

Thoreau said:

- No, the question is, what are you doing out there?

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

A laughing matter

It’s completely ridiculous when a christian criticizes islam, of course. That cracks me up every time.

They keep pointing at islam as the worst belief system in the world, but that just isn’t so. That honor goes to christianity itself and its more or less insane proponents.

I dislike all religion. I am convinced it is inherently bad, that it is a pox on mankind, but christianity takes the prize. There is no competition, really. No matter how many times christians make the claim that islam has the worst zealots it doesn’t ring true. It’s just more of the same of the general deceit they are so good at.

A few examples of beyond insane christian zealots:

We have the Lord’s Resistance Army in Central Africa. They work from Uganda and several other countries, raping and killing children wholesale and making the rest into soldiers. We have the people blowing up United States’ abortion clinics, killing and terrorizing people working there. There is the general treatment of everybody they don’t see as part of «God’s plan», among them homosexuals and atheists. We have the countless past and present genocide of various primitive tribes by missionaries and their henchmen.

Then we have perhaps the very worst: What goes on in daily, regular life, how they set out to destroy children, all children, including their own, by doing their best to hammer into them christian narrow perception of «morality». It’s pretty much a pervasive, organized insanity beating any other in human history. Identifying oneself as a christian is pretty much on par by admitting to be a part of any of the worst cults in existence.

In other words: Yes, every single christian is responsible for all its atrocities. Its crimes are so pervasive and prevailing and so well known that guilt by association is valid in this case.

Christianity does nothing good to anybody, and it would serve mankind great if all shreds of it vanished from the face of the Earth.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

The magnificent seven

I and hundreds of Norwegians volunteered to travel with the Freedom Flotilla to Gaza. Two main reasons made us unable to send more than seven.

One was financial and the other was the fact that the israeli government has used and use every single method in and out of the book, short of open assassination to stop the ships from sailing, which in turn makes those financial difficulties even more pronounced. Intimidation and sabotage against individuals, the various Ship to Gaza groups and by the aid of their thug, their tame dog the United States a massive pressure against Greek and other governments in their pockets and under their thumb, like the Norwegian and most Western nations show the importance Israel place on this, on upholding their Hasbara, their propaganda.

So, we had to settle for seven to join the 350 from all over the world. We drew straws for the remaining seats.

I was disappointed when I was told I couldn’t go, but I quickly shook it off, since this isn’t about me.

All of us travel with the seven, the 350. We all agree that just the fact that the Flotilla is sailing is a victory in itself. It’s a win/win situation. Either the Flotilla will reach Gaza, which will be great beyond words, or israeli troops will attack again, and once more be revealed as the thugs and tyrants they are. That, too, will be «good», in a backwards sort of way.

We are all worried about those onboard the ships. We know that Israeli forces are capable of anything, because they know that they will practically get away with anything. At least that’s how it has been so far. This is a long struggle and we might just be at its beginning, or at least be fairly far from its end.

Israel seems to hold all the cards, military, financial and the blind support of important governments.

Gaza and Palestine and we activists have «only» each other. For sixty years the various Israeli administration have been allowed to do just about anything, been allowed to go from bad to worse in their warfare against children and the what is basically a «helpless» population.

No more! We speak for ourselves and we shout enough to what is still a more or less indifferent world population.

The slow, painful genocide of the Palestinian people reflects poorly on us all.

There has been one Freedom Flotilla. The second is about to sail. Let’s be prepared to send hundreds or thousands, whatever it takes to Free Gaza and Palestine and free ourselves from the shame and horror the forces behind the Israeli government have brought on all mankind.

More links and articles about Palestine on Midnight Fire:

The invisible Palestinian struggle

Friday, June 17, 2011

The joy of rebellion

Rebellion is always valuable, even in the best of societies, to keep everybody sharp. It should be alive and present against anything smacking of being an imposed reality.

Today, in a totally fucked up world, where tyranny is virtually anywhere it is crucial, beyond necessary. There is no country on Earth today where freedom reigns, but only tiny pockets of it here and there, and in people’s dreams and longings.

Many tell me that rebellion isn’t for them. It’s too much hassle, the risks are too great and it’s very disruptive to a somewhat orderly existence. My response is this:

Yes, there are risks, but what is life without risks? Those never taking risks aren’t really doing anything and have never truly lived. The biggest risk of all, in my eyes is to never take a risk at all. And what is so great with an orderly existence? Are life mere drawers to put your little bits and pieces in?

What I most of all do my utmost to convey to them is how great it feels to stand up for yourself as a human being, to release yourself from the shackles keeping everybody accepting the prevalent and enduring tyranny down in their private gutter, how it feels to feel the blood boil in your veins. Average people live only half lives and hardly even that. The sad truth is that we today, in all countries have a choice between insanity & less insanity, while life on Earth is fading. I believe in confrontation, in a confrontational approach to life. Accepting what you detest isn’t compromise but appeasement.

There is that, the sheer necessity of it all, and then, as stated there is the pure pleasure of feeling yourself waking up from a walking nightmare, to make yourself aware, to pull your spirit from its murky depths, to discover what it means to be human.

Dried blood

I woke up in the morning with the familiar sweet scent in my nostrils. It is a warm, dark summer day where no birds are tweeting and everything is silent. I rise from the bed and walk nude across the floor. Semen drips from my half erect cock. I look out of the window. A long, long row of bloody corpses hang outside. Birds with bloody beaks serve themselves from the bountiful table. I glance back at the bed. The bird still slumbers in her beauty sleep. She is a cold botch. Nothing can disturb her rest. I stumble into the hallway. There is a lot of shit on the floor, dried blood and lots of stuff blocking my way and make my walk more like navigation than anything else. My feet keep hitting something. Several severed heads have been dumped into a corner. I ignore their watery, accusing eyes.

The kitchen is generally speaking very dirty. There are lots of hair and pieces of skin everywhere. I finally find a table that is somewhat clean and sit down. The food is still on the table and is still warm. It was warm last night and is still warm, now. I wolf it all down. It tastes like heaven. Eggs, bread and ham are all first class. The hot juice sates my thirst in a way I hadn’t dreamed possible. The hotel is quiet. I can’t hear a single sound anywhere. Both guests and employees seem to have abandoned the place. Or they’re still sleep, like the hot cunt I spent the night with. Some people can sleep through anything, I guess.

I return to my room, pick up my jacket and the little suitcase and continue my wandering. The bodies are still dripping blood. They hang in two rows, on both sides of the little alley of tall trees. The branches bend slightly and make the stiffs dip up and down, up and down, and the quirts of blood to reach a little farther than they should have, logically speaking. The birds stare at me with their cold eyes and I enjoy lovely trickles down my spine. I pull the camera from the suitcase and snap many pictures. There are fabulous opportunities for excellent composition here and I apply every single one. I imagine how the photographs will look after a stint of two in the electronic darkroom, in Photoshop and others, and I almost jerk off on the spot. I’ve used a pirated copy of Photoshop for ten years, now, and I am quite pleased with it.

The photos practically snap themselves, like they did during my first session last night. I’ve got many Gigabytes of storage on hand, but everything sadly comes to an end. I put my stolen SLR camera and equipment away, and make a final content sweep at the many works of art surrounding me, before I carry on on my eternal walk.

The sun is rising slowly above the horizon. This will be yet another beautiful day.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

I see red

Censorship has always made me see red, always offended me and it always will.

There are blatant and subtle censorship and both are equally wrong.

The Friday Flash initiative on Twitter and on Internet certainly becomes very wrong because of this.

Here is what the organizer says in the guidelines:

«Please, no explicit erotica or gratuitous graphic violence. You can post them, but they will drive readers away and will not be included in the weekly wrap».

He evidently wants timid and sexually and morally inhibited readers. I, myself, and others fortunately set higher standards.

During my editing of my novel Dreams Belong to the Night I got lots of creative energy released and started writing short stories on an assembly line, and the Friday Flash seemed, at first glance to be a suitable arena for them. That was what I figured… until I read the before mentioned misguided guidelines.

I write all kind of stories and don’t have to write «gratuitous violence» or erotica, even though that part of my creativity is stimulated every time I come across shit like this. I know all the arguments people like the organizer are using and they’re all wrong or irrelevant and dangerous. Dadaism and Transgression and similar have been my guidelines since I started making art.

People usually ask me questions like these on these occasions: «It’s his thing. Shouldn’t he be allowed to decide the rules»? «Why don’t you let this one go quietly and go elsewhere»?

And similar stupidity.

The answer is simple and obvious:

No, we shouldn’t leave censorship in peace. Never! We do not live in a vacuum, in our own self-contained world. Censorship in one place supports it everywhere.

Freedom of expression should be total, everywhere, of course. Anything contributing to diminishing that, contributes to diminishing life itself. Censorship is very common today. That doesn’t make it right, but even more wrong.

Any artist not seeing the crucial value of free expression isn't much of an artist, or much of a reader, for that matter.

I will call my stories «My Thursday short stories» instead. Having your own blog and your own countless ways of expressing yourself freely is a great thing about Internet and the digital revolution. I and others may come back to you with some sort of collective platform here.

I have unfollowed the before mentioned organizer on Twitter, of course. I kept using the Friday Flash «logo» for a while, as an added protest, but not anymore.


An editor I worked briefly with didn’t have much good to say about one of my novels. I will relate one of his objections as an example of their quality.

«The women in the story are so dangerous that they scare the hell out of the men».

Translation: The women scared the hell out of him.

I just looked at him, and in that look was everything I didn’t need to say. He understood my look perfectly, understood that at least. I was really amazed, though (in my youth and naiveté), that he was there, in that position at all. He wasn’t old either, but rather young, in his late twenties or so.

It wasn’t the first or the last time this or similar crackpot objections have been voiced to me. After some brief deliberation the following reasoning presents itself: Women weren’t really that strong and independent and should certainly not be presented as such in books or films. And if they were, it shouldn’t be done by a male author. I think he saw me as a traitor to my sex or something… if there was any reason behind his reasoning at all…

The fact that I dared question his holy judgment didn’t help me any either.

When I think about how he and others like him have fucked with young, hopeful authors and blocked countless great stories from getting published I get very, very pissed (again). The sad and horrible truth of the matter is that this is the typical editor and gatekeeper in various art director jobs at established publishing houses and movie producers and record companies and any similar position.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Ten days in and outside Nottingham - first report

I write the words as they come, as the thoughts and impressions keep rushing through my mind. Sunday October 9th there was a major protest in Hyde Park. On Wednesday 19th people gathered outside the parliament against the new legislation debated inside, the Criminal Justice Bill.

I haven’t all the details yet, but the law seems first and foremost to be against squatters, protesters in general and people protesting against fox hunting (Hunt Saboteurs) in particular and in favor of nobles, fox hunters, property speculators and factory owners. For instance, walkers in the wilderness and elsewhere can, according to the proposal be arrested for being in a given place. The right to roam is drastically reduced. And you will no longer benefit from staying silent after being arrested. It can, on the contrary be used against you.

That I came to find myself at Parliament Square this hot afternoon was a bit of a coincidence. I was told the conference had started early and felt very uplifted.

The ruckus started almost before I arrived. It was a strange experience. I’ve never experienced it quite like that before. Time seemed to be crawling (even though I didn’t look at my watch, not once). I saw everything in an eerie slow motion, and I felt my blood boil.

The attack started imperceptibly. Then they came like a tsunami, the police, in full body armor, and started beating up on us. I saw blood flow from skulls, saw people crouch on the ground and scream in pain, and I wondered when the same would happen to me.

I was hardly more than a step away when a police club hit an arm. I heard the bone break. There was hardly a conscious thought in my head when I ran and ducked and howled in savage rage.

Some claim that what happened in Hyde Park was worse. That is hard to imagine. Raw, brutal memories keep flowing through my mind. I don’t know how many we were, but we were many. In spite of this, the cops, the «anti-terror» cops quickly gained the advantage, or rather kept the advantage they had from the start. They have the power and the armament on their side. We fled to all sides. After an indescribable run I jumped off a tall wall and down to the Embankment somewhere and I saw only a few others around me. I was limping a bit after the rough landing. Except from that I had escaped without a scratch.

Words… fail me even more than usual. Everything feels like finding yourself above a ravine. You’ve already jumped from one side and don’t know if you will reach the other.

I heard later on the radio that the police, after having removed «the worst troublemakers» gave those remaining an ultimatum. They asked people to «clear the area» and those still there complied. At ten o’clock there were only cops left. What an anticlimax.

In an unknown, dank apartment later that night:

I try to sleep. It isn’t easy. I don’t know where I am and don’t care. What matters is this evening, this night, how excited it has made me. There are others here as well, other strangers. Their eyes twinkle like mine. Their blood is boiling like mine. I feel sleep come in the tiny apartment, but I am more awake than ever. I am, and they are, too. We chuckle in our ecstasy and compare ourselves with sardines in a box, but we feel like eagles.

I don’t think it has dawned on me yet how big this is. It’s Friday morning and the first meeting starts 7.30 tonight. This has already surpassed what I dared hope for in advance. Doubt sinks in, if it’s the right thing to do to go deeper into this cauldron of rebellion and fire. Well, the warrior poet shouts, it might not be wise… but it is right.

Not for other’s sake, not even for the sake of the planet.

For my sake.

Amos Keppler

London October 21, 1994

Arrived yesterday.

Looking forward to live today and tomorrow…

If tomorrow comes.

This is a translated version of an article first appearing in the Norwegian magazine Nemesis in 1994.

It is my first account of several, old and new from the «Ten days that shook the world» an anarchist conference of workshops and protests all over London.

A record speaking for itself


Saturday, June 11, 2011

An amazing feat - Provocation (II)

I find it amazing that I’ve managed to get and hold on to over 2000 followers on Twitter. As I’ve pointed out earlier I will sooner or later piss off (almost) everybody without even trying. I don’t need to do anything but to express my opinions. Since I detest virtually everything about the current human society very few will agree with me in any given case, and if you combine my views on various issues there will be even fewer agreeing with me, of course.

The cumulative effect of that, if you ponder it is quite staggering.

Some may agree with me on my strong environmental stance, but be very set against my anti-Zionist and Pro-Palestinian view, or the other way around. One environmental activist may be set against Big Oil, while another, for some incredible reason may support Big Nuclear.

I’m firmly set against both.

I’m a militant atheist and anti-religious, but contrary to many atheists and anti-religious I am also a pagan witch and shaman and very much certain, by experience and conviction that the paranormal presence in the Universe is proven, proven scientifically beyond doubt.

And so it goes. I could have gone on for quite a while. My radicalism reveals itself in all areas because it reveals itself holistically, in the big picture. I don’t pick and choose from present day human society, but reject all of it, even though I may engage in the smaller truth as well, now and then. There is way too little protest in this tailspin suicide run of insane priorities we find ourselves. My dominant view on society and mankind and life on Earth in general is inherently controversial.

I believe in confrontation, in a confrontational approach to life. Accepting what you detest isn’t compromise but appeasement.

Not all 2000 pay attention, of course. Those doing that regularly evidently appreciate me for who I am and even share some of my views, or/and main outlook.

And then those not paying attention suddenly do, drawn in by a specific case or by coincidence, and then it’s often goodbye @HoodedMan…

Again: I don’t have to provoke deliberately. My very existence and I expressing my views do that, a fact making me very proud. Most people today, once anyone moves beyond their comfort zone are easily provoked.

Today’s society is a very bad place, with very few redeeming qualities, with none if you look at the big picture, and I believe strongly that we should all do that. A more or less dormant population should be rocked to their core. I do that, do that at every turn, by my very nature and most fundamental convictions. Some people grow more conservative, more set in their mold as they grow older. I continue to reach out and seek what is misplaced, fighting to reawaken pieces of humanity’s lost «treasures». During discussions and even casual conversation with most people I’m reminded of the deep philosophical differences between them and myself. What is important to them isn’t important to me and the other way around. Name any major building block of civilization and I want it gone. Mention many components in almost forgotten human life you want gone and I will savor and cherish it.

This is no whim, no result of casual thought. I'm very confident in my position. It's one I've reached after many years of contemplation and seeking alternative thinking and action, something I will continue to do for as long as I draw breath. Being arrested for participating in an illegal protest will be a great way to celebrate my 90th birthday. Rebellion is necessary, but also very satisfying on many levels, filled with joy and many a great moment as it is.

So, for all these reasons and more I appreciate those not being put off, including those hardly sharing my views at all, but that still accept me and value my input. It’s a great thing that humanity is so diverse, so vastly different from each other. We should be far more so. My favorite, currently non-existing society isn’t one where everybody shares my views, but one where everybody is truly independent and fairly self confident and living without the kind of fear eating us up from inside, one that encourages diversity and not does everything in its power to strangle it at its inception.

Fire boils inside me, fueling everything worth burning for.

Thursday, June 09, 2011

She who Dances in the Forest

She Who Dances in the forest pauses for a moment in her dance and looks at a bunch of old, worn photographs and newspaper clippings. There’s one of a man with a gun in a dank room, one of many taking her breath away, making the catching in her throat grow. One single drop falls from the corner of her eye and hits the images like a waterfall, making them all fade away like tears in the rain.

Monday, June 06, 2011

Author’s word - Dreams Belong to the Night

  During 1987 I started musing over a story I initially called, with heavy emphasis on irony The Great European Novel. It was only a working title, of course. I never intended to actually call it that, even though I played with the idea. It would have been even more beautiful irony and even sarcasm (and it was).
  I was writing on another novel at the time, of course, and knew I wouldn’t start on The Great European Novel for at least a year, so I had quite a lot of time when it came to developing this one.
  In those nights I didn’t write on a thousand projects simultaneously.
  There were just a few phrases and disconnected ideas. Sometimes I get almost the entire story in a flash. This wasn’t one of those times.
  I got the pieces one by one, really. It felt amazing as it happened and even more so in hindsight. I knew, as the months and years passed by that I wanted to do something More with this one, raising the stakes and do an EE, an Encompassing Everything story.
  In September 1988 I moved to London, and stayed there for five years. Ironically (again) it was on one of my trips back to Norway a few months later a friend of mine asked me to join him on a trip to Copenhagen. He was chasing a girl, and the girl wanted to go with him, but she wanted to have her girlfriend with her, so he wanted to have me as a balance, I guess. I was amused, but intrigued, and we Went.
  It soon came apparent to me that his efforts were quite hopeless, even though the reality of the matter didn’t seem to get through to him. You see, the two girls were lesbians and clearly intimate, and just weren’t interested in becoming romantically involved with a male at all.
  To make a longer history shorter we ended up at a gay bar called Pan in the Copenhagen entertainment district. While he attempted all night to get in the pants of the girl, I sat there and studied my surroundings. It was my first time in a gay bar and it was quite a revelation. Everything looked very similar to an «ordinary» bar, except that the couples dancing together and having intimate conversation at the tables were of the same sex. Everything felt casual, so perfectly natural. The place had a great mood and was a fantastic setting in many ways, very inspiring. It did feel slightly awkward when males checked me out, but I just smiled and shook my head. It just was no big deal. Any preconception or bias I might have had about homosexuality faded away that night, and with less prejudice my mind opened further to new possibilities.
  The book would have been a lot different if not for that brief trip to Copenhagen. It’s hard for me, in hindsight to even measure how different. I realized that I had never touched the subject of homosexuality before and that I wanted to. Homosexuality isn't really a main subject in the story, though. Some of the characters just happen to be homosexuals and bisexuals, no big deal, really, except for those haters who want to make it one.
  But with that visit to Pan and the two days and nights in the city came something more, the scenery and setting I had consciously and subconsciously been searching for. Copenhagen had been one of «my» cities for a few years, since I had first visited it as an adult in 1985, and I knew its streets and back alleys well. There was the entertainment district, there were its wide avenues… and there was Liberty City.
  BANG, the stage was set.
  I joined the Green Party in April 1989, first the Norwegian branch and then, later the British. Both were nascent organizations, given birth and momentum by the relative parliamentary success of the German sister party. I began writing Dreams Belong to the Night on March 1. Right from the start I wanted to make the book a kind of documentation of the process.
  You see, I was already well aware of the pitfalls of a political party when I joined, against my better judgment, but hope against hope, and yearning for Change in a totally oppressive and destructive society made me join anyway. During the next thirty months I had the pleasure of having illustrated the truth of Ibsen’s word on the matter almost constantly:
  «A party is like a meat grinder. It grinds all the brains into one stew».
  At first it was quite fun, or the fun lessened the aggravation. A lot of different people joined, everything from anarchists to true greens, like me, from people being in favor of legalizing all drugs to syndicalists. It was in many ways amazing, really, those first few months. As I shared my time between London and Bergen things proceeded in an amazingly similar manner.
  In the novel I wrote about how it should have been, while struggling to deal with the very disappointing reality. To make the story shorter again: The good people, as they deserve to be called either quit in frustration or were driven out. It happened quickly, during just six months or so. I held out the longest, in thirty ever longer months. It was an ordeal, at least the Norwegian chapter. Things were slightly more open and tolerant in London, of course.
  But my main lesson during my time as a politician was a confirmation of what I already knew: that the parliamentary system is an integrated part of the tyranny and can never be reformed, only destroyed. Democracy is the slickest tyranny in history, because it gives people the illusion of participation, on them being the part of the decision-making. If I hadn't spent months away from the circus I would surely have turned insane.
  I started doing my street theater thing with a bunch of like-minded people, in and around London, and in Europe, and I wrote Dreams on the derelict old typewriter I dragged with me everywhere. The script was in stark danger many times, in many a squatted house, but survived.
  My time with the Greens ended pretty much in September 1991. The novel, my Great European Novel and party diary was complete in August… When I returned to Europe and London in late September I felt totally wasted, used up, drained of energy. I felt like I was awakening from a nightmare, as I slowly realized that I had truly lived one. The members of the Norwegian Green Party were more like tea drinkers, doing their «rebellion» when they didn't have anything important to do, and they grew angry when anyone reminded them of that fact. They didn't want to change the world, but were perfectly happy with things like they were. They were small people, thinking small. Their British counterparts less so, but I pretty much drifted away from them, too, upon my return to the City of Cities, seeing the same horrible lack of desire for Change there. They were more red than green, stuck in a past that was never much to write home about. My life as a «politician» was over, and I rejoiced.
  All this, a thorough documentation of «failure» is in the novel, albeit mostly in the first hundred pages or so (or perhaps in the hundred, mostly untold pages before the Copenhagen part of the story begins), before taking off in a completely different direction. The book is from the start a rejection of established truths, a story about true fighting spirit in a global society almost devoid of it, about seeing through illusions in a world filled with them, about leaving those illusions in shambles, as the shambles they are, leaving them broken, without possibility of repair. It’s a guide for advanced rebels, for those who have rejected the deception and illusions of modern life and are ready to take the next step.
  Judith Breen, the main protagonist in the book is part myself, part Ulrike Meinhof and part anyone who has ever stood up and fought with razor-sharp claws and fangs against oppression, and totally rejected the «values» and validity of the established society.
  Put a bit simplistic Dreams is about politics, about radical politics and rebellion, while ShadowWalk, written practically simultaneously is about religion (and its vast antithesis rebellion and truly free and independent thinking), and the yet to be completed Phoenix Green Earth, the last book in the Janus Clan series… is about both.
  I saw Dreams pretty much as my masterpiece, because it is a self-contained piece «with everything in it», just like I intended. It took years before I believed I could ever write anything that great again. It was the first time I felt that I was competing with myself, a strange notion many artists experience eventually.
  I saw flashes of young boys and girls being initiated into the mysteries and joy of rebellion. I watched them clean their guns, saw them take their first nascent steps in a Norwegian forest and also in the streets and rebellious venues of Copenhagen, and I saw them as vastly different from a bunch of tea drinkers with delusions of grandeur, as people liberating themselves from all confines, confronting head on the vast corrupt forces ruling this world.
  This is a story for rebels, warriors in all forms. The proud leaders of our society and Joe Public and others «enjoying» average books will in all likelihood puke if they read it. It’s a kind of alternative history of the late Eighties and the Nineties, a parallel reality where scores of aware and passionate and truly rebellious activists and Human Beings run around destabilizing and creating havoc in the ever more modern day oppressive society. It’s what should have been real, should be real.

  One more thing to note about SW and Dreams is the high number of females and/or people with a darker hue of skin. I got sick and tired of the one female, one Asian/African-American/European quota in films/novels and decided to go completely overboard in order to distance myself from it.
  It felt perfectly natural.

  And yeah, the following is one reason why I feel grateful for the censorship of the established publishers. If my first three novels, the first three books in the Janus Clan series hadn't been rejected, I would probably never have written Dreams Belong to the Night, and not taken yet another step forward as an author and Human Being…
  That was me being ironic and even sarcastic.
  With the rejection of the first three I saw no reason to start on the fourth, though, not then, or for a long time. So I started writing one book, self contained stories, and that brought me eventually to the circumstances described in this article.
  The reason I grew, also in this matter was because of my inborn stubbornness, not because I was encouraged to do so, in any way, except in the backward way it happened.

  This is basically a translated, corrected and revised edition of the Norwegian edition, published in 2002. It’s a strange thing to work on a novel I was very pleased with when I published it and see the need for improvements, now. During those nine years I've clearly grown further as an author and the demands I place on myself have grown subsequently. It is the same story, but those having read the original will notice the changes, and might also find them interesting.
  So, after an evolution spanning twenty years, this is the ultimate and final version of the book.

  The exterior and interior of the Gothenburg shopping mall Nordstan, with surroundings is described exactly like it was, June 6, 1997. I was there, that very day, making extensive notes.
  Except for this and other markers of time, names and events linking the main parts of the story to the late Eighties and the Nineties, it’s really a timeless tale.