The long awaited debut LP from NYC’s FLOWER “Hardly A Dream” is finally set to arrive.
FLOWER’s tedious approach to writing/creating/drawing their debut LP was carefully thought out and the result is a monumental anarcho punk /crust record.
“Hardly A Dream” Takes us on a bleak journey through the dark side of society. As soon as you drop the needle a dark atmosphere is immediately created with a slow intro featuring arpeggio guitar work that builds into pummeling d-beat crust. The albums vocals then leave you with a feeling of being crushed by the ever-present weight of living through our modern world of late stage capitalism that was built on the falsehoods of the so called American dream, religious hypocrisy’s, nationalism, and the greed of humankind.
FLOWER take many cues from predecessors and are most often (and rightfully so) compared to NAUSEA but they also take a heavy influence from ANTISECT, SACRILEGE & other greats. The artwork has a very RUDIMENTARY PENI feel and the record comes with an amazing 24.5 X 34.75 CRASS style poster jacket. All art work was meticulously hand drawn and overseen by the guitarist Willow in true DIY style and spirit. Willow was also cool enough to draw up a special shirt for the record release featuring an alternative PROFANE EXISTENCE backprint!
Dark, heavy, galloping crust from the streets of London. AGNOSY is back to present us with a ferocious beast of an album that can only be forged by the anger and frustration of living in today’s world. “When Daylight Reveals The Torture” aggressively attacks evils such the current rise of fascism and animal abuse. It intelligently and passionately touches on the Afrin invasion and the revolution in Rojava and shows nothing but utter disgust toward the arrogance of humankind’s lust for greed and power that will inevitably lead us down paths of war and environmental devastation.
AGNOSY – Live at SCUMFEST in London. 2011
While lyrically AGNOSY are much more politicly straight forward this time around than on previous releases, musically they have expanded on their sound to create a dark and moody atmosphere while at the same time staying crust as fuck. To say they know what they are doing would be an understatement from this band of vets whose members have played in HIATUS, HEALTH HAZARD, and BEGINNING OF THE END.
Long galloping intros are followed up by traditional d-beat, fierce solo’s are then meet with vicious vocals and pulverizing bass in a brilliant recording captured by Lewis Johns at The Ranch Production House and was mastered by Brad Boatright at Portland’s legendary Audiosiege. We then pressed on deluxe heavyweight 150-gram vinyl, printed on reverse board jackets, and included an 11in x 22in gatefold insert to bring you a high quality and truly epic record.
PROFANE EXISTENCE – PO BOX 647 – HUNTINGTON WV – 25711 – UNITED STATES
The legendary crust classic is now available once again!
Authorized and released in cooperation with MISERY, S.D.S., & MCR Japan & Remastered by Jack Butcher at Enormous Door Studio we are beyond proud to make one one the most rare and sought after crust records available once again.
Fuck the scavengers charging punks exuberant amounts of cash on ebay and discogs. We worked meticulously with both bands and with Jack at Enormous door to bring you an updated version that kicks major audio ass while maintaining the original authenticity.
Released on deluxe 150 gram vinyl. With an 11×11 inner sleeve. Black Paper Jacket. Reverse Board Jacket.
Earlier this year we re-issued this legendary LP and sold over 950 copies in just 4 short months. For this second pressing we pressed 490 copies on Krystal Clear & 485 on Grey Vinyl with Black Mist.
Crystal Clear (Bullet belt no included) Grey With Black Mist (Bullet belt no included) PROFANE EXISTENCE – PO BOX 647 – HUNTINGTON WV – 25711 UNITED STATES
Stench crust the way it was meant to be played!
The UK crust scene of the 1980’s inspired band after band but no other band has ever reincarnated the sound of that time as well as SWORDWIELDER. Quite simply if you like crust, then this the album you have waited decades for.
Review by Craig Hayes from “Your Last Rites”… Swordwielder – System Overlord Heavyweight punk fanatics take note: System Overlord is a fucking triumph. The long-awaited sophomore album from Gothenburg stenchcore band Swordwielder is a brooding behemoth, constructed from the filthiest and heftiest strains of punk and metal. System Overlord shimmers with apocalyptic visions, and it’s overflowing with all the grim atmospherics and intimidating intensity that defines consummate crushing crust.
Too much hype? No way… And no apologies, either. Swordwielder deal in definitive stenchcore on System Overlord, and much like their full-length debut, 2013’s Grim Visions of Battle, the band’s latest release is a knockout. Swordwielder’s harsh, gruff and dark sound owes a significant debt to old school icons like Amebix, Axegrinder, Deviated Instinct, and Antisect, and they mix and mangle their influences and leave ’em to rot on the battlefield.
Plenty of hammering rage drives System Overlord tracks like “Violent Revolution,” “Savage Execution” and “Cyborgs,” and thundering epics like “Corrupt Future” and “Northern Lights” exhibit subtler strengths, mixing guttural growls and clean vocals with crashing percussion and dirge-laden riffs. Connoisseurs of corpse-dragging crust will love the brute-force belligerence of “Absolute Fear,” “Nuclear Winter,” and “Second Attack,” which rain down like merciless mortar barrages. As a rule, all of System Overlord‘s mammoth tracks chug and churn with grinding muscle, while reeking of squalor and decay.
Swordwielder exudes tightly coiled aggression from start to finish here—songs rise from the ashes of desolation, and resounding calls for action and resistance ring loud. If you’re a fan of heavy-hitters like Fatum, War//Plague, Carnage, Zygome, Cancer Spreading or (insert your favorite hefty crust crew here), System Overlord‘s trampling tempo and strapping sound are bound to appeal.
WILT combine old school metal and crust in a perfect hybrid that very few others have ever achieved. Prepare for a LP thats equal parts galloping d-beat crust reminiscent of bands like HELLSHOCK, and INSTINCT OF SURVIVAL, meets old school death metal in the vein of BOLT THROWER, MEMORIAM (old) SEPULTURA.
Here is a track from the upcoming LP
“Sermon for the Bootlickers”
Despite the inculcation of helplessness within each there remains great power. Ill at ease with such makes us ill. Learn to see the hand that feeds for what it is. You’ve been fooled if you think you’ve got no power. Refuse to be reduced to a consumer you’re a human being. Define yourself by more than wealth. Define yourself as a human. You don’t need what you’re being sold. Bend your knee to no authority but your own mind. You have the power to avoid the gilded trap. Avarice is what you’re conditioned for. Break the mold discover what’s really valuable to you.
WILT will be on in Europe this July / August will ELECTROZOMBIES From Chile
Wed, July 12 Hanover / Germany / Confirmed Thu, July 13 Bremen Fri, July 14 Mulhem / Germany / Confirmed Sat, July 15 Gent, Belgium / CrustPicnic / Confirmed Sun, July 16 Paris / France or Amsterdam / Nederland July 18 North-East France or West Germany July 19 Freiburg / Germany TBC July 20 Winterthur / Switzerland Fri, July 21 Zurich / Switzerland Sat, July 22 Biel / Switzerland July 23 Lausanne or Geneva / Switzerland
July 24 Geneva / Switzerland or Grenoble france
July 25 Treviso (or Milano or Bologna or Verona) / Italy
July 26 Ljubljana Slovenia Confirmed
July 27 No Sanctuary chilling day
Fri, July 28 NoSanctuary Confirmed
Sat, July 29 NoSanctuary Confirmed
July 30 Ilirska Bistrica/Slovenia or Vienna/Austria or Budapest/Hungary.
July 31 Wiena / Austrai or Budapest or / Slovakia
August 1 Brno / Czech Republic.
August 2 Prague / Czech Republic
August 3 Finsterwalde / Germany TBC
Fri, August 4 Leipzig / Germany TBC
Sat, August 5 Berlin / Germany / confirmed
August 6 Dresden
August 7 Wroclaw / Poland
August 8 Warsaw / Poland
August 9 Poznan / Poland
August 10 Szczecin/Poland TBC
Fri, August 11 Rostock / confirmed
Sat, August 12 Hamburg TBC
For this in the Seattle or surrounding area you can catch WILT this Saturday April first at Highline Bar with NOOTHGRUSH from Oakland.
For those of us living north of the colonial imaginary line that divides the power one nation state claims over stolen lands from the power another nation state claims over stolen native lands – today is the day many will celebrate by eating a butchered bird carcass with their families. With stuffing and a side of canned cranberries of course.
What astounds me though is that for many in the animal rights and vegan community, who are rightfully concerned for the hundreds of thousands of turkeys who will be killed for todays celebratory feast; many seem to think that simply having a vegan thanksgiving is somehow cruelty free.
Let me be clear in what I am saying, colonialism is a system based in racist violence, and colonialism is ongoing today. So celebrating a holiday based in colonialism is a therefore a celebration of violence.
It has become popular in leftist circles, and amongst activists, as well as pagans (who’s religion is based in agriculture), to try instead to create a revisionist version of these colonial holidays that removes all acknowledgement of colonialism and instead claims to be “celebrating the harvest.” Yet if we think about this, not only is it a racist framing to act like this holiday has nothing to do with Indigenous people or this history of how the decedents of the first settlers came to be on this land; but further the very concept of the harvest itself brings us right back to colonial dispossession and settlement by Europeans. What we call agriculture is itself a colonial idea and its results for the plants, animals, and people who have lived on this land since time immemorial are clear – a loss of habitat as they are displaced so that the crops of the settlers can replace them. Is this really Cruelty Free?
Even if we were to look at this from an animal rights lens alone, European agriculture means the destruction of wildlife habitat and native ecosystems. Monocropping means killing all competing species, through the use of pesticides, herbicides, and agricultural techniques such as plowing the fields to prepare them for the planting of the crops we wish to later harvest. Anthropologist Layla AbdelRahim takes this further in Wild Children – Domesticated Dreams; explaining that domestication is based in the control of another species access to food, and control of their reproductive strategies. Whether we are talking about artificially inseminating a turkey or heifer to use for food, or taking the seeds of crops and selecting which ones we want to use for next years harvest, we are talking about violence. Controlling how and when another breeds is not Cruelty free.
Now I know that many of us have struggled for what little we have – to make a life for ourselves – and
A great image that has been going around, I did not create this image, I do not want to appropriate it either
that many of us struggle day to day still to keep afloat in a world that seems to want us to drown so someone else can make it rich. So I realize people might take issue with me complaining about the idea of giving thanks for what little we have. But who are we thanking? And where did the stuff we are consuming come from? Or maybe I should be asking who should we be thanking? Do we even think of who has been harmed so we can have what we have? Again, this brings me back to how we got where we are today – colonialism, genocide, dispossession and settlement.
Today we live in a society where many Indigenous peoples no longer have access to their traditional foods, and are very limited in the access they have to spaces where their communities and families have harvested wild foods and medicines for generations. These lands are being paved over to make way for grocery stores, housing or condo developments, and parking lots, and plowed for crop lands. Meanwhile invasive species continue to push out native plants and animals, and people who were once nomadic or semi-nomadic are no longer able to move over their traditional lands.
There are many other ways in which colonialism continues have effects; from the appropriation of Indigenous cultural traditions and spirituality, to the multitudes of missing and murdered Indigenous women who disappear every year, or the rates of addiction and suicide amongst First Nations communities in the wake of the residential schools. Yet these cultures still survive through it all. If Vegans and animal activists want to build a world free of violence, than we need to also engage with the violence that is colonialism so as to not perpetuate it. Humans are animals too, and colonial settler occupation is anything but cruelty free. Colonialism hurts both animal people and human people alike.
We must work decolonize ourselves for animal liberation to ever be a movement that will challenge the systemic violence this culture is built on.
The Profane Existence Collective was formed in 1989 as a resource for the worldwide activist punk community. Over the years PE has published a magazine, released numerous records, and ran a large distribution operation. For the last 25 years volunteers and collective members have donated both their passion and time working endless hours making PE a worldwide name in punk rock and in activism. A few things have changed through the years and some of the biggest changes yet are now upon us…
In 2011 PE changed hands when founding member and main operator Dan Siskind stepped away leaving Ben Crew at the helm. In the last few years Ben rallied many of the old contributors and worked furiously getting out PE 64 and released a slew of records. After many hours of hard work Ben is stepping away from PE. So rather than allowing PE to die out the main operations will be changing hands yet again. However that is just one part of the many changes in store for PE.
Profane Existence will continue have many contributors and collective members however it will now be jointly spearheaded by Chris Luton (Appalachian Terror Unit) and Josh Lent (ROÄC, Custerfux, Chain Reaction Records). This means that for the first time PE will not be based in Minneapolis. The distro and mailorder site will now be run by Josh and based in Golden/Lakewood, Colorado while Chris will be working out of Huntington,West Virginia.
After much discussion we have decided that over the years PE got a bit sidetracked from the highly charged political punk outlet that it once was. Our goal is to get back on course. We expect many bumps in the road especially in the beginning, as we get familiar with websites. However we have a clear plan of action to be laid out over the next few months. You can expect the following changes…
First off we be trading much more and offering wholesale on PE releases. Which will mean a huge spike in the PE distro. We are eagerly looking forward to once again be distributing punk records on a wide scale. We are getting rid of all corporate downloading sites. No i-tunes no Amazon “no fucking way!”. In today’s world offering digital downloads makes perfect sense, however we will offer them from our own site and at a much cheaper rate. The end goal getting punk rock to places in the world it normally wouldn’t be found but on a DIY level.
We want to bring the zine back. The zine was always Dan’s baby and we hold no illusion that we will ever be able to crank it out like he did but we hope to try. The next PE release will be the second APPALACHIAN TERROR UNIT full length “We Don’t Need Them”. We plan to follow it up with an international compilation double LP that is already rolling. We feel that doing the comp is great way to work with a wide group of bands as well a good starting point in our “back to the roots” effort. Expect to hear more about it soon!
With both of us being huge record enthusiasts we plan on doing honest reviews of the records that come through the door and adding them to the site. So bands and labels send us your records! (Please only DIY political punk/hardcore/crust/metal – “no corporate bullshit!”). We plan on doing more in the way of promoting tours and festivals as well as collaborating more with political organizations raising both money and awareness through benefits and campaigns. We plan on working more with international labels to get more records overseas. So overall the biggest change to expect is more. More punk, more politics, more Profane Existence!
So yeah, when asked why we chose to take up the task the answer is simple “we love punk”. Both of us have been heavily involved in punk the last 20+ years and Profane Existence has always been an inspiration to us. We hope to restore PE to make it what it was and better-a daunting task that we happily accept. Make no mistake that although our main focus is for Profane Existence to continue along the same path, it’s still a new Profane Existence run by new people. As far as we are concerned it’s a fresh start. If you butted heads with PE in the past it was just that – in the past. Let’s be friends. If you contributed in the past and want to again, or if you never did but want to start, write us. Together – Lets make punk a threat again!
Until we get everything sorted out with the PE email. You can reach us through these.
La Armada will be heading on the road in october and november in support of this year’s “Crisis” EP (Profane Existence). The guys will be playing up and down from the Midwest to the east coast. They’ll be playing select dates with Weekend Nachos, Cove, KDC, Mama Ladilla, as well as a special show with hardcore legends Sick of it all. Check out the poster below for complete dates and take a friend to a show.
There is a story we never hear. It is the story of the wealthy developer who procures a piece of land to build on, and then upon finding out the land is sacred to local Indigenous people and has heritage sites on it, chooses to not build go ahead with construction. Instead the developer chooses one of many other paths open to them, they try to find other ways to get money back out of their investment or perhaps they go after the previous land owner for not disclosing this information previous to sale. Or maybe they even try to find ways to return at least a portion of that land to the Indigenous.
Yesterday I sat in on the Grace Islet injunction hearing; where an injunction was being sought by a wealthy land owner named Barry Slawsky against protesters – specifically Indigenous people – from being allowed near the site where he is constructing his dream home on top of a native burial ground.
I find that nearly every time discussion comes up about this conflict; someone (generally a white person) will inevitably make a joke that the developer clearly has never read a Steven King novel or watched a horror movie. For the most part I find the joke seems rather tasteless and insulting given that it is easy to joke about for people with nothing at stake, but if it was their own families graves they wouldn’t likely be making bad jokes about it. Yet there is a reason why these classic stories have become such a genre cliché; and the reason is simply because there is such a long history of rich people metaphorically shitting on the sacred sites of Indigenous people. If developers didn’t so routinely say “fuck the Indians,” King and others wouldn’t have made a career out of stories involving people getting terrorized by ghosts for doing precisely that. Perhaps those books should be through of more as wishful thinking…? Or perhaps it’s time to write a new story?
Yet todays court proceedings had more parallels to fiction and TV dramas. The lawyer for Barry Slawsky lived up to every negative stereotype of a lawyer in court today. He came off as utterly despicable, slimy, and dishonest. He was such a caricature he seemed almost like a real life version of the blue haired lawyer often seen representing Mr Burns on The Simpson’s.
His tone was repeatedly condescending, his arguments were colonial and racist, and on a number of occasions he was accused of presenting his speculations as accepted facts. He began by trying to undermine any claims to Aboriginal Title or Treaty Rights and asserting it was simply a case of private property rights and trespass. He was also caught for misrepresenting his own evidence at least once, and on another occasion for trying to cite as evidence a media article quoting unnamed people who were claiming the Cheif’s said something, as proof. In the end he even tried to accuse the judge of bias because the judge lives on Salt Spring Island, where the protests have been taking place. At another point, he claimed that the entire defense was a red herring because if they were trying to stop damage to the burial site – and damage meant work being done – it was a mute point cause the work had already been started. but the one that really got me was when he tried to claim the injunction was necessary for the protection and safety of the protesters who might get hurt…. Yet he was also exceptionally dull to listen to, to the point that I saw two people sitting near me fall asleep. The defense council were far better orators and had a strong case that more time was needed as they presented numerous thick affidavits that had just been filed or were still coming in.
In the end, the judge ruled in favor of adjournment; that the defendants (which included 2 First Nation Cheif’s amongst others) would have 4 weeks to prepare arguments before the injunction hearing moves forward. Many people including myself will be watching to see what comes of this. I am by no means an expert of any sort in the matters of law, nor in the traditions and practices of any of the local indigenous peoples, I presume from my limited knowledge of other supreme court cases that this will be a long and drawn out process, and todays court hearing will be one of many. I also would presume this won’t be the last of the protests, which I hope will continue until work is permanently stopped. It is an interesting time though, with recent court rulings that acknowledge the land as being stolen and sovereignty never having been extinguished which may influence the outcome of this case. While I remain cynical that a court system of a state built on stolen native lands and a history of genocide and ongoing colonization will suddenly rule in favor of Indigenous lands rather than capitalist development; It is only my hope that we as a society can choose to write a different story than the cliché ones we have been enacting for so long.
These are just my observations as an interested and concerned outsider. If you want to learn more about this conflict, the court case, the lands it is taking place on or the history, I highly suggest checking out the Grace Islet facebook page where the people organizing to stop this shit have been posting updates. I am sure that they will be needing support, which can come in many ways
An in depth look at the events that unfolded in Ferguson, Missouri following the police murder of Michael Brown, a black teenager. Also features an exclusive interview with former Black Panther, Ashanti Alston, about the state of black “America”, abolishing penile power and taking care of your peeps in the muthafuckin resistance.
i hate hate, jesus was a communist, in the thirsty hour, etc
Days before the band left for London, while still in Louisville, I sent Nico a note regarding how much I appreciated the spreadsheets he made for the upcoming Reagan Youth European Tour. He told me he was going to file that under “things he never thought a singer would say”. I then told him I was to be on bail while playing the next nine overseas shows. So much for breaking the mold.
Late July was a disaster. I had ten grand and two felonies hanging over my head. So I did what any reasonable person would have done. I caught a flight to Heathrow Airport in London on August 5th, 2014 to spread Dave’s gospel and better understand our world the best I could.
All the love in the world to my folks and brother who helped me all the way to the airport as opposed to awaiting jail sandwiches and juice boxes. I love you three goofballs. I really do.
postcard from the edge
The Flights and London, England
After tying up loose ends before leaving the country for fifteen daze, goodbyes and all, I was flown to O’Hare Airport in Chiraq. En route to London I noticed I was surrounded by young missionaries from the Church of Latter Day Saints (read Mormons). We chatted regarding beliefs, both mine and theirs. It was agreed the words of any good book makes sense and I was proud of them for taking on a two year mission across the Atlantic. They got Rome as their station, which should be interesting with the Vatican and all. I remember it was said “it is interesting at what lengths people will go for what they believe”. So true I thought as I tied up my turban and fell asleep.
The waiting room at Heathrow airport at 8am was not enticing. The bus to downtown London, however, was screaming my name. I was the first to land that morning, so I decided to see some sights. I had to visit Buckingham Palace and see those guards with those insane hats while keeping the notion of monarchy alive. I made friends on the coach and we went to watch people from all over the world as they gazed upon the palace. As I finished a cigarette under Queen Victoria Statue, I flicked the butt up over the steps and onto the sidewalk. All the faces from all over the world were now gazing at me. It was here I learned how Europe frowns upon littering and my first lesson on why the world finds America obnoxious. Turns out they kinda hit that one right on the head.
jet lagged and together in camden, england
Camden, England
I mixed up everything and thought the first show was the following day. Turns out it was in a few hours. Meanwhile I got deeper into London than planned and fell out on a park bench. Everyone was meeting at Nico’s Dad’s flat and enough time had passed where I should have been in touch with the band. Without a phone, I caught a bus back to Buckingham in hope of finding a free computer in a cafe or something. While making a bus transfer, I noticed a brand new iPhone on the sidewalk right where the bus let off. Fukkin’ brilliant! I mention this only because THAT BECAME MY LIFELINE FOR THE ENTIRE TOUR. Paul has said more than once that God must be a Reagan Youth fan because things like this happen all the time on tour. My inbox was full of emails telling me “I hope you landed ‘cuz the show is today!” and “where the fukk are you?” etc…. Well, let’s rush along to Camden and start this crazy thing.
testing… now what does sound check mean again??
I arrived early at The Underworld and led backstage to properly crash out. Next thing I heard New York accents asking “is that Trey??” My sore eyes were glad to have seen Tibbie-X, Staten Island Greg, and Paul Cripple. We quickly caught up then went for a stroll along the streets to visit the shops before sound check. Well, we plug up and play, but the clubs still call it sound check. I was pleased to be around more or my own kind as Paul got into a dispute with a French shop owner after knocking over a display in search of a price tag. On the sidewalk he began to scream “nobody shop here!” oh so loud over and over again. Christ RY has landed in England. I met Tom, Nico’s father, and understood where my man Nico was coming from a tad bit more than before. Dr. Tom wrote very detailed volumes of Turkish history. Paul and Tom chatted so much pre-World War I Europe all I could do was listen in awe.
This gig was the first time we had all played since June with the Dead Kennedys. Plus we were sharing the stage with some old acquaintances, the Street Dogs. We caught up and laughed a bit. Tibbie began talking about prescription pills as I brewed this Somalian bodega tea in a coffee maker, which was acquired earlier that day. It caused me to pack and unpack my bag relentlessly for no good reason. We noticed that the bands were watching us in a quiet backstage area. Two new members replacing deceased originals while having meltdowns on substances must be difficult to ignore. Tib’z and I noticed this along the way in England, but when you are in a punk band from another land, what did we expect??
a pack of rolled cigarettes is how much?
The show was amazing with a huge Wednesday night crowd, lots of love, and best of all, we played very well. Thank God we played the songs correctly, but then again I or the band won’t let the music or Dave’s message down; we respect it far too much. Afterwards Mike from Prague offered me a beer outside the venue. I had to say yes as he was the first European to openup about life in this new continent, its customs, and ways of the land. After the gig we caught the train and a cab to Dr. Tom’s, where we fell asleep in preparation for Blackpool and RebellionFest.
here’s another clue for you all, the walrus was never paul
Northbound Transit & Blackpool, England
I awoke on the floor, sat up to overlook the front window, and was told the black van outside was here for the band. Tom Saunders, our driver and colleague, was here to take us within a hundred miles of the Scottish border, to a city near Manchester. Blackpool was its name and where RebellionFest was held. We said our goodbyes while boarding and… lights out. We got caught in traffic sometime later right as we hit Birmingham, the home of BLACK SABBATH!!! Hours later the sight and smells of the ocean were in the air when we entered, as Tom said, the Las Vegas of England.
We knocked on the door of our new lodgings to be greeted by Jerry, very jolly and had one tooth in his head. He ran the Del Rosa Inn, which was one of many to host the Punx in town for the Festival. As dusk hit the English beach community, we went to the Winter Gardens to mingle and catch The Dickies play. But first we settled into a single room with five beds and a sink, with the WC down the hall. It was all so Eurotrip I wanted to squeal! We followed the fish & chip stands that littered the boardwalk towards the sounds of drums.
Interesting side note, if you are ever in Great Britain – THE CARS COME FROM THE LEFT AND NOT THE RIGHT. Also, as the cars sped towards me while crossing an intersection – THERE ARE NO PEDESTRIAN RIGHT OF WAY LAWS. This makes more sense in practice. I was rolling my own cigarettes at this point since tobacco was so expensive. I vaguely understood why an influx of migrants fled to the new world to grow their own. ‘Cuz they be taxin’!
10,000 years from the del rose inn
We mingled on the sidewalk as we learned the box office was closed. This meant it was too late to distribute wristbands. Yea, like this had stopped us before. Tibbie and I went out back where we ran into the Street Dogs. They slid their wristbands onto our forearms. Once more we felt like everything we said was anything but ordinary as they once again gave those baffled looks while we rambled on and on. We went inside and caught The Dickies set. Upon seeing the size of the arena (while getting lost over and over), we knew we had to up our game. When watching the band I heard a voice ask “Trey Oswald??”… Now who knows me in Blackpool? My man Mo from St Louis and Scene of Irony all the way from Missouri, that’s who! We all caught up and laughed before retiring to the Inn.
pondering mortality and the fate of atlantis
RebellionFest
Reagan Youth was the second headliner on the second main stage. We went on before Stiff Little Fingers, who headlined the main stage. I read this on the program understanding we had a few moments to breakdown after our set before they played. Wait… one moment… we are getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s go back to the morning on the Friday of Rebellion…
you mean to tell me frank sinitra played the gardens? sinatra??
We split up as we walked along the sunny boardwalk, where Tom and I ended up spending an afternoon together after breakfast. Tom explained some of the English’s views on the United States. It was similar in many respects, for each side saw the other as, how did we put it… hipper than the other. You know how in the States it is considered by many to be exotic to be British? Yea, same with American culture in England. We all want what we can’t have. Shame so many of our own people are so naive about a country who has such an amazing record as the British. Think about it! The sun still never sets on the English speaking empire. The country may have fared the sea more than land when you consider this. Also much respect to the country that brought us The Rolling Stones, The Who, Emerson Lake & Palmer, Sex Pistols, X, Damned, PIL, etc… point taken?? My company, the Guinness, and the Atlantic could have kept me all day but the fest awaits!!
hey pose for rebellion radio real quick. anything will do!
I entered wearing my turban, denim, bandannas, while wrapped in the religious tapestry featuring the Virgin Mary as Lady de Guadalupe. We were taken all over the Winter Gardens and thru crowds of punx in search of the onsite radio station ran by Del. He sang in Peter and the Test Tube Babies. In typical RY fashion, we were also a day late for the interview. Del was cool enough to laugh it off. It’s also only punk rock, right?? Paul and I ate food in the backstage area and afterwards got lost every time we turned down a corridor.The size of this venue cannot be emphasized enough. The punx I gave all the wristbands to from the night before met up front by the stage. OK nerves and all go out the fukkin ‘window. We plugged in before the massive auditorium, packed to the brim, guardrail and monitors and giant spotlights and all.
The punx I met out on the sidewalk the prior evening when told by the bouncers we couldn’t enter the fest due to lack of wristbands were up front cheering us on as we opened with Degenerated. We have been sporadically playing bigger rooms as the band’s stability (consisting of STI Greg, bass mater general Tibbie-X, Keith Richard’s ghost Paul) and reception has increased. Not to mention people love these songs! I had learned to jump over the camera pit and guard rail and into the crowd without landing on the railing. However the lights are still too much, and wearing a turban while wrapped in a the Lady de Guadalupe tapestry did not help. It did look good in pictures and better looks on the faces and blogs reviewing the show wondering what this was all about. God is a Reagan Youth fan, we keep telling you!
More people I met along the weekend were coming to the front to show support. The friendly faces made the show easy as 1-2-3 aka A-B-C. The looks on the faces when I came hurling at them was even better. The band played quite well. This was our second time together since the DK tour in June. Being on stage at a festival made it all the more exciting. I tried my best and when I lost part of a tooth while on the floor I knew I was doing something right. Since guardrails keep singers onstage at these shows, it is always well received when I go to the floor. Those bouncers did an wonderful job keeping me plugged in, and trust me, I kept them busy. Cheerio mates! Another thing about going onto the floor, it meant people danced and they usually do not at festivals. The separation between band and crowd is a real thing that can hurt a show when punx are involved. Breaking barriers worldwide and do not do it alone.
wristbands? but we are headlining! hey where did she go? come back…
Afterwards I hopped over the guardrail to walk through the ballroom in search of the main room to catch SLF. In an attempt to save time I tied my denim jacket, the religious tapestry and the turban somewhere on my body plus wore the bandannas and shirts the best I could. In what I thought was a quasi-messianic muscle car rock appeal ended up, after our set, to resemble more of a walking bodega. Loosies and all! Fukk it, I stuck out before so why not now?
guard rails protect you, not me. remember that!
Times like this I forget that I have walked into (as some have said) iconic punk status overnight (the lot of others have had less to say but only on message boards) and am not only a fan anymore. Before I could make it over the railing I was met by fans telling me this was the best set of the fest and the only one anyone danced along with. I took more pictures at my most unflattering – after the performance – where my hair is a trainwreck, my face is red, and one eye is open while the other is closed, and so on. These picture sets can now be found all over the world, I can safely say. After giving all the thanx inside me, I accompanied Conor and Nicola, who traveled from Ireland to be with us, only to see an Irish (Belfast counts right?) band play songs about inflammable material, with me. I was honored.
As the set went on and Conor’s generosity on the ciders did not subside, the band played song after song. This was cool, trust me, but the walking yard sale I had all over my body plus the daze thus far had been tiresome. So as Stiff Little Fingers played Barbed Wire Love I hit the eject button. With the help of the nearest punk, I was lifted to surf another audience only to go over the railing. I was led backstage and outside, met some Americans, some Russians, some everywhere you name its, and eventually bak with my band. With them were my new soon to be friends Ali and Colin. The couple are back and forth between the UK and Ireland. They were too impressed that some big band singer was talking with them. Please, I was honored they wanted to talk.
in full blown tour mode after only three daze
We retired to grab some more fish & chips and met more punx along the way who stopped us like we were the Rolling Stones or something. I gladly introduced myself and shared what sauces for chips I had, only to end up at the only all hours bar. I met back up with Colin and drank with the Rebellion Punx as the band caught a few hours sleep before our next flight. In company was Dickie Hammond (Leatherface & Angelic Upstarts!). OK so now I was giving the fanboy treatment and he gave me the casual, friendly approach. Touche! As the sun was rising it was time to find my bandmates, say my goodbyes, and catch a ride with Tom to the airport where we flew into Hanover, Germany, beginning the second and more grueling half of the European Tour… to be continued. What a gyp I know!!!
***
I mean it took four daze to get thus far. We had to split to story in two volumes.
***
-Tr’z Oswald (loudmouth, fan, sometimes a writer, lover & hater, human being, friend, brother, son, and one to never forget how lucky some can be and always one to remember how choices can get you to the top or in the gutter aka yin and yang) bids you tatty-bye.
Be on the lookout for “Profane Euro Punx Vol.2 European Redemption” coming sooner than later. Same profane time! Same profane channel!
my favorite pic of many -the author
***
Next time we meet we will…
*Learn why smoking onstage is more frowned upon than sieg heiling during our theme song!!
*Understand why Americans not only speak way too quick, but are hated by most of the free world due to the decisions of their leaders!!
*Meet a skunk named Mo whom we met in Germany while being walked on a leash!!
*Discuss how the East Berlin Airport will be something I will always remember!!
*Tell tales from the Autobahn and journeys with Giovanni de Italia (love you friend I do)!!
*…and more about spreading the peace punk gospel with Dave’s right hand man and the three he has chosen to help in continuing the ministry!!
Mo’ to come
***
Peace, love, unity & anarchy to the following…
Reagan Youth (Dave Insurgent, Paul Cripple, Tibbie-X, Staten Island Greg, and the others before me you are never forgotten), Ben Crew for trusting my judgement and words with the Profane site (you keep me writing despite my mounting personal turmoil), Tom Saunders for being a friend first and foremost, road dog, guide, etc, Nico and the British Westerdale family, you make it happen every time friend and we never forget it, the punx we met on the British Isle (names go on and on and we try to remember if not the name but the smiling faces), Landon and the gang at Covert Booking, the struggling masses, you, me, them, us, our dog Spot, and last if only to emphasize the point… my family aka Mom, Dad, and Zac – I’d be who knows where right now without you.
xoxo.
***
***
Any questions, concerns, fact checks, misquotes, message boards still too impersonal, or want to simply say hello? I’m still down with the drones at Google.
We Must Dismantle All This (Illinois) will be hitting the road later this week for an East Coast / Midwest tour. Their discography is currently available for FREE DOWNLOAD on Bandcamp.
Their latest LP is still available in the Profane webstore too so be sure to get your hands on that as well!
Matt Sidney is an artist from Victoria, B.C. Canada. His drawings are powerful, dark and unsettling. They give the viewer a disturbed, though unspecified gasp of revulsion. We felt that finding out what makes someone that creates such imagery tick was too much to pass up. This interview was conducted by Karl online.
P/E: How/when did you get into drawing? What led you to your specific medium?
Matt: I drew constantly, just for my own satisfaction. I never showed it to anyone. never did a full piece until 2 years ago. No one within the punk scene or my friends knew i did art until i put some drawings up in Copy Curse (artshow/ punk show) and Mark from Six Brew Batha saw it, I’ve known him for a bit, and he asked if i wanted to do something for them. which ended up being their 7″ with Suffering Mind. which got my step in the door. I’ve always liked using pen, its very controllable. I’ve always just liked lines. prefect disgusting lines. Nic Blinko is my biggest inspiration. which is very obvious to those who know his work. Stephen Gammell, his work too. Any great painters, I always liked looking at their sketches more so, just for the rough sketchy lines. I’ve always liked stuff that was ambiguous and disturbing. Stuff that makes you uncomfortable. Music, art film. So naturally most everything i do is dark looking. I’d like to be able to use it in a more political way. I love what Gord Hill has done with his comics. and other work. And Tomi Ungerer’s political posters in the 70s were so harsh and packed a punch i would love to do something like that. but in a more political context.
P/E: What do you see as the function or role of visual art in punk? Is it as integral as music?
Matt: It for sure has its part to play. I feel most people appreciate good album artwork, and for me, and I’m sure other artists who listen to punk or just music in general, it solidifies classic albums. Axegrinder’s Rise Of The Serpent Men, Napalm Death Scum, Bolthrower In Battle There Is No Law, Deviated Instinct Rock and Roll Conformity, even Miles Davis Bitches Brew. It’s for sure something that if you are unfamiliar with the band, will grab youre attention. but most certainly not as integral as the music itself. A great album is a great album no matter the cover art.
P/E: How long does it take to complete a piece and what do you think technology’s impact has been on art? Kind of a broad question I know.
Matt: It depends on the piece. I do alot of work in a small amount of time. The longest it’s taken was about 24 hours, and spread over a few days, but that was pen and ink and it was much larger then what I usually do. My normal size ink drawings take about 5 hours. On technology, like most everything there are positives and negatives. I personally am not a fan of digital artwork, i just feel it looks so clean and hollow. Though technology also allows me to make several cheap prints for people to have, or to be able to sharpen it up and fix it, to be used for album covers and what not. Technology, yes, is a broad term. For sure destroying the art of film, which has never been an area I’ve wanted to explore but i do appreciate good films. and directors who had to have a team of artists to physically create things.
P/E: I guess more specifically I am referring to the position artists are put into in relation to the new album formats ie digital vs physical.
Matt: Yeah not a fan of digital. I myself would never use a computer to create art.
P/E: But the growing obsolescence of material physical albums and the growing dominance of iTunes and the like, where will an artist fit in?
Matt: Mostly the punk scene. Almost everyone puts out physical copies. Either a tape or 7″ or a 12″. I prefer a physical copy without a doubt. Like i know for my band, we are going to put out a demo just online for free, and once we get material we are comfortable with we will release a physical copy.
P/E: So what is next for Matt Sidney?
Matt: Not entirely sure. I’m thinking about starting a new house with some people. Hopefully to be used as a political/ venue/ arts collective.
“The drifting night / begets my footsteps / I press this pavement / until my feet scrape / in the back of my head I / saw you in the back of / my head I found a knife / dangling from your face” – Pg. 99
ffffffFFFUUUUUUCKK. I shoot bolt upright in the midst of a terribly vivid nightmare and find myself both relieved and disappointed all at once as I hear the pattering of the rain on my tent. Relieved to be out of the nightmarish hellscape that was playing in my head, but disappointed because now I know I face another difficult morning, and probably another difficult day. I decide not to dawdle, the longer I stay warm in my sleeping bag the less I want to leave, and this kind of situation can be an incredibly slippery slope. I have a long ride today, since I didn’t get as far as I intended to yesterday, so to stay on schedule I really need to put in a solid day of riding.
I pack up most of my things, put on my now slimy and still-soaked shoes that I stupidly left out in the rain all night, and patted along the muddy path to the bathroom in my sleeping outfit to brush my teeth. Every step I take I feel my toes squish in my canvas sneakers and pretty soon a sickening, off-colored bubble of foam starts to form from the toes of my shoes from all the friction. I spot Dan and Zach at the entrance to the showers and I greet them. I’m incredibly fortunate to see them it turns out, as I was in such a rush to leave Beverly Beach yesterday that I forgot my Glucosamine, MSM and vegan multi-vitamins I take for my joints. Zach thoughtfully packed them in his bag, carried them all this way and now hands them over. Vegans stick together! Turns out they had to get a regular campsite last night, as all the hiker/biker sites were either taken by the time they got there, or horribly flooded from the heavy rain. They had to bite the bullet and shell out the money for a regular campsite, which is never fun. Zach checks his phone for vegan spots in Reedsport, since that’ll be the next town we roll through. He always seems to use the seemingly now obsolete website Happy Cow, which I actually hadn’t even thought about it in years since it never gets updated. Often times you check that site for vegan friendly places in towns and upon arriving at the restaurants you find out that it’s been closed for 5 years. I make jabs at him every once in a while for still using the site, but I respect the fact that people want to keep it alive.
I walk back to my tent and reluctantly dress back into my already wet and freezing cold clothes. At least I don’t have to go through the whole process of getting soaked again, I guess. I packed as quickly as my cloudy head would allow me and I pushed my bike out of the now mucky campsite and out of the state park altogether. Still regretting not being able to check out the sand dunes yesterday that lay not 100 ft from where my tent was. There’ll be a next time I’m sure, but this thought brings me no comfort unfortunately.
Biking soon warms me up and I forget about the rain for a little while. I make it into Reedsport, which definitely has a very southern Oregon feel to it. I pull over at a Mcdonalds to steal their wifi and I spot the Canadian bike trio I saw up in Lincoln City inside at a booth. I’m pretty sure I recognized their tent last night at the campsite as I was settling down for bed, but I’m not positive. I’m not totally sure either if they actually ate any food here or if they were just getting out of the rain, but I’d be amazed if they actually ingested any of that garbage and intended to bike the rest of the day. Ethical issues with Mcdonalds aside, the most iron-clad stomach couldn’t hold down their food and bike 80 miles afterward, this I’d be willing to bet on. As I was checking for tea houses nearby they all poured out of the Mcdonalds and one of the women greeted me. They told me they’ll be staying in a cabin tonight at a KOA site just to get out of the rain and dry themselves. KOA is the biggest ripoff campground chain that has ever existed, and I implore you NOT to spend your money on that garbage. They managed to find a cabin there though for $80 that they said they’d split between the 3 of them. They assured me it was a good deal, but I remain unconvinced. Nothing good can come of a KOA campground, even if it means sleeping indoors for a night.
I internet finds me a natural food store up the road and so I bike over and lock up out front, leaving my panniers on the bike. There’s nothing all that valuable in them, and at this point I’m confident that the likelihood of someone robbing me in these small towns is pretty low. I slosh in through the double doors, leaving a trail of muddy water behind me. I try to walk in circles in the store to try and disguise the fact that it’s me, but I doubt that it worked. I find the coffee shop in the back and order a hot chai from the incredibly unfriendly proprietor. I kept trying to be cheery and gracious but I was met with indifference at every turn. As I take a seat a tourist couple comes in and the woman uses the bathroom, but as she’s about to exit she neglects to buy anything. She seemed genuinely interested in getting something from the lunch counter, but she audibly complained that they were sold out of soup. Immediately the cashier fires back “So what, you just use my bathroom and don’t buy anything???”. Flabbergasted she gives half an explanation and then quickly walks out. “Dude, what IS this place?” As I settle in my chair and take my first sip of tea, Careless Whisper by George Michael comes on the overhead. I decide that life is ok in this moment, as the corniest saxophone line that has ever been written wails across the cafe.
I make my visit to the unfriendly health food store brief, and as I leave I reconsider my position about the “one meal out” blanket rule I had for this trip. I noticed in my online search earlier that there was a chinese restaurant at the end of town that seemed to have a lot of vegan options. I’m not going to lie either, the photos made their food look irresistible. I decide to treat myself considering the night I had, and the day that lay ahead of me. I parked my bike near a booth window so I could keep an eye on my stuff, and the server was friendly and said she was glad to see me out riding my bike. Another table full of older folks nearby jumped into the conversation and said the same, that they were glad I was out here on my bike getting exercise and seeing the coast. Then they all started talking amongst themselves about biking and how important it is for personal and environmental health, with the server encouraging them to get bikes and start riding around town, even if it’s just “biking to church on Sundays!” (I do not recommend this destination). She was super helpful when it came to the menu too, and when I ordered a tofu dish she warned me that it had beef broth in it (seriously? why??). She told me it could be made vegan though, and as she entered the kitchen I heard her shout at full volume “HEY JEFF HE’S A VEE-GUN. NO BEEF BROTH!” and heard an affirmative sound in response, not unlike a grunt.
My food turned out to be glorious, and I drank the entire pot of green tea they gave me. It was a good idea to stop here. No regrets here at all. Even better is I look outside and see the sun start to poke out from the clouds! Knowing Oregon this is going to be short lived, but for the moment I’m glad that I don’t have to go back out into the storm. Out front I change out of my wet socks and into my last dry pair. My shoes are still soaked, but I fear getting a rash if I continue on with my socks as wet as they are.
Vee-gun food.
I leave Reedsport on a good note and continue on through the forest with the sun shining weakly down on me. I finally feel my rain shell start to dry, and within an hour my shorts are almost completely dried out as well. I start to make good progress again despite the howling wind threatening to blow me over into the road. Pretty soon I’m racing down the side of a hill, holding one hand on the handlebars and the other on the top of my head to prevent my hat from flying off. All of a sudden I hear a massive *ROARRRR* as a motorcycle flies up from behind me, dips into my emergency lane and comes within a foot of hitting me while revving his engine as aggressively as he could. I hold my ground in the lane and try not to be shaken by it, if I lose control of my bike at this speed there’s no way to get it back and I’ll end up going over a railing into who knows what. As he passes I see it’s one of those typical Harley Davidson-loving, cool dad-vacationing, wild-hogs watching fuckers that I see every once awhile at campsites. His motorcycle is purple, with a stupid looking tribal decal on the back and a woman riding behind him who he was probably trying to impress. I am seething with fucking anger, especially since this piece of shit is supposed to be on my side. Two wheels, you fucking bastard. I burn the image of his bike in my mind, hoping and wishing to myself that we happen to stay at the same campsite this evening so I can greet him with a face-full of bear mace which he so rightfully earned.
I reach another bridge, which typically means I’ll soon be entering a town. This time it’s North Bend, and as per usual I hit the “Bikes on Roadway” button to alert cars of my presence. I decide to bike on the sidewalk as I have on the other bridges so far, even though the signs advise you not to. I find it to be much safer than riding in the road on some of these bridges. I’m greeted by stormy winds that I fight with on the narrow sidewalk so I don’t topple off the 2 ft high curb into the road. The bridge is so long it takes me about 20 minutes to get all the way across it, and with such intense focus it’s a relief to relax my arms as I roll off the sidewalk and into the road on the other side. North Bend seems nice, and it reminds me of a mix of equal parts Astoria and North Lake Tahoe, if you’ve been to either. I also get a strange military feel from it, but I think that’s due in part to a Coast Guard Helicopter swooping low over the town over and over again.
Sock dryer, patent pending.
After a brief ride across town I find a Safeway and park my bike. Dan, one of the Seattle guys, joked with me that it seemed that all the riff raff in these small towns seem to congregate around the Safeway parking lot. I decide to test his theory as I eat lunch on a bench out front. Sure enough I see a lot of sketchy characters drift through in my half hour there, including a bearded man with a basketball leering at a couple of teenage women, crouched forward, and talking to himself while holding the basketball at crotch level. I also see a woman yelling at her kids as they’re unloading the cart into her fancy SUV. The little girl is standing halfway on the cart and the mother starts to yell “STOP it! You’re starting to make me really MYADUHHH!” in a way that leads me to believe she’s shouted that way since she was a child.
Posted up at the Safeway, looking for trouble.
Breezing through North Bend, and passing over a small section of Coo’s Bay, I finally find myself in Charleston. Here I teeter across an insanely windy bridge as I make my way into the tiny fishing village. The town reeks of fish and it instantly rubs me the wrong way as I see a “breakfast barn” with 5 ft tall letters spelling “BACON” on the side of their roof. I stop at a convenience store to use the bathroom briefly, see a few really depressed looking teenagers and decide I can benefit nothing from hanging around this place.
Dude. Not cool, Nonnie.
Soon I’m climbing a hill on the south end of Charleston which encompasses the last few miles before my sleeping spot for the evening. I come to a fork that I don’t remember clearly from the map, so I take out the now tattered and soggy piece of paper to take a brief glance and get my bearings. As I’m standing in the road partly up the hill, a kid on a mountain bike comes FLYING down the hill past me, screaming as he passes “THE STORM IS COMING, MAN!” I instinctively wave and thank him as I take a look to the sky, where near-black clouds are forming and the wind begins to howl even stronger. Fucking shit, what’s next?!? I hop on my bike and start working my way up the hill as quickly as my legs will allow to race against the impending doom looming above me. Eventually I reach the turnoff for the state park, which is about 2 miles off the main bike route, meaning that it’s 4 miles roundtrip to get out here. According to my map this place is the only park in the area that has hot showers, so I think it’s going to be worth the extra distance and effort. I follow the signs for Bastendorf Beach, now nearly frantic as I power up into the state park. Eager to set my tent up as quickly as I can before the sky opens up and I spend another night in a soaking wet tent. The hectic winds are already spraying me with light moisture so I know a heavier rain is coming soon.
After my last and frantic sprint up the hill into the park I finally roll into the campground and bike straight toward the check in station. The building that normally houses a park ranger that you check in with upon entry is closed, so I bike over to a self-check in station a few yards past it. SHIT! It’s cash only, and I don’t see any information about hiker/biker sites on the campground. I think as I realize there’s no card to fill out credit card information. Unfortunately for, and unwisely of me I didn’t stop to get cash out before I got here. There also wasn’t any indication on the map about any of the cheap hiker/biker stations, but that’s not unusual as the park rangers usually have a difficult time locating them on the state park maps as well.
I see the camp host scooting around in a golf cart near another area of the campground and I wave her over. A small girl is running alongside the cart as well, who I assumed was here with her family. When the golf cart reaches me the woman jerks the wheel to the right to come to an abrupt stop just as the little girl side steps to her left while running alongside. The cart comes screeching to a halt and misses taking the girl out by literal inches. “SEE! That’s why you can’t run alongside the cart, honey!”. I try to return my eyes to their normal size and get a hold of what I’m sure was clearly a very shocked look on my face before I start to speak to her. I had no time to waste, so our conversation is as follows:
“Hey, how’s it going? I don’t see any information on here about hiker/biker sites on the campground. Can you show me where they are?”
“Oh… yeah… well there aren’t any hiker spots here.”
“Well, on this state map I have *unfolding my map* it says this place has the cheap hiker/biker sites.”
“Oh, well then yes… yeah we have those. You can camp in any of these spots on this loop behind me.”
“yeah, but they’re not hiker/biker are they? They’re not listed that way on this map and there are cars over there. It says here it’s $16 to camp instead of the usual $5.”
“Well… yeah… they’re uh… hiker spots. Just choose whichever one you want and fill out the card. They’re $16.”
“Uh… ok… thanks”
fucking useless
As she drives off panic starts to hit me. I don’t have any cash, I’m miles from anywhere I could get it, and even if I had it there’s no way I’m paying $16 just to camp here for the night. It’s too stormy to even have a fire, so essentially I’d just be paying to sleep in a dirt lot and use the shower. I get back on my bike and start to pedal past the sites in the camp loop, seeing that the camp host went off in the direction of her trailer. I bike to the far corner to a campsite that seems to have the most privacy; the back of the site touches some open woods, and on either side of it are head-high bushes that obstruct the view to most of the camp. I set my bike on it’s kickstand and stand there for a minute, weighing my options and trying to think as quickly as I can. The sun’s going down, and it must be around 8 o’clock at this point, so I wonder if the host is done with her rounds for the night. I could potentially just set up camp, sleep here for the night, and get up early like I’ve been doing and leave before she even has the chance to check on me. The storm could also be a deterrent for her as well, since the wind has now picked up to an eerily forceful strength. No, I think. She already saw me roll in here and there’s no way she’s not going to come by later to make sure I paid. Ugh. At last I glance behind me and gaze off into the woods. There’s a small and rarely used path leading up and over a grassy hill into a very evil looking forest. Without hesitation I grab my bike and start pushing it down the path, momentarily glancing over my shoulder to make sure the older guy camping solo next to my site can’t see where I’m headed. As quickly and as silently as I’m able, I drag my bike up and over the grassy hill, and head in a straight line out into the dark woods.
Creepy night.
A short distance into the woods I come to the rim of a cliff. Just below me is the road I biked in on, and there’s a small patch of open and level ground that I deem good enough to pitch my busted tent on. I clear some logs and debris out of the patch and realize the ground is incredibly soft due to the thick top layer of moss. I set up my tent as best as I can in the howling wind, and quickly place everything (bike included) inside. On nights where I felt questionable about the safety of my bike I’ve brought it inside my spacious 3 person tent, and tonight is no exception. After loading all of my gear into my tent I stand and hover just outside of it, feeling extreme anxiety about being discovered out here. I’m filled with dread thinking about having to repack all of my gear, bike the few miles back into town and have to find another place to sleep in this storm. My paranoia only increases as I hear children playing and yelling off somewhere in the campground, terrified that they might run out into my guarded nook in the forest. I could just see them returning to their campsites to regale their parents with tales of a strange, bearded, tattooed man sleeping illegally out in the woods. Well, to be fair I really have no idea if sleeping out here is legal or not. If I’m discovered I decide that I will assure whoever finds me that I somehow have the states permission to be camping out here on an undesignated plot. Who knows, it could even be true. That doesn’t matter really though, if the camp host doesn’t know what a hiker/biker site is I’m willing to bet that she doesn’t know the law concerning public lands, and regardless of what the law actually says I’ll still attempt to bullshit my way out of it. I’m willing to fight tooth and nail to just put an end to this day and be able to sleep peacefully.
Ugla sharing the tent with me so we both don’t get scared.
I stand outside my tent studying my map for about 45 minutes, and I decide that if by 9:30 I still haven’t seen anyone come up and over that hill than I’ll be safe for the evening. This is of course a totally arbitrary deadline, other than having a placebo effect on my ability to settle in and finally get comfortable. So I check my map and mentally calculate how many days I’ll have till I’m in California to keep my mind occupied, but the thought of that even overwhelms me. I then focus on my days ride tomorrow, which is around 55 miles spanning from the edge of Charleston to a campsite just south of Port Orford called Humbug Mountain State Park. The forecast calls for rain again tomorrow, according to a sign I saw at the entrance to the park. Every day of this trip so far I’ve decided the night before how far I’m willing to ride the next day, always having fall back places to camp if for whatever reason I’m unable or unwilling to reach the park I’m trying to get to. According to my map there are a few state parks between here and Port Orford, but they’re all miles off my main route and from what I can tell not worth the extra effort, so it looks like it’s all or nothing out to Humbug Mountain.
Another day finished.
9:30 comes and goes, and I finally decide to climb into my tent and settle in for the night. The wind is still howling and rain is starting to fall steadily; though the gnarled, dry trees that make up this forest are doing a decent job of protecting me from the elements. I still fear that a dead branch is going to break free from the tree and land on my tent, but that’s something I’ll worry about when the time comes. I get into my sleepy shorts (aka basketball shorts, because I’m a bro) and climb into my sleeping bag. Now that I’ve been off my bike for a couple hours I actually start to feel the cold air again so I’m thankful to have the 0 degree mummy bag I brought along. I realize I haven’t drank enough water today as I’m feeling strangely dehydrated, which is odd considering how damp I’ve been for the last 48 hours. I pull out the book I’ve been reading on this trip, “Different Seasons” by Stephen King, and I read a considerable amount of one of the 4 novellas in the book called “Summer of Corruption”. Without giving away any of the story, it is fucking brutal, and the suspense was amplified greatly by the storm rattling my tent and the silhouettes of the gnarled trees moving around outside the canvas. Every branch cracking or leaves brushing the forest floor put me on alert for being discovered, and only added to the suspense of my book. This is where my life has lead me this evening, reading this intense book in the middle of a primeval forest and braving a storm with nothing but a rickety fabric tent and a sleeping bag. As unpleasant as a lot of this day has been, I recognize that it is nights like this one that serve as a bench-marker for the times that I’ve felt truly alive, regardless if that was a pleasant experience or not. I envy your safe sleeping quarters this evening my friends, but I’m still thankful to be out in the world tonight. Sleep well.
terrorized by ghosts for doing precisely that. Perhaps those books should be through of more as wishful thinking…? Or perhaps it’s time to write a new story?
Profane Existence 
