The Only Yank in Cali, a Gonzo Journo Blog

Technophiles in the Desert

The future these Robot fuckers want.

Been on the road for some time now, shooting got real bad between the commies and the wignats so I took a turn to I-40, into the Mojave Desert. Fool that I am, I assumed there wouldn’t be any ideologues out there, just sand and road I said to myself, likely being steered more by the mescaline than my hands. A couple hours later I’m staring down a mercenary with an infinity symbol on his helmet the same color as my eyes at the time. And I’m unlucky too, ‘cause the one I nearly ran over was a nasty piece of work, he starts mouthing off about me being in “Terasem territory”, so I book it before he can call backup, further into the land of technobabble and corpo compounds on the dunes. What I have found myself in is the fiefdom of the would-be aristocracy of the future, hidden away from the prying eyes of the state within the sand-swept expanse of the Californian Mojave. I’ll admit I didn’t entirely trust my senses at first, but believe me, there’s cameras in the Joshua Trees and mics strapped to the Jackrabbits. I can’t say how long this has been the case, but I can tell clear as day that the brains behind the operation is Terasem, some religiously technophilic foundation that took its name from a sci-fi novel, and presumably they want me dead.

Here’s a list I was able to scrape together of all the powers that be in the Mojave.

Terasem Movement Inc. – I’m still trying to wrap my head around this, but it appears they run the show here, or more specifically the transhumanist transvestite by the name of Martine Rothblatt who heads the cult. I call it a cult, but I honestly can’t be too sure. I saw that they had this church-looking building in which her son Gabriel was preaching, I could overhear a lot of wack about immortality and space colonization. It’s all nonsense to anyone who isn’t a tech investor, which I assume the jubilant congregation was composed of. Their atrocious logo brands most man-made objects in the desert, including the swarm of gun thugs they’ve hired to keep intruders out, there’s civilians too, most of them being the sad sacks working for the constituent companies that hold sway here. Whatever contracts they’ve signed I have a feeling they’re permanently binding, and they’ve all got this eerie glazed-over expression, more in the “no soul” way than the stoner way.

Global Survival Network – Readers, I must apologize for the tirade about to follow, but I’m going to level with you, I’ve got a personal enmity for the bastard who runs this group. The group itself is nothing special, some eco-NGO made by a polsci major and his suit friend, but in recent times they’ve come under new management by a college boy, thrill-seeking, wannabe-yankee tourist blogger, Zoltan Istvan. If you can’t tell from the name, he’s a Magyar, but he was born in LA and practically played my polar opposite, moving to the Big Apple for college and a hotshot job at the federally-funded National Geographic Channel. Our paths crossed when he was dealing pot as a college freshman, but the dumbass got stinged because he didn’t know what he was doing, and this Columbia University kid complained to me about the fuzz treating him like he was a Kraut. Now if I never saw him again, that would be dandy, but then years later I see he’s writing articles for NatGeo about volcano boarding in Vanuatu and shit, so much for a criminal record. Anyway it seems his organization is experimenting with eco-domes or whatever the hell over here, I couldn’t care less, but Zoltan’s presence in these circles makes me loathe this faction even more.

Atari Corporation – I should’ve expected this, but it seems that a fair few companies have fled over to the wastes, fair play, since not many militias are exactly partial to finance capital, but it still puts me on edge. Y’see, there are all these bunkers everywhere, I’ve seen about 8 different doors peaking out of the sand and I’ve only been driving a few days. While none of them exactly market themselves, I did see a covered truck make its way to one. It was coming down another part of the interstate a bit aways from me, until it stops like a deer in headlights, I can see this sheet of metal move in the sand and a man steps out. He’s not particularly recognizable, doesn’t exactly look like a CEO, if anything he seems more like one of those Silicon Valley nerds, clean face, button-up, short hair. Out of the truck stepped another man, he was Japanese but I couldn't make much else out, and he hands him one box, and with just the moonlight to guide my sight I see some damn tacky gaming consoles. I decide not to drive for the rest of the night, but the whole situation reminds me, I've got this fella I know in San Fran. Shortly after everything went lopside he sent me an email, it was a list of all the high-profile assassinations that had taken place, one of them was the Atari CEO, forgot his name. I can't say yet if it's noteworthy, but it seems that Atari lives on, presumably in an underground superstructure, and I'd guess the nerd I saw was their new face.

Freedom of Form Foundation – I have totally lost it, maybe it's the desert heat, maybe it's the ether, but I reckon that my mind has at this point abandoned me. As I was almost to the border with Deseret I saw what looked like an almost totally featureless square building, save for an emblem engraved in glistening chrome on the front. I didn’t recognize the symbol, it was clearly some crude take on the Vitruvian Man, but the figure had features which could make an Ancient Egyptian deity blush, a canine snout on the head, wings both avian and reptilian and what looked like a fox’s tail. Now, while I’m usually only semi-present in the realm of the real, I was dry as a prohibitionist that day. I say this to you because I am, for all my sins, not a hack, I tell you what’s true and what I have really seen. What I saw that day, through the revolving door, was a man with the bodily features of a dog, and that chimera looked at me, clipboard in hand, and began to sketch my face.

Hanson Robotics – I don’t know how long I had been driving after that, I turned right back on the road, back past the bunkers, the eco-domes, the churches, straight reverse. I did a u-turn that kicked up a goddamn whirlwind behind me, I didn’t even touch a cigarette until I’d covered maybe 40 miles away from whatever satanspawn I had seen. I didn’t speak a word, I’d separated from my colleague back on I-5, I’ll never forgive myself for that, God knows how long I just sat there at the driver’s seat on the lone road by my loan self. Not a soul in the world could confirm it, I didn’t have a source other than my mind, which I had, as stated previously, come to severely distrust. What followed didn’t exactly help in that regard. I didn’t know what time it was, but all I had was my busted headlights for vision, as far as I knew I might’ve been at the bottom of the Atlantic with how dark it was outside. Just then, I hear a sound outside my window, faint, some kind of whir, like one of those shitty mechanisms I used to make in engineering class, I was never very good at that. But it didn’t sputter out and die like my old creations, it just kept going, like some kind of chittering insect. I stopped the car, for the first time in some number of days. I don’t dare step outside, but I check the trailer, pushing empty bottles aside I inspect every inch like I’d always feared the pigs would. It seems I’d picked up a hitchhiker. A hitchhiker with a plastic face, and metallic eyes, a simulacrum of human flesh. I ditch my trailer.

Crackers gone Crackers

September 4, 2005

Sam Hyde, Head of the Council of Seven. Went to his homestead near Fresno to shoot guns, he's real particular about his firearms.

While I was under the impression that the feds had kept Sacramento, it appears I overestimated their ability to secure their own base of operations. A good friend of mine came down from up there recently, snuck past the red checkpoint and met me in my new publishing house (located in a trailer off of I-5 N). Over coffee and other substances she told me a tale of a rump government butchered from within, now it’s the stomping ground of the Supreme Order of Caucasians. For the uninitiated, the only thing they hold supremacy over is the mud under their boots, although that’s debatable, at least dirt is equal opportunity, it doesn’t go categorizing different sections of mulch as “mongolian”, all the while trying to polish itself with constitutions, provisions and elections, at least dirt knows its own nature. Their camps used to blister the landscape of California, but I’ve heard most factions have applied the time-honored cleanser of lead and kerosene to clean that up, save for in Sactown I suppose.

Council of Seven – The leadership of their “grand fraternity” rests in the hands of the highest of their many councils, a select few self-proclaimed defenders of the race (save for those members of the race that get on their nerves). In recent times the position of Supreme Chief has been taken by a surprisingly youthful face, in fact, the kid’s only 20, but he’s risen to the top of the Order in only a year. To call it questionable would be like calling the French “somewhat conservative”. Adding fuel to the fire is his advocation for a union of all whites regardless of whether they hail from Georgia or Maine, so I’d bet my liver that before he arrived in Cali he was whistling Dixie.

National Modernist Lowriders - Now these are some grade-A assholes, cream of the crop, they take their name from Baja gangs but every single member is a peckerwood, been that way for a while. It was around the 70s when the Order was on its last legs, and while the “People’s Council” failed to deal the killing blow, the hatemongers still needed some new life, which they found at the Preston Youth Correctional Facility. Recruiting came easy, as every flunk student of lighter complexion found life’s purpose in beating up coolies and cruising on motorcycles, it did stab the Order in the back long-term though, as the National Supremacist Lowriders weren’t exactly keen on “peaceable measures”. In recent times the rabble has come to rally around Rivers Cuomo, known for his Rock Against Miscegenation concerts, which the Lowriders have swarmed to like flies to mold. Rivers’ claim to fame in the public eye is his popularization of the symbols of the NDVP in California (it’s some Rhenish reactionary group, I couldn’t tell you a thing about them), specifically the use of the swastika. You’d think the Order would take offense to Buddhism in their own ranks, but hypocrisy is on brand for them.

The Hounds - Don’t let the name fool you, these aren’t a Know-Nothing gang anymore, although they were before American influence fell through after Secession. Thing is that one Jack Powers, after a close brush with death in Arizona, returned in the young republic’s afterbirth, he brought the gang back together (under his thumb this time) and eventually made ties with the Order. After his sudden death not long after, the Hounds came under the control of the Caucasians, completely divorced from their nativist roots, acting now as the underground wing of the Order, doing the dirty work that would endanger the fine gentlemen and the honest white laborer. Of course as time went on the mask slipped to the point where a separation between the two was no longer needed, but the Hounds held on, being a refuge for Fenians, as well as bizarrely the most proletarian of the Order’s strands. I honest to God couldn’t tell you why, but it seems that the isolation from the mainstream brought the gang closer to the actual white working folk, which the Supremacists had organized in the first place to protect. My friend from Sacramento actually met their leader on a chance encounter, says he drunkenly boasted to her that he’s a part of the Californian National Guard and kept calling himself “Zoltanous”, seems like a total dweeb.

Utopian Nationalist Green Party - The real money that funds the mayhem is out of the pocket of William Alexander White, respected real estate developer, and absolute scumbag. He got his blood money from his firm, White Homes and Land LLC, specializing in white flight and gentrification. When his ass got sued for opposing the Equality and Civility Act, an army of lawyers came rushing to assert that the name of the company was completely apolitical, and the suits on the other side keeled over. His blatant disregard for the rights of man and morality reached new heights when he formed his own political party, married it to the Order, got his employees to vote for him, and used the whole deal to expand his operations as Mayor of Sacramento. In hindsight, no wonder the Supreme Encampment faired so well, I’d wager White’s whole fucking administration was engineering this takeover from the start.

Völkisch Kindred - When it comes to white supremacists, you don’t get worse then these utterly vile esotericist tools. In the years before the revolution (that’s the old one, not the current one), there were a fair few long-haired dropouts that left society entirely, decided to hike to the peaks of NorCal and live the way they assumed the Natives did, they weren’t missed. Within their ranks was a man who back then they called Josh, although he later insisted they switch the h for a t and let him play Teuton. Word is that he’d done some tours volunteering to die in Eastern Europe when that all went to hell, unfortunately he lived, and brought to California some German literature. Not the works of Rosa or anything good, but untranslated hardcovers from what I assume are the 1880s equivalents of New Age gurus, also a fair few skull-measuring instruments. Despite the hippie homesteaders being as homogenous as you can get, it wasn’t enough for him, so he came down from the mountains like a dollar store Moses and began preaching the völkisch way to any schmuck poor enough in the Caucasian camps to be an outcast from the rest. Yet, the kindred grew, and now “Jost” Turner’s got himself a sizable cult nestled in every suburb scared enough of yellow people to accept paganism. I have a lot of respect for a lot of freaks, but this shit is deranged.

War on the Homefront

August 13, 2005

Weatherman poster with text proclaiming some hippie bullshit.

Well it seems the whole damn country has fallen to pieces, took ‘em long enough. Now every can-do militia south of the Klamath Mountains are carving up ghettos and sleepy towns alike to their satisfaction. The greater realm in the bounds of Los Angeles, my beloved Inglewood being within said area, has come to be the haunt of ghosts out of the 60s. The revolution deferred has finally arrived (even if it did take its sweet time) with California Underground, a ragtag alliance of New Left terror junkies and assorted hippies which have seized the city. While I didn’t have it in my cards to become a war-corro without credentials, I suppose I must let professionality rest here, as the need for quality reporting does not end when the stars come falling down, or the skyscrapers for that matter.

Within this coalition you will find the following constituent organizations.

Symbionese Liberation Army – By far the most prominent paramilitary-turned-military of the bunch is the good old SLA. While the more pencil-necked of you may believe the group to have burned out in a pink wood and stucco blaze, bonafide residents of the City of Angels have been dodging their bullets for freedom and equality for a score and a half now. Since DeFreeze bit the bullet one Kathleen Ann Soliah has carried the torch of left-wing paligenesis, shirking Richmond, D.C and Sacramento in favor of total symbiosis, or is it parasitism? Who’s to say.

Weather Underground Organization – Now I don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows, but you might, considering it doesn’t make a lick of sense how a commie group that ate itself in ‘76 is rearing its head in the 21st century. Well, when Clayton Van Lydegraf was so kind as to take full responsibility for the WUO, Bill Ayers hopped ship to Europe, where he heard about a new theory out of France called “Autonomism”. After returning to our fair shores in the 90s he pulled that weathervane out of the scrap heap, remolding it into the last real refuge for social anarchists. Now they play the long game, waiting until the cobra’s many heads turn on each other, so they can raise the red and black banner, carrying with it the memory of the Days of Rage.

NATLFED – It’s not all beatniks and punks fighting for liberation here, you’ve got some union men too, real solid working folk. Except well…between all the mutual aid and strata organizing talk, “The Formation” seems to be about as insular as a cult. I couldn’t get a word out of any of their cadres, but I was able to overhear some talk about connections to Quebeckers for god knows what reason. Apparently Organizer Gino Perente heads the whole thing, never heard of the man, but it seems that he’s got one foot in the grave and one hand on the shoulder of his female “comrades”, what a working class hero.

Green Panther Party – When Cleaver left the BPP for greener pastures in the arms of the state, the organization collapsed nearly overnight, Newton tried holding it together, but that’s like keeping sand in your palm. The grains that slipped out recorrelated their contents into a menagerie of successors, none of which stuck around except for this ragtag bunch. The GPP took in all of the outsiders from the old BPP, and I do mean the lot, Bloods and Crips, street preachers and OG potheads, they took all of the BPP’s community protection tactics, and then added on the people’s pack for staying power. I actually couldn’t find the name of their main man, some former Rollin’ 20s member from Long Beach, but he’s covered his tracks well.

Society of the Shell – Not a single one of you is gonna believe me, but I do believe I’ve discovered the whereabouts of the Chillicothe shooter, so you can officially call me more competent than the CBPS and the NBCI, assuming that wasn’t self-evident. From my investigative musings I have found that James Nolan Mason now closely controls a conspiracy of fellow anarchist intellectuals, the Society of the Shell. Based on some dead russki revolutionaries' group, this underground conspiracy has been bringing a revolution from above through targeted assassinations of the bureaucrats who were especially useful to the System. Only a matter of time until we see car bombs for socialist squares as well.

Spiritual Freedom Church – Frankly I don’t know how a hippie pastor got rolled up in this mess, but all the more power to Preachin’ Bob if he wants to tell stoner teens that Christ would’ve done LSD. Seems like he’s the agitprop man in the united front, strange for a peace and love guy, but Jesus was a carpenter I suppose, and Sacramento’s not too off from Rome. Some of the more trashheap “reporters” would tell you that there’s a link between him and Mason, I call bullshit, if the terrorist and the evangelist are best of pals then I must be a SovCom agent and Sparts must make for good business partners.

Electing the Fat Cats of Fat City

March 20, 2005

Natural Law Party Candidate Jerry Brown, the Vajradhara

With the primaries behind us, Cali readies herself for another season of political slapfighting and old grudges come to bear. The Cleaver Administration has yet again done a fine job telling the youth of the nation to simply “Say No” to the militia violence that seems to tear neighborhoods apart daily, not to mention all the skeletons in the man’s closet which they keep trying to hide to no avail. It seems that like the last one, and the one before that, this will be a troubling election season, and just like those previous times I start wondering, why the hell why the hell I risk my life here. I’ve got colleagues sitting pretty back in the states researching Connecticut badgers or whatnot, all the while I dodge gunfire in Oakland, reporter’s duty I suppose.

Let’s take a look at the political parties staking their claim here.

Peace & Freedom Party – The old political establishment, 30 years on from the flower power revolution still maintains their vice-like grip on California’s “democracy”. Despite his decrepit state, they’re putting Cleaver up for reelection, presumably to secure their similarly ancient voting base. His policies are much the same, still preaching to the choir about social conservatism and drug crackdowns, anything other than responding to the press about his crimes, the old bastard.

Natural Law Party – The hippies from The Great White North have a surprising foothold here as the eternal opposition, they’ve got all these college liberal types crazy about Transcendental Meditation, I’d be impressed if it wasn’t so creepy. They’ve got Jerry Brown for this season, a respected man of the law who’s also preaching the gospel of “Buddhist economics”. It’s like these people have a habitual aversion to normalcy, it’s wonderful.

United Labor Party – Coming from North California we’ve got the ranchers’ choice, the words of Henry George are fresh on the lips of every one of them as they proclaim the virtues of left-libertarianism to crowds of cowboys. In the States they’d call this mad, here it’s the third-largest political party, and their candidate of choice is Clint Eastwood, a local celebrity it seems.

Black Riders Liberation Party – Looks like the electoral left in the Golden Country aren’t any kind of reasonable social democrats, it’s a clique of suspiciously wealthy Black nationalists. I wasn’t even able to interview their candidate, some film hotshot named Rudy Ray Moore, because I kept getting side-eyes from the lot, it’s like they can smell the Cambridge on me. All I could get out was something about, “Dolemite for President”, I’ll be frank with you, I can’t guess a word of what that might mean.

Workingmen’s Party of America – Now these are some fine people, while they used to be a crew of xenophobic ruffians, they’ve professionalized into California’s own Yankophile Party, this of course makes them near-universally hated here, but they’ve got my vote. As far as candidacy they seem to be following in the celebrity trend with disgraced late-night comedy host Bill Maher, unjustly censored due to his “legitimate critiques” of Han Buddhist extremism and the effect it’s having on the youth.

Technocracy Inc. – Apparently this strange little party/corporation got its start by being inspired with the nationalizations of Debs and Lunn, surprising, considering this band of nerds seem to know jack all about the working class. While they nominated Justin Lazzara for their throw-away vote, I’ve actually heard that roboticist and free-culture movement advocate Randall Monroe has been challenging him for chairmanship of the party. All of it’s very internet-based and niche, but some guy saw my cameraman and ranted about it to him for a solid hour, so now I know.