He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster.
And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you.
-Friedrich Nietzsche

Sometimes I allow myself to attend social evenings, listen to live music and get drunk with friends - intentionally forgetting the shame and regret that always follows. Last sunday I entered the new degenerate low in the long road of bitter dissappointments that is my life. Unable or unwilling to restrain the flow of my long boiled hatred towards everything around me I verbally lashed to every direction and snapped at every provocation around me. Drunken words are sober thoughts indeed.

What manner of a devil drives one to lower himself in to these grotesque orgies of rotting flesh and loose skin held in the vortex of this disgusting cesspool we've grown to call 'home'? This necropolis is erected from bile and built on filth, yet we crawl on its steamy surface like mere insects holding high hopes of one day achieving happiness whilst trying to forget our primal core – sin of impotence.

For quite some time I've roamed and wandered like an alien in the midst of men and observed in repulsion the behavior of this odd species, all the while fully knowing that I am one of them. No better than the next guy but more likely a bit worse, yet overall an average bloke with trivial burdens and petty joys. There's no way to alienate myself from humanity for I am a man living in a society and performing the duties I am expected to. I am Cain murdering Abel, I am Judas betraying Jesus, I am Brutus deceiving Julius.

I've begun to see small cracks in the society, tiny fractures on the surface of a microscopic snowglobe, harbingers of some horrible future. I've begun to hear dissonant chords in the great musical of life, God's filthy fingernail scraping the surface of galactic chalkboard, heralding change for the worse. I've begun to feel shivers when warm and tasting ashes when feasting, suppressed memories breaking to concious mind, revealing Hells undreamed of. I've begun to smell the acidic fumes of sulfur during my occasional walks through the cold winter nights and I need not tell how I tremble with fear every time the curtain of reality shifts.

As much as I would love to entitle this text as rambles of a madman, alas, it would not be true for I am merely speaking figuratively. I hold no misguided illusions of world breaking around me or of devils and satans driving my soul in to Abyss. If only I could drink deep of the Pierian Spring that is known as intoxicated brain or sober lunacy, but my cross is carved of bitter realization of putrid reality.

The vile reality that the whole of humanity is flawed and societies are but farces of burning Rome. We hire unskilled employees to act unprofessionally in whatever redundant duties our impotent minds stumble across and fill this world with half-assed efforts and pave roads to Hell with good deeds and fool's gold. We tolerate imperfection all around us and embrace it in ourselves. Humanity with all its flaws is not worth preserving.

Whenever I see a sloppily tied tie or lazily dyed hair I remember the bigger shortcomings of the human race. Whenever I see an uneducated alcoholic indulge in easy pleasures or an unambiguous ignoramus dress up in cheap pretense I am reminded of endless wasted opportunities. Whenever I hear unintelligent philosophy or dearly held mystic belief I recall the destructive behaviour of every idiot free to continue living their pathetic unlives.

Imperfection is existent only because it is allowed to exist. Perfection is reserved only to God because we don't strive to be like God. Men are destined to be defected so long they don't dare be more. Ascension is impossible for one descending. Perfection is the only worthy goal, accepting imperfection is to embrace Death.

What now then? Emotions have acquired form in words and thoughts have been sorted properly. Irrational irritation no longer lashes randomly but has transformed to intentional wrath with specific target: Immoral impotence that is allowed to ravage in our society, in our lives and in our persona. I can't change the world or start a perfectionist revolution, but I can take my hatred and with it fuel the creative force within me, to harness the destructive anger that dwells within. Let it not be the joy of creation but the foul spirit of wrath that fuels these hands that write, so long the results are... perfect.

[--] Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,
Receive thy new possessor--one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
-John Milton

Olin juuri päässyt kirjallisuushistorian luennolta ja istuin bussissa tekemässä myöhäisiä muistiinpanoja, kun matkani keskeytti avulias ja virkaintoinen bussikuski, joka kelpo työmiehen tavoin näki tarpeelliseksi viivästyttää koko matkaseuruetta ja omaa vaivaa säästämättä nilkutti luokseni bussin perälle, ohjeistaen minua ystävällisesti ostamaan seutulipun tai painumaan vittuun Espooseen suuntaavasta bussistaan.

En suinkaan puolusta tässä pummilla ja varkain matkustamista, sillä senttien kanssa kitsastelu ja järjestyssääntöjen tahallinen rikkominen ovat auttamattomasti hyvien tapojen vastaista, eikä mikään määrä kauniita tai karkeita sanoja voi muuttaa sitä todellisuutta, että kauppias on oikeutettu saamaan tarjoamistaan palveluista määräämänsä hinnan jonka asiakas on puolestaan velvoitettu maksamaan, tai hylkäämään ostoaikeensa. Kuitenkaan en voi väittää toistaiseksi tavannut yhtäkään niin vastenmielistä ja luontaantyöntävää julkisen palvelun edustajaa, kuin keskivertoiset bussikuskit.

Kenties loputtomat työtunnit huonosti palkatussa ja yleisesti halveksitussa virassa, roudan raiskaaman maantien jatkuvasti tärisyttäen tulehtuneina sykkiviä peräpukamia ja matkustamosta ikuisesti raikuva räkänokkaisten leikki-ikäisten kiljunta ja itku saavat kuljettajat lopulta vihaamaan työtään, itseään ja koko ihmiskuntaa. Onhan tällainen palveluammatti kurageenisten ojankaivajien suora perintö nykyisille ammattitaidottomille kuskeille.

Jos ihmiseltä ei ole oikeaan ja vaativaan työhön jolla on tarkoitus ja mikäli häneltä ei löydy rikkolliseen elämään vaadittavaa nokkeluutta ja uskallusta, sitokoon hän kiveksensä kuminauhoilla kuolioksi ja siirtyköön kuljettajan kittämättömään virkaan, jonka ainoat vaatimukset ovat kyky seurata valmiiksi laadittua reittiä, ymmärry vasemman ja oikean erosta ja lahjakkuus tunnistaa punainen valo vihreästä.

Työ kuin työ ei itsessään tee tekijästään idioottia, sillä elantonsa on kunkin ansaittava parhaan kykynsä mukaan ja vain onnettomat tyhjäntoimittajat jäävät mitään tekemättömiksi ja muiden elätettäväksi, mutta uskoisin itsetutkiskelun hetken koittavan jokaiselle, joka löytää itsensä työskentelemässä samassa kastissa kuin lukutaidottomat maahanmuuttajat, vähälahjaiset alkoholistit ja vapaan kasvatuksen saaneet simpanssit ja vielä joutuvansa kinastelemaan taskurahoista kaltaisteni kusipäisten siivellä eläjien kanssa yön pimeinä tunteina.

On siis syytä kiittää näitä yölinjojen valkoritareita, maanteiden sankareita ja raskaan työn raatajia, jotka silmä kovana valvovat yleistä järjestystä syksyn synkistämillä reiteillä. He uhraavat pikkurahasta oman henkisen ja fyysisen terveytensä vain saattaakseen kuljetusavun sitä tarvitseville matkalaisille ja hylkäävät kaiken turhan kunnianhimon ja itsekunnioituksen, vain kantaakseen muiden ihmisten taakkoja. He ovat niitä sankareita, joita Helsinki tarvitsee, mutteivät niitä, joita Helsinki haluaa.

"He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man."
-Samuel Johnson

I was wandering about, my head full of alcohol, my veins pumping with caffein, my lungs filled with nicotine and my stomach satiated with fructose. I drowned, suffocated and choked, willingly taking the lethal injection again and again and again, forever, amen. A small insect flew to me, landing on my half eaten apple seeking the source of sweet odour promising everything it needed, yet providing only a sticky trap of fruits juice and my saliva mixed together and slowly dripping to the ground.

The youngest of three little pigs built his house of flesh of men. He struck the strong bones deep to the soil, wrapped meat around it and tied it all together with tendons capable of carrying the weight of it all. He added glands and blood to provide everything his house needed and for a while he was happy, resting his head on the tender surface of the brain and listening to the rhytmic beat of giantific heart in his bedroom.

Come out, come out, little piggy, or I will huff and I will puff and I will blow your house down. The house of flesh was struck with cellular death of aging, tendons snapped and grew weary, bones crumbled to dust, blood flowed in dark red rivers and glands grew poisonous as the little piggy was crushed under his falling house.

The second of three little pigs built his house of complex chemical molecules and electricity between nerves. He found the balance between serotonin, dopamine and norepinephrine, he mixed in adrenaline, pregabalin and mirtazapine, just to see how the potion reacted. Lightning struck and gave his house emotion and sensation. Balance and harmony was settled in the aftermath of mind and for a while he was happy, warming his hooves in warm bile and sipping the electro-chemical drink of his making.

Come out, come out, little piggy, or I will huff and I will puff and I will blow your house down. The house of mind was struck with inbalance between substances, causing unforseeable consequences, the nerves shot wildly incomprehendable misinformation to eachother like wild thunderstorm dying soon after frying the second little piggy and leaving his body to dissolve in acidic pool of dark alchemy.

The third and the oldest of the three little pigs built his house in astral plane of ideas. He built the fence from philosophy and garden from psychology, he raised an ivory tower from religion and lighted it up with free will, so that it would shine brightly through the dark empty space as a beacon of hope for all those who seek meaning in life. He added symbols as decoration and armed himself with reason and truth and for a while, the eldest of three little piggies lived happily, bascing in the light of metaphysical wisdom.

Come out, come out, little piggy, or I will huff and I will puff and I will blow your house down. The house of ideas was brittled in the onslaught of doubt, wisdom and intelligence became unable to fulfill their only purpose, destroying all that they stood for. The ivory tower of religion sank deep in to the ground and all the symbols it bore lost their shimmering light in meaningless night, driving the last little piggy in to a suicidal depression and left him bleeding out in his own hypocritical pool of selfrighteous blood.

As I stared at the trapped insect, flapping its tiny wings unable to lift itself from the trap, I realised that its whole life rested in my hand. With one crude move of my perversly giantic finger I could liberate this being from the unfortunate events that took place in my palm. I had reached the Olympus and invaded the house of gods! An act of free will! To be free to create a chance for convicted lifeform, to break the laws of nature and the universe itself! To rise up, ascend to heavens by the smallest gesture that breaks down the chains of mortality! To be free! Halleluja!

I ate the apple and the insect with it, cunningly deceiving myself of ever noticing such being and the events that took place, for I can no longer tell where my chains and slavecollar end and where I beging. I've been blindfolded and whipped, stripped of any humanity, tortured, maimed, bruised and crucified, hanged, shot, suffocated, injected and electrocuted for so many times and so many ways that there is no other form for me to excist, outside the suffering of my flesh, the suffering of my mind and the suffering of my soul.

This is the body of christ, broken for you, take and eat.

Älä alistu! -kampanja on Suomen vanhimman ja suurimman kristillisen nuortenlehden lanseeraama mediatempaus, joka lyhyessä ajassa iski lisää hiiltä jo sammuvaan homokeskusteluun ja uudelleenherätteli kansan syviä rivejä eroamaan kirkosta virvoitetulla tarmolla. Vaikka Nuotan sivuilta saatiinkin jo samana päivänä lukea julkikuvan kiilottelua ja vakuuttelua kampanjan tarkoituksen olevan nuorten rohkaiseminen pohtimaan itsenäisesti asioita yleisestä mielipiteestä välittämättä, näkee sokea kepilläänkin kampanjan pyrkivän täysin päinvastaiseen.

Kerta toisensa perään Nuotan sivuilla rohkaistaan nuoria olemaan taipumatta ryhmäpaineen, valtamedian ja yhteiskunnan painostuksen alla. Kun moderni inhimillisiin arvoihin perustuva yhteiskunta pyrkii kitkemään ennakkoluuloja ja rohkaisemaan ihmisiä hyväksymään itsensä ja muut, nousee barrikaadeille kristittyjen rintama orjantappurakruunuun sonnustautuneena julistamaan ilosanomaa: Täällä on vielä saareke, jossa Pimeä Keskiaika elää, täällä uskotaan Jumalan sanaan, sana on tosi ja sana sanoo homouden olevan väärä synnillinen perversio!

Avainasemassa Nuotan kampanjassa on Annin Tarina, jossa nuori tyttö kertoo avoimesti kamppailustaan biseksuaalista luonnettaan vastaan ja joka lopulta löysi rukouksen voimalla vanhurskaan heteron itsestään. Kymmenminuuttisen videon aikana Anni 20v. paljastaa etsineensä teini-ikäisenä seksuaali-identiteettiään ja kannattaneensa homoseksuaalien tasa-arvoista kohtelua, kunnes "näki rukouksessa pyhän hengen", jätti vanhan elämänsä ja lähti seuraamaan Jeesusta. Kun seurakunnassa opetettiin raamatullista taivalta, syttyi Anniin halu löytää Jumalan luoma, taivaassa valettu, puhdas heteroseksuaalinen identiteetti.

Annin tarina ei kuitenkaan ole taivaallinen lihaksi tullut ihme, vaan surullinen tarina hämmentyneen lapsen taistelusta teini-iän haasteita vastaan. Se on tarina jumalallisesta väliintulosta, tehokkaasta aivopesusta, syyllistämisestä ja henkisestä väkivallasta. Vastuullinen aikuinen olisi voinut kertoa Annille homoseksuaalisten halujen olevan normaali ja harmiton osa ohimenevää teini-iän kehitysvaihetta, mutta paikallinen kristittyjen piiri demonisoi Annin epävarman identiteetin antaen tilalle seurakunnalle kelpaavan arjalaisen kiiltokuvamallin. Videon lopussa Annilta kysytään mitä hän haluaisi sanoa samojen ongelmien kanssa painiville nuorille ja Anni tarjoaa lohdutusta toivoen että nuori:

1. Pystyy hyväksymään itsensä sellaisena kuin on, on sitten homo- tai biseksuaali
2. Viedä itsensä Jumalan eteen
3. Luottaa Jumalaan ja hyväksyy sen, että homo- ja biseksuaalin on muututtava.

Älä alistu! on kaksiteräinen miekka kristilliselle kampanjalle, jonka syvin tarkoitus on alistaa kaikki kansat Jumalan eteen. Vastakkain asetellaan sekularisoitunut ja tasa-arvoon pyrkivä humanistinen yhteiskunta ja kivikautinen raamattuun pohjautuva Jumalan teokratia. Paremmin Nuotan kampanjaa kuvaisi nimike "Älä alistu väärin!" - se rohkaisee nuoria hylkäämään kaikki empatian rippeet kanssaihmisiä kohtaan ja omaksumaan luolamiesuskonnon, jossa homoseksuaalisuus on paitsi synti, myös sairaus ja jossa noidat poltetaan roviolla.

Onneksi tällä harmillisella uutisoinnilla on kuitenkin hopeareunus: Kristittyjen arvomaailman julkinen kyseenalaistaminen hätistelee ihmisiä siitä lapsuuden nostalgiasta, jossa Jeesuksen kantava sanoma oli "Rakasta lähimmäistäsi" ja "Tee toisille, niinkuin haluaisit itsellesi tehtävän" ja herätellään siihen todellisuuteen, jossa maallistunut valtakirkko yrittää epätoivoisesti tuppautua tietoyhteiskuntaan, joka ei tarvitse uskontoa, ja jossa kirkkoon turhautuneet kristityt turvautuvat ääriliikehdintään ajaen tehokkaasti täysjärkiset ihmiset kauemmas vettyneestä uskonnollisuudesta.

Älä alistu! -kampanjassa lähdemme siitä, ettei raamatun henkeen pidä mukautua. Haluamme kannustaa ja rohkaista juuri sinua etsimään kestäviä ratkaisuja elämäsi suuriin kysymyksiin lahkolaisuuden ja uskonnolisuuden sijaan sekularismista, materialismista ja moraalifilosofiasta. Kaikkea ei tarvitse oppia kantapään kautta, http://eroakirkosta.fi/

"What do you have to be depressed about?" is a question I often ask myself and to those who wonder about the similar questions I'd like to shed some insight.

If you are a finn like me your whole cultural identity is already fucked up from the start. Finnish nation has evolved rapidly in the last two hundred years with hunger years, several recessions, two major wars and a civil war, planting seeds for alcoholism, domestic violence, suicide, apathy and pessimism. Even though my generation hasn't had to deal with all of these threats, our parents have and their parents before them - passing the influence of the trauma to their children. How do you think a bankrupt and unemployed child of an alcoholic war veteran is going to raise his children?

This is the concrete foundation my generation is built on - and thanks to the sudden burst of technological and economic outburst we have all the luxury the previous generations never had! I have never been rich but unlike my granparents I have never had to add bark to my bread or beg for a coin from a stranger, there's social care to provide me enough for food, shelter and then some! My home is filled with gadgets like electricity, running water and central heating of which my grandparents had none. I have never even seen war let alone march to one or bandage the wounded, I even evaded the army somehow. Surely there can be nothing to whine and weep about?

But I believe this is one of the major things affecting the common mood: I have everything and I have not struggled for anything. The hardships I hear about are from a distant era long before my adulthood and have turned in to campfire ghoststories and like a spoiled princess surrounded with riches of the world I cannot help but to yearn for sight of dragons and chariots. My generation has become one without anything that would give us meaning for excistance nor combining factor to eachother, an unlabeled and blank stain that is fit only for mindless consuming.

My generation is also the very first to truly live in the era of blooming information technology and true globalisation. While the word from Vietnam was reported by radio and the Soviet war in Afganistan was broadcasted on TV the Bombing of Iraq could be spectated live over the internet. Wherever there is conflict, it will be available. Wherever there is suffering, it will be know of. Whoever weeps will be heard and the only solace can be found in total isolation from sivilized world that is both inpractical and impossible. The burden of constant awareness of fellow humans' suffering weights heavily on the shoulders of this internet generation.

War and terrorism aren't the only bad news that can't be silenced. People starve and die of delirious fever all over the world: Some don't have water to drink, others lack food. Poverty drives entire nations to desperate acts of violence against eachother, while the civilized world sturggles with obesity with complete disrecard. Natural disasters wipe hundreds of families and the rest die on diseases, while the rich force ritalin, botox and subutex to the bodies of their children. Endless opportunities wasted, countless lives lost, nothing achieved.

While the protests ravage in Egypt, the common apathy of finnish mentality prevents us from reaching the same manner of activity. In Finland politicians are well known for their inefficiency, corruption and impotence yet somehow we still can't bring ourselves to care enough to do anything about it. In silent submission we allow this land of the blind be led by one-eyed kings, merely grunting occasionally in unsatisfaction then crawling back to our livingrooms to numben our senses with reality TV. No-one else is bothering in this cold north - why should I care?

From these starting points and bearing all that was mentioned before we look in awe the possible paths in life and while I can't speak for more than myself: I'm not amused. I have been told the realities of life but I don't think much of them. To live you have to have a job, to have a job you have to spend two or three decades for education during which you have to take huge loans (if you're not able to find two jobs to work in while studying). When you finally graduate there will always be the looming un-employment factor - and even if you manage to achieve the dream job you spent your youth studying for your salary will be spent on paying back the debt taken to study.

In conclusion, from my point of view, we are the spineless generation who have never had to commit on or fight for anything, spoiled with luxuries from our bitter and incapable parents. There is immense sea of nigh fatal information that even our prepared minds cannot comprehend and with broken minds we are forced by the society to enter the factory line of useless education just to be lost in the deus ex machinae that fuels this plastic nation.