I was exposed to violence while I was still in the womb - my father punched my mother in the stomach while she was pregnant with me.
If I’d been talking about black trash, I might be lynched. If I was talking about white trash, I’d merely be another torchbearer in an ongoing national lynching.
In contrast to how my father treated me, I won't hit him, I won't call him evil, I'll give him affection, and I'll pay attention to him.
Society's only real 'progressives' are the deviants and mutants. Look at evolution - fish who didn't deviate never became amphibians; frogs who didn't mutate never became reptiles; conformist snakes never became mammals , etc. Normal Humans will remain humans, and they'll be subjugated by the digital monsters of the next few millenia.
One of the greatest pleasures I get from my measly professional career is confusing people. "Wait - he beats women and seems like a Nazi, but he has impeccable grammar and keen reasoning skills and sings country music and can, from time to time, say or do something really funny?" It absolutely doesn't compute for them. I enjoy that immensely.
In a perverse way, it's very patriarchal to think that women can't be malicious or violent.
I certainly didn't emerge from prison regretting anything I ever wrote, nor did I feel remorse for my crime in the least.
He who trades his identity for money will one day wind up with neither.
I prefer for a woman's most private of areas to have as much hair as Carlos Santana's entire band, head to toe, circa 1972.
I think that 99% of the snipers who take shots at me from electronic foxholes also realize they could never withstand the sort of public disparagement, nor the revelation of so many personal details, that I've endured for years and still remain as impenitent, obnoxious, and ready to argue all critics into the dirt as I am. I think this also jacks up their hatred level, because they realize they'd never be so strong-willed.
I definitely don't know why men are turned-on by lesbianism.
I could have completely lost my mind or became a junkie or abandoned all sense and judgment and committed some rash, stupid act that would have sent me right back into the cage. Instead, I chose to be happy - but not so much for the sake of happiness as for spite.
My crazy parents and those crazy Catholic nuns didn't do a good job of forcing me to keep the Ten Commandments, but they kept me forever fixated on the very idea of a taboo.
San Francisco, America's B-movie imitation of Paris. San Francisco, the city that ruined punk rock. San Francisco, the most intolerant place in the country.
I'm developing a mild rash at the idea of "plugging" anything, because it's not how I roll.
The leftist drive for control is insatiable.
My hatred is diamond-hard.
A Manhattan lawyer who describes himself as "America`s leading expert on the militia movement" writes that he hugged his three-year-old kid the night of the Oklahoma City bombing. He told junior that it happened "because they hated too much" For now, let`s accept the premise that one hundred sixty-eight humans died in Oklahoma City because people "hated too much" Now answer these questions if you would be so kind: did a federal sniper shoot Vicki Weaver in the face because he hated too much? Did our government conduct the Tuskegee with syphilis on black soldiers because it hated too much?
To think that humans evolved from lower species BUT the evolutionary process somehow came to a halt and we all arrived at the finish line simultaneously is to embrace a fiction possibly more implausible than Christianity.
I'm more muscular than I was in my younger days. My biceps and shoulders, especially.
You have to be careful because those feelings and bitterness can take over and consume in a bad way.
Different groups in different areas developed different traits to assure their survival.
I've noticed that if you spend ten years without shooting dope, people consider you an ex-junkie, but one never is considered an 'ex-woman-beater.'
I never want to think or write about the topic again when I'm finished with it.
One of the greatest pleasures I get from my measly professional career is confusing people.
There's a reason the Third World came in third.
People huddle together in doctrinaire herds, and the same jackasses who, without the slightest risk, now scream against racism are the same conformist personality types who would have carried torches in lynch mobs a century ago.
Here's an easy one: "Race is an entirely social construct." No, it's partially one, depending on how any given society seeks to define it and its implications. But there are basic things such as skin color and hair texture. Even a Martian who'd had no exposure to human "social constructs" would be able to spot those differences. But no Martian, as hard as he tried, could point at a "culture" or to "equality." Those are the social constructs. Those can't be measured in the same way as human DNA.
What's good and bad, sweet spirit, are in the eye of the beholder.
Anyone who's ever had the misfortune of seeing me interact with house pets knows I have a wickedly strong paternal instinct bordering on the maternal.
"Liberating" is a gay word, so let's phrase it this way: I know everything about me and still manage to be good friends with myself, so nothing anyone says that's truthful about me ever bothers me.
Equality is a nice idea, but it's entirely impossible to prove.
My oldest brother was stabbed thirty to forty times and strangled to death with his own belt when I was eight years old. Much of my life has been pockmarked with violence. So I had a natural interest in the topic, along with a strong home-field advantage.
Beware of anyone who calls you bad names merely for asking honest questions. Beware of anyone who insists on reframing your sincere curiosity as a character defect. Beware of anyone who questions your motives while ignoring your facts. When someone calls you bad names merely for asking questions, it suggests they know the answer but are terrified to admit it.
Nowadays, you suffer the same risks - ostracism, career loss, possible assault - for being perceived as racist that you would have encountered a century ago for daring to question racist ideology.
One day scientists will more fully understand the chemistry and neuro-circuitry that differentiates love from lust. I couldn't begin to explain the mechanics, but I know that they feel differently.
I'll hit anyone who's seriously threatening my life... that's what happened, and that's what sent me to prison.
Whenever I visit an industrialized nation that isn't the United States, it immediately becomes apparent how much more educated and informed and aware of international events their citizens are compared to Americans.
The average human's fundamental project is to find someone else to blame for their problems.
The idea of "karma" reeks of primitive religious superstition, so I don't place a lot of stock in it.
You could paper the globe with evidence that there are demonstrable cognitive and physical disparities between what are crudely called human "races." But you could fit all the evidence of innate equality on your pinkie fingernail with room to spare.
I've never had a meth habit, I don't walk around naked, and unless I'm actively provoked, I'm generally polite and well-spoken.
Show me pornography which promotes violence against women, and I'll buy it.
People can be so heartless and dirty.
In my long, long years toiling around the publishing industry, I've found that women simply don't stick to the writing with the same fervor that men do.
The criticism that has most consistently bothered me is the allegation that I'm a schlockmeister whose only objective is to shock people.
It's very odd to observe someone else taking your identity into their own hands and getting it all wrong. I don't think most people will ever get to experience how truly weird it is.
Most of those who spend their lives as critics secretly wish they'd be considered important enough for someone to bother criticizing them.
Hatespeak is usually more honest than lovespeak, and it's always better than doublespeak.
You truly need to witness me goo-gooing and coo-cooing and making up goofy little songs to glean a full appreciation of how nauseating I can be. This is another instance where things seemingly don't add up - how can this vile, hateful, violent, misogynist, racist, loathsome, repugnant, worthless, reprehensible subhuman be so insanely tender and kind to little doggies and kitty-cats?
I still partially suffer from the delusion that if you explain things logically and systematically, most people will abandon their emotional prejudices and respond to logic. But I don't suffer from that delusion as wholeheartedly as I did in the past. So if there's a fundamental difference, it's that I've accepted the fact that most imbeciles will never 'get' me and I shouldn't allow myself to get so upset about it.
My hatred is a thousand times more powerful than all your good intentions.
It was simultaneously refreshing and a bit shocking to see how cavalierly most Aussies toss out slurs and insults about nonwhites.
Homosexuality is genetically hardwired but race and gender are only ideas. OK. Just trying to keep up.
Though your major media kept smacking me upside the head with the word "multicultural," you goddamned Australians are the most racist bunch of people I've ever seen in my life.
Governments throughout the English-speaking sphere are creating and then ratcheting the torque on "hate-speech" laws with frightening eagerness.
I don't regret any of my transgressions, because I believe I paid for them a million times over.
A primary flaw in my psychology is that I'll give people a hundred yards' worth of rope with which to hang themselves, but once they reach that hundred-yard line, I strangle them to death with it.
I don't think it's entirely paranoid to suspect that one day, you won't be able to so much as question the primary tenets of anti-racism without going to jail.
As I view it, spending over two years in a cage is far worse than having your face pounded and dealing with a black eye for a week or two.
I can't tell you how many times people - through the anonymity and safety of the Internet, of course - have told me 'You beat women' as if it was an ongoing, daily thing. The only person ever brave enough to say it to my face quickly surrendered his courage when I said, 'Would you like to step outside and see if I can beat men, too?'
Plenty of people have bad divorces, but few of them end up with cancer, imprisonment, and public scorn. In the dark, rolling, treacherous wake of that sunken ship, the last thing I sought was a "relationship" or, heaven forbid, marriage.
What you accomplish in life is limited only by your imagination and the fear of reprisal. Life is too fleeting and unrewarding to have to live with the added anus of indignity. The denial of one's inevitable demise is what causes most of the astringent blandness in the world. When your existence ends most certainly in death, there is no such thing as 'going too far'. There are no 'lines' you should fear to cross except the finish line. Playing it safe is the most dangerous thing you could do.
There were people whom I considered friends or loved ones who either abandoned me or betrayed me in ways I'd never have suspected. But there were others who had been barely acquaintances of mine whose loyalty and efforts on my behalf made me realize that not everyone was as inherently rotten as I'd previously believed. So it caused a violent split in my view of humanity - people turned out to be far worse and far better than I'd ever dreamed possible.
Many of the racial problems in America are caused by the fact that people are innately tribal, and politicians know how to exploit that biological fact.
I believe that to some degree there are situational and psychological laws of cause-and-effect, but I don't believe there's some Über-soul who doles out "justice."
Hatred is the air I breathe. It permeates every cell in my body.
I'm alive, happier than I've ever been, and I'm doing exactly what I want.
When I see two women kissing, my only physical reaction is a strong desire to vomit in both of their mouths.
If anything, I've probably tended more toward humor in my writing and veered more toward pleasure in my personal life.
I've realized there are far more efficient and devastating methods of disturbing people than merely sloshing around in the pigpen with obvious, profane, scatological, flat-brained, grade-school offensiveness.
I think my sense of humor is Jewish. I'm smarter than most white people, which is kind of a Jewish thing, too.
What are a genuine pain in the ass are all the misconceptions and outright lies. I read somewhere that in 2004 I was homeless in Seattle and drinking heavily, which came as a shock since I've never been homeless and haven't had a drink since 1982. I've also heard SEVERAL times that I'm a card-carrying member of several white-supremacist groups, when the last group I belonged to was the Boy Scouts.
More than most, I believe I'm highly attuned to how heresies eventually become mainstream belief systems and how the vast majority of people who consider themselves 'edgy' are those who only embraced radical ideas LONG after it became safe for them to do so.
I don't believe that human ethnic groups are equal, and I believe that's fairly easy to prove.
I didn't see much besides Melbourne and a quick trip down to the Twelve Apostles, but all the Aussies I encountered were good-spirited and had a fine sense of humor.
Have you ever taken a sober look at any of the mutants who run these Hollywood-gossip sites? What a crew! None of them could ever, ever be stars, which is why they're always trying to "take the piss" from those they envy.
It amazes me that some people who ordinarily can recognize autocratic bullying, tacky sloganeering, and - especially - camp value are unable to spot it in this Hate Scare that grips the Western world.
It's not exactly courageous to be an anti-racist these days; a hundred years ago, it was.
What's absolutely impossible to prove is the idea of innate and everlasting equality.
I don't think fatherhood's changed me so much as it's conjured protective instincts I've had all along.
I write to please myself.
Unlike the vast majority of people, I've been locked in a box like an animal and I've also been on the receiving end of bloody thrashings, so I feel uniquely qualified to judge which is worse.
the fact that they stole their whole shtick from Woody Guthrie and the coal-mining bards. While the alternative nation meows about personal fashion angst, the Appalachian nation still sings about unemployment.
I tend not to hang with 'the crowd' because I believe that at any given moment in history, the crowd is only standing somewhere because some lone, brave nutjob broke down the walls for them first.
A lot of people expend great time and effort explaining why they don't like me, but none of them ever try to explain why their opinion should matter to me. I think most of them sense, but would never be brave enough to admit, their subordinate role in the food chain relative to me.
When I write, I strain with every wizened fibre of my weathered frame to analyze every possible angle of any given subject.
Negative opinions about me don't faze me unless I respect the person giving the opinion, which is rare. And if it's someone I respect, I usually take heed of what they're saying. But if I don't respect them, which I usually don't, what's the point?
I believe "human sexuality" is one of the most ridiculous aspects of being a human, and here I was, facing publications whose prevailing editorial slant sought to portray our basic rutting instincts as something "ennobling" and "empowering," to depict women who were fundamentally whores and predominantly unstable as "sex workers" and "goddesses."
The idea that the reader is important enough to me that I'd tailor my words to either please or offend them always seems amusingly alien to me.
I'm arrogant enough to tell you that I'm smart enough to have scored higher on my Scholastic Aptitude Test than any US president whose SAT score has been made public. I even scored higher than ex-presidential candidate Al Gore, whose SAT score was so high, it was deemed as potentially off-putting to voters.
Anti-racist propaganda is relentless and inescapable, as if the propagandists fear that if they shut up about it for a second, they'd instantly become racists themselves.
I'm the only convict who couldn't get into Australia.
I'll argue anyone into the dust when it comes to facts.
I think that any time a person comes face-to-face with their own mortality - close enough to Death that they can smell its breath - they have a choice: 1) Fall to pieces; 2) Reassemble yourself and keep walking.
When you're indiscriminate in allowing people to post, the loudest and emptiest voices invariably drown out everyone else.
Mind you, I live in an area of Atlanta that is nearly 88% black. But in six days in and around Melbourne, I saw maybe three people of African origin and maybe one easily identifiable Australian aborigine.
The vegan diet is obviously lacking whatever essential nutrient it is that makes people likeable.
I'm still an obsessive personality, and I still think I'm right, and I still believe my literary balls hang far lower than nearly anyone else's alive.
