EcoPunk #71

    The land out here has finally shed its winter coat. Spring has arrived. The hemlocks are shooting out their tiny little conelets of day glow yellow. The licorice ferns are retreating back from their marvelous winter forms, patiently awaiting the cold rain of fall that signals their spring. The rivers are beginning to swell with ocean bound snow-melt. The ungulates (deer and elk) are making their annual journeys uphill following the snowline in search of succulent spring greens. The first waves of Chinook are starting to filter up from the sea to the sweetwater spawning grounds of their birth streams. Beltane is loitering just over the horizon and as every good pagan knows, Spring is a time of birth, a time of renewal, a time to savor every last drop of life coursing through your soy clogged veins.
    This Spring is a special one for all of us in the scene. Since the Christian calendar flipped over to 2002 four months ago, the fragility of humyn life has been rubbed in our fucking faces over and over. In January one of our best and brightest jumped off a fucking bridge. In February two well loved people were killed in a car crash. In March my friend's mother, a vegetarian hippie who lived on an organic farm and practiced yoga every day, dropped dead one day without warning leaving six kids and a new born baby behind. And last Friday, a dear forest activist here fell out of a tree at the Eagle Creek Tree Sit in Oregon
and died.
    Our existence here on Earth, contrary to the habitual comfort we've established with living, is subject to immediate nullification. We are all going to die. For some of us, it will be in the next few years by tragic accident or suicide. For others, it will be sickness and injury. For still others, it will be old age. There is no telling when the sweet call of death will yank us out of this world and propel us into whatever the hell lies beyond. It could be two minutes from now or it could be 100 years.
    Punks, like the rest of the Judeo-Christian world, have become so enmeshed in distraction, consumption and their requisite work that we have all but forgotten about death, the one thing that all humyns, indeed all living things everywhere, will find inevitable and inescapable. Our politics have followed Christian thought patterns that attempt to elevate humyns out of the cycles of life and death who govern every living thing on this Earth. We bury our heads in dead ideologies like anarchism and fake metaphysics like veganism that delude us into thinking ourselves above the Earth, above the fact that every living thing kills to survive and is in turn killed for the survival of others. Humyns, even vegan humyns, annihilate billions and billions of living things, from the plants and animals we eat to all those that are killed by the toxic processes that bring us such things as vegan margarine and electricity. We in turn, will be killed by viruses and bacteria. The enzymes and bacteria already present in your stomach, will begin eating your cold dead ass the moment life slips out of your eyes. They in turn will be consumed by other micro-organisms in the soil which somewhere down the line, after dozens and dozens of nutrient
cycles, will be consumed again by another humyn. No matter how clean and goddamn pure we all think ourselves, we, being every living thing on this earth, share the same nutrients, the same minerals, the same will to survive and the same inevitability of death. Like it or not, part of you was around during the times of dinosaurs. Part of you was a rotten piece of mammoth. Part of you was a little baby born 3000 years ago. Everything on this planet is interconnected and until humyns craft a way to create life without raw materials, we will forever be bound to the cycles of life, death, and decomposition.
    Me? I find these cycles beautiful. Sexy even. I thirst for the day my body, bad tattoos and all, will be eaten by fish and birds and nameless little organisms. I get all hot and bothered thinking about my rotten flesh nurturing Darlingtonia and Rubus species. I love sitting around watching the sun plummet down while my mind races about all the different things I will be after I die. My eyeballs will be eaten by vultures who will die in some out of the way mountain crag where they will be eaten by little bacteria who will release nitrogen into the tiny nuggets of soil that nurture lupines and mosses to life in some of the most rugged, hostile territory found anywhere. My blood will fertilize dirt from which more life will rise. These thoughts, while at first a bit humbling as I realize that I am not singularly powerful or even significant in the scale of the Earth, soon fill me with a sense of omnipotence. I am part of Life on Earth, the biggest, toughest gang going. I, or at least the random conglomeration of nutrients that is me, will be around forever, or at least until a nuclear holocaust fuses us all into sterile shards of glass. It is an immense emotional and philosophical relief to be freed from the bullshit Christian fear of death. The deep sense of community I feel with all living things on this Earth has more than replaced my infantile need for some bullshit afterlife with harps and fundamentalist assholes floating around on clouds. Me? I'd rather stay here and rot in the kingdom I know and love, Earth.
    In the meantime, I am stoked to be alive. I look at every day I am alive as living on borrowed time, a time I should make the most out of while I still can. And to be honest with you, I think this love of life and the land that supports it is the best ideology going for anyone interested in making the world a better place. There is no reason for the emotional and spiritual estheticism that is so prevalent in the punk-tivist scene. There is no reason to be so damn serious all the time, fretting our lives away while beautiful sunsets and flowers and plants are awaiting us. There is no sense squandering our short time on this beautiful ball of explosive hydrogen and oxygen by worrying about what other people are doing. Why spend even a moment talking shit when there are new friends to be made, yummy food to be eaten, rewarding gardens to be grown and passionate sex to be had? Why spend even a dime on another silly anarchist textbook about shit that happened so long ago it is only theoretically applicable to the world when we can be out in the woods, deserts, oceans or plains studying life unfettered by industrialized death culture? Why spend even another second arguing about a revolution that any sentient person can tell you ain't gonna happen when you could be curled up on a cliff watching the moon rise or kissing some beautiful person softly under a dark sky? Life is too short to piss it away on Christian bullshit. Get out there and enjoy it like the biological heathens you are. Savor its smells and its sights and the touch of wonderful things against your all too temporary skin. Cherish the orgy of life as though it is going to end tomorrow. Love life as long as you can, no telling when it will draw to a dramatic close.

mike antipathy
po box 11703 • eugene, or 97440
541.554.0922 • antipathy@morelos.com

PS- If you have written me since 2001 and haven't gotten a zine or a response, it's 'cuz some tweakers busted into my truck and stole a whole bunch of shit, including ALL of my mail from the past year. Please drop me another line so I can write you back or send you a zine. Peace.