Comic-Con 2011 hosted a panel discussion featuring rising star Jason Momoa. He portrays a medieval warlord in the television series Game of Thrones and jokingly commented that one of the joys of sci-fi/fantasy television was the opportunity to “rip someone’s throat out and rape beautiful women”. The comment was both idiotic and insensitive.  And the audience roared with laughter.

I’ve watched the clip on Youtube several times and find it more troubling with each viewing. Because Mr. Momoa’s poor choice of words and the strange laughter that followed only served to remind me of a nauseating fact; we live in a rape culture. If I were to take leave of my senses and tell a rape joke in a room with only five women, according to statistics, one of those women would be a rape survivor. So clearly, there were several victims of rape present in that Comic-Con audience.

I’m hardly surprised that most men fail to understand the horror of rape. Objectification and dehumanization of women is part and parcel of many cultures all over the world and has been since the beginning of time. I’m far more confused by the thoughts and actions of many women. Consider the fact that not one woman was courageous enough to boo or heckle Mr. Momoa for his comment. And the audience laughter sadly seemed more boisterous than nervous. Strange indeed.

Strange also, the number of women I’ve met over the years who genuinely enjoy Stanley Kubrick’s “masterpiece”, A Clockwork Orange. I distinctly remember the gleeful ad campaign that described the film as “Being the adventures of a young man whose principle interests are rape, ultra-violence and Beethoven”. I’ve seen the film only once. Once was more than enough. Whenever I find myself in discussions about pornography, I use A Clockwork Orange as the most obvious and odious example. Anything that gloriously sexualizes sexual assault the way that film does is most surely pornographic. Alex, the “rapist/hero” of the film is generally considered to be a pop culture icon. It’s bad enough to see men dressed as “droogs” for Halloween, but when I also see women dressed as those rapists, it makes me want to puke. But it also reminds me that we live in a rape culture.

Perhaps the most incomprehensible example can be found in the beloved soap opera, General Hospital. Most women (and many men) are well acquainted with the tender love story of Luke and Laura, a story often referred to as one of the greatest love stories of all time. Even the grand dame of television herself, Oprah Winfrey, once hosted a special “reunion” to celebrate the cultural phenomenon that was Luke and Laura. And it really was a cultural phenomenon. For those unfamiliar with the basic plotline, Luke raped Laura, they fell in love, got married and lived happily ever after. Truly, the ultimate fairy tale for a rape culture.

One need not be a woman to be horrified by rape. And clearly, one need not be a man to find it unobjectionable. The larger, more important issue is this. As long as our culture continues to treat rape as anything other than the horror it is, it will never go away. And history will continue to repeat itself as the headlines continue to scream.

Anything is possible.

The founding fathers of Las Vegas considered themselves businessmen. And though most of them lacked a formal education, they could have taught business in universities. Their curriculum would have included classes like extortion, loansharking, drug running, the sex trade, murder for hire… crime business. And because violence was an essential part of the way in which they conducted business, they were highly successful indeed. These businessmen built both the city and the concept of Las Vegas. They built Las Vegas with the money and their mentality. Consider the implications. Las Vegas was constructed with the profits of criminal enterprise, money literally imprinted with fear, exploitation, violence and death. Sin City sparkles like a neon oasis in the desert, but that image is a mirage. The real Las Vegas is a dark and toxic town, built by ruthless predators with blood stained money. Las Vegas is most surely cursed, so…

Anything is possible.

Las Vegas is the modern headquarters for a new and very different mob element. Criminal entrepreneurs… both human and demon… they lurk and work in the shadows. Secretly advancing their sinister agenda, remaking Sin City into an international crime capital and the capstone of an evil pyramid. The new mob are practitioners of dark, arcane arts. They well understand the astonishing occult significance of Las Vegas.

Las Vegas is a city of sin, built on the most unlikely of locations… the holy ground of the desert… making Sin City a uniquely spiritual destination. It’s a highly energized nexus where powerful, opposing forces collide… the profane and the sacred, the negative and the positive, the dark and the light. When these forces collide, they explode and Las Vegas is the epicenter of the cosmic blast. The power of the blast blows a hole in the fabric we call “reality”, resulting in the creation of an inter-dimensional gate. This explains many of the supernatural occurrences for which Las Vegas is so legendary. Because a pathway enables explorers from other dimensions to enter our world. Explorers like angels, demons, or the best example being the so-called extra-terrestrials. In plain terms, the entire city of Las Vegas is a door.

Like many explosions, the cosmic blast is accompanied by fallout. And Las Vegas is saturated with fallout in the form of a powerful, supernatural energy. This energy is “Vegas Magic” and it manifests its power in many ways. It’s an aphrodisiac that stimulates the senses and heightens pleasure. It’s a tornado that dismantles the mind, making it difficult to think clearly and rationalize coherently. But most of all, Vegas Magic is a maximizer because it intensifies whatever it touches. Consider the implications.

People come to Las Vegas with hope. But they also come with addictive personalities, predatory mentalities and a host of other demons. Vegas Magic magnifies these demons and the results are usually disastrous. There’s a reason why Sin City is the crash and burn capital of the world. It’s called Vegas Magic.

Las Vegas is a very dangerous place, especially for the weak. But for those with self control and personal power, Las Vegas is a place of enormous potential. Particularly for those with spiritual gifts and esoteric knowledge. Mystics, shaman and magicians tap into Vegas Magic and manipulate it. For them, Las Vegas is a supernatural palette on which to paint possibilities. The will is the wand.

Las Vegas is a city of sin built with blood money on holy ground. It’s a doorway to other dimensions. It’s a mystical cauldron brimming with magic. It’s also the Disneyland of the damned. Las Vegas is a place where literally…

Anything is possible.

Las Vegas is the world of Raven Diablo.

Raven Diablo is the story of a very dark superhero, both in skin color and in temperament. She’s the physical embodiment of Kali’s righteous rage. As a result, Raven is a vicious killer, but no one dies who’s not supposed to.

My novel initially grew out of my belief that modern society is in desperate need of heroes. Heroes are crucial for the health of a society. How a society defines the word hero is reflective of the mental health of that society. Judging from the so-called heroes of contemporary society, it’s clear we’re living in a brain damaged world.

But what to do about it? I’ve always loved the expression, “Be the change you want to see”. As an artist, I’ve adapted it to “Create the change you want to see”, and with that desire in mind, I wrote Raven Diablo: Agent of Kali. Though Raven is very much the star of the show, there are several heroic figures in the book. And each one embodies what I feel to be are heroic characteristics. Heroes need not be flesh and blood in order to be influential. Joseph Campbell’s work certainly articulated and illuminated the power of myth.

Raven Diablo: Agent of Kali is heroic fiction, my humble but well meaning attempt to both destroy and redefine the modern notions of heroism.

There are usually no real heroes in film noir; if the participants possess any moral fiber at all, it’s always shabby, tattered and unraveling. Film noir heroes are typically amoral losers obsessed with sex and money, obsessions that drive them to madness and murder. Al Roberts, the hero of Detour, is actually a decent guy by noir standards. He’s still a loser though, a cynical, wise cracking, world weary piano player in love with the singer in his band. When she heads off to Hollywood in search of fame and fortune, he follows after her, and it’s a decision that seals his DOOM. The cruel hand of fate soon lovingly and systematically slaps the shit out of this poor sap, right up to the final moment of the film. Al doesn’t really deserve the preposterously bad hand he’s been dealt, which makes Detour more pitiful than other noir films.

Tom Neal gives a nuanced performance as Al, subtly transforming from cocksure cynic to cowering coward with ease. You truly feel his mounting helplessness as the merciless noose slowly tightens around his neck. Neal is a joy to watch, but Detour clearly belongs to his costar, a remarkable actress with the most appropriate name… Ann Savage. Savage portrays Vera, giving a performance that belongs in the Bitch Queen Hall of Fame. Cinema history is filled with bitches with varying levels of venom, but what makes Savage so noteworthy is the dimensionality of her performance. Bitch performances tend to be of the one note variety, more an excuse for chewing scenery than character exploration. Not so with Savage’s Vera. Vera is a despicable bitch to be sure, but she’s also a frightened child, a scorned woman, a conniving hustler and a raging lunatic. And she’s even sexy too. Vera is a multi-dimensional bitch and Savage plays every aspect with virtuosic skill, making Vera a fascinating and formidable femme fatale. Aside from her acting chops, Ann Savage has a presence that burns a hole in the screen. It’s unfortunate she never achieved the fame she deserves.

Detour was directed by Edgar Ulmer. It’s clear from the meager production quality that this project was strapped for cash. And yet, it never feels lacking in any way. Ulmer still manages to throw in a few stylistic flourishes that hint at what he could have achieved with more money. A skilled director, Ulmer shoots with a unobtrusive style that allows the story to unfold and the performances to take center stage.

For anyone who has heard the term film noir and wondered what it was all about, may I suggest you veer off the safe, well lit cinematic highway and make a Detour. But be prepared for a dark journey.

As a musician, I’m perplexed by a phenomenon I began to notice a few years ago. There are vast numbers of musicians who can’t play instruments very well. In fact, many successful musical artists don’t play instruments at all since it’s possible to compose and perform entirely with a computer and nothing else. There’s a different beat in the air (a drum machine), and the music on top of that beat was probably sampled/stolen from music made many years ago. And on the rare occasions when you do hear an actual instrument being played, the skill level is usually marginal at best. These are sweeping generalizations to be sure. But look around, and more importantly, listen for yourselves. The facts ring loud and clear.

So what happened? Musical talent, like other kinds of talent these days, is often times optional. Modern celebrity culture has obviously been a major contributor to the existing situation. It’s not really necessary to be proficient in anything in order to achieve fame an fortune. Old school musical skill required long hours of lessons, sacrifice, and of course, practice, practice, practice. In this day and age, why even bother? It’s a very good question indeed.

For those few that still play traditional instruments, there’s another problem that needs to be addressed. There’s the tendency for many modern musicians to dismiss the artists that came before them. There was a time when musicians actively studied the music of past masters like aspiring painters in museums copying Michaelangelo, Rembrandt and Picasso. Many modern musicians often feel that studying past masters somehow inhibits musical growth and personal style. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Studying masters is the one sure path to mastery in any discipline, musical or otherwise. Dismissal of masters is stupidity that leads to what we see around us; a dumbed down society, filled with the talentless rich and famous and the sheeple that emulate them.

I have a degree in philosophy. But I’m not bragging. Far from it. Because if life had a rewind button, there would be a different piece of paper hanging on my Mom’s living room wall. The wall might even be bare. Now, in retrospect, I often wonder how I ended up in the philosophy department in the first place. Aside from smoking too much dope at the time, I suppose I was searching for TRUTH. Unfortunately, I never found it studying philosophy. Most of the ideas felt too complicated. Needlessly complicated. I wondered if some of the so called great philosophers made their ideas impenetrable on purpose; as a way of making their thoughts seem heavier than they really were. Nonsense often passes for depth, politics, law and religion being the most obvious examples.

The university I attended was highly respected for its philosophy department. Unfortunately, the school offered only one class in Eastern Philosophy, the one class I was really interested in. And naturally, I was never able to take the class because it was always full. Eastern Philosophy, particularly Taoism, is a lot like Eastern architectural design… simple, elegant and profound. It’s a different mindset from Hegel, Kant and a lot of the other rock stars of western philosophy.

The most profound TRUTH I ever discovered at university was written on a piece of scrap paper and tacked to a telephone pole outside of the cafeteria. I later found out it was an ancient, Eastern proverb.

To be is to do.

The words struck like lightening. And unlike most of the convoluted crap I’d been studying, the idea was practical and applicable to real life. In fact, it felt particularly applicable to my own life. Procrastination has always been a big problem; procrastination fueled by too much dreaming, too much analysis paralysis, and too little doing. A writer writes. A painter paints. A dancer dances. To be is to do. And it’s just that simple, elegant and profound.

Nothing happens without action.

Recently, an article appeared in Paste, an award winning online zine devoted to “music, film and culture”. It was entitled “Bela Lugosi’s Dead: Vampire History From Scary Monster to Sexy Beast” and claimed to be a definitive history of vampires in books and films. It was an interesting article save for one problem. There was an omission… a glaring omission. The article failed to mention the most influential vampire film of all time, Horror of Dracula. What made the article particularly ludicrous was the inclusion of Count Chocula breakfast cereal. I was so appalled that I wrote several scathing replies.

Made in 1957 by Britain’s Hammer Films, Horror of Dracula singlehandedly reinvented the vampire genre, establishing criteria that exists to this very day. It was the first vampire film shot in color and the first to feature fangs. The film was considered extremely shocking for its time with a level of violence never before seen. I’ve read many reviews of the film that were written upon its initial release and most of them deemed the film utterly barbaric. In addition, the film introduced a bold sexuality that was as shocking as the violence. Vampirism was likened to an addiction akin to drug addiction. Dracula’s beautiful female victims clearly welcomed his hungry advances and with Christopher Lee portraying Dracula, it was hard to blame them.

Bela Lugosi gave a memorable interpretation of Count Dracula in the 1931 film, Dracula, but Christopher Lee truly took the character to a stunning new level. He was both frighteningly homicidal and irresistibly charismatic, the epitome of a sexy beast. Lee’s portrayal was an astonishing tour de force. The great Peter Cushing was Lee’s equal and he set the standard for what a vampire hunter should be. The film was directed by the vastly underrated Terrence Fisher who gave the film a moody, stylized look that remains breathtaking even today.

Horror of Dracula is easily the greatest vampire film of all time.

Recently, I was the subject of an interview regarding my first novel, Raven Diablo: Agent of Kali. I was asked, from where I get my ideas and the question completely stymied me. Because I  have absolutely no idea from where I get my ideas. From where does any artist get his/her ideas? It’s a question that’s been pondered for thousands of years.

In Greek and Roman mythology, the muses were nine goddesses of artistic inspiration. Each one was associated with a particular art, i.e., music, poetry dancing, etc. Any place dedicated to them was called a mouseion, the source of the word museum. Traditionally, an artist would invoke the name of the appropriate muse for guidance and assistance in his/her creative pursuit. The invocation was a prayer. It was believed that the artist did not create art but was only a channel through which the divine muse could speak.

For me, the muses are not myth but fact. I always feel the presence of powerful forces beyond myself; guiding and assisting me in my artistic pursuits. And I’m convinced that they’re female. My talents are marginal at best, but my muses are perhaps impressed by my tenacity. They take pity upon me, use me as a vessel and enable me to create art I could never create on my own.

One thing I’ve consistently found about the muses is that they demand hard work. They only give inspiration after perspiration.

I subscribe to no religion. I prefer to think of myself as spiritual as opposed to religious. But I do consider myself to be a believer and follower of the Goddess Kali and all that she represents. Though Kali is very much associated with Hinduism, she transcends religion.

Unfortunately, most of what the western world knows of Kali comes from Hollywood. It’s important to remember that Hollywood manufactures illusions, not truth. Hollywood typically displays Kali in a negative light, as an evil bloodthirsty demon hellbent on death and destruction. As a result, Kali’s truth has been distorted.

Kali is the Goddess of destruction, but she is not evil. She’s a fearsome figure to be sure, wielding weapons, adorned in flesh and dripping with blood. She proudly stands in defiant opposition to the western standard and image of femininity. She is neither sex object nor victim. And though she is sometimes depicted as being blue in color, Kali is in fact black. The name Kali means black.

Within the Hindu tradition, Kali first emerged as an avenging hero, summoned to do battle with demons on the battlefield. Today, in many parts of the world, she is revered as the merciful Mother Protector. For me, Kali is the Queen of Righteous Rage.

The history of the world is a history of savage injustice. Since the beginning of time, most so called great civilizations have been constructed on a dubious foundation; the broken, battered bodies of the weak and defenseless, particularly women and children. Indeed, history is HIS story, the story of the male predator running amok.

Mother Kali is a fearsome figure primarily because of what she represents. Kali is the antidote to the cancer called patriarchal society, a merciless disease that has run rampant for far too long. HIS story is a brutal lie. Kali is brutal truth. Kali well understands that the male predator is a demon who can neither be changed, tamed nor sunday schooled… only annihilated. Back in the day, Kali was summoned to do just that… annihilate demons… and she did so in her own gloriously violent style. Kali got the job done.

The contemporary world is technologically advanced yet hopelessly degenerate, a world controlled by predatory demons. The modern, vast existence of human trafficking is a living reminder of how little has changed. HIS story continues. As it was then, so it is now.

But there’s a force that can change the course of HIS story. And that force is Mother Kali, the Queen of Righteous Rage.

For many years now, I’ve heard about a phenomenon called the generation gap. There’s supposedly a huge difference between young and old; a gap in interest, mentality, understanding etc. I remember this so-called generation gap was particularly stressed back in the sixties and seventies. Now, it’s pretty much taken for granted that young and old have nothing in common and nothing to offer one another.

Naturally, mass media plays a big part in promoting this mindset. Youth culture is edified to the point where teenagers are routinely presented as being founts of wisdom. Older people are typically portrayed as being stupid, useless and worthy of nothing more than jokes. I smell an agenda here.

I would argue that while there are differences between the young and the old, the gap isn’t nearly as wide as we’re led to believe. And why are we led to believe the dubious theory that young and old are incapable of living in harmony? Perhaps it’s because harmony is both sweet… and potentially problematic. Truth is a like a baton, something important passed from one team mate to the next. In the well ordered, well controlled, civilized society, it’s best if that baton comes from politicians, religious leaders, educators, the business community and mass media. Elders have had a lifetime to experience all that civilization has to offer. They might just offer a different baton… a different truth. And they may even confirm many of the suspicions of youth.