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standtoreason93 · 6 years

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The Bible: Reading the “Ordinary” Way

By Greg Koukl

I never like the question “Do you take the Bible literally?” It comes up with some frequency, and it deserves a response. But I think it’s an ambiguous—and, therefore, confusing—question, making it awkward to answer.

Clearly, even those with a high view of Scripture don’t take everythingliterally. Jesus is the “door,” but He’s not made of wood. We are the “branches,” but we’re not sprouting leaves.

On the other hand, we do take seriously accounts that others find fanciful and far-fetched: a man made from mud (Adam), loaves and fishes miraculously multiplied, vivified corpses rising from graves, etc.

A short “yes” or “no” response to the “Do you take the Bible literally?” question, then, would not be helpful. Neither answer gives the full picture. In fact, I think it’s the wrong question since frequently something else is driving the query.

Taking “Literally” Literally

Let’s start with a definition. According to the New Oxford American Dictionary, the word “literal” means “taking words in their usual or most basic sense without metaphor or allegory, free from exaggeration or distortion.” Why do people balk at this common-sense notion when it comes to the Bible or, more precisely, certain passages in the Bible?

Let’s face it, even non-Christians read the Bible in its “usual or most basic sense” most of the time on points that are not controversial. They readily take statements like “Love your neighbor as yourself” or “Remember the poor” at face value. When citing Jesus’ directive “Do not judge,” they’re not deterred by the challenge “You don’t take the Bible literally, do you?”

No, when critics agree with the point of a passage, they take the words in their ordinary and customary sense. They naturally understand that language works a certain way in everyday communication, and it never occurs to them to think otherwise.

Unless, of course, the details of the text trouble them for some reason.

What of the opening chapters of Genesis? Is this a straightforward account describing historical events the way they actually happened? Were Adam and Eve real people, the first human beings? Was Adam created from dirt? Did Eve really come from Adam’s rib? Did Jonah actually survive three days in the belly of a great fish? Did a virgin really have a baby? Such claims seem so fanciful to many people, it’s hard for them to take the statements at face value.

Other times, the critic simply does not like what he reads. He abandons the “literal” approach when he comes across something in the text that offends his own philosophical, theological, or moral sensibilities. Jesus the only way of salvation? No way. Homosexuality a sin? Please. A “loving” God sending anyone to the eternal torment of Hell? Not a chance.

Notice the objection to these teachings is not based on some ambiguity in the text that makes alternate interpretations plausible. The Scripture affirms these truths with the very same clarity as “Love your neighbor.” No, these verses simply offend. Suddenly, the critic becomes a skeptic and sniffs, “You don’t take the Bible literally, do you?”

This subtle double standard, I think, is usually at the heart of the taking-the-Bible-literally challenge. Sometimes the ruse is hard to unravel.

An example might be helpful here.

Literal vs. Lateral

In the Law of Moses, homosexual activity was punishable by death (Lev. 18:22 and 20:13). Therefore (the charge often goes), any Christian who takes the Bible literally must advocate the execution of homosexuals.

Of course, the strategy with this move is obvious: If we don’t promote executing homosexuals, we can’t legitimately condemn their behavior, since both details are in the Bible. If we don’t take the Bible literally in the first case, we shouldn’t in the second case, either. That’s being inconsistent.

How do we escape the horns of this dilemma? By using care and precision with our definitions, that’s how.

Here’s our first question: When Moses wrote the Law, did he expect the Jewish people to take those regulations literally? If you’re not sure how to answer, let me ask it another way. When an ordinance is passed in your local state (California, in my case), do you think the legislators intend its citizens to understand the words of the regulations “in their usual or most basic sense without metaphor or allegory, free from exaggeration or distortion”?

Of course they do. Legal codes are not written in figurative language allowing each citizen to get creative with the meaning. The same would be true for the Mosaic Law. Moses meant it the way he wrote it.

But now, it seems, we’re stuck on the other horn of the dilemma. To be consistent, shouldn’t we currently campaign for the death penalty for homosexuals? For that matter, aren’t we obliged to promote execution for disobedient children and Sabbath-breakers, both capital crimes under the Law?

The simple answer is no. Here’s why. Even when a biblical command is intended to be understood literally, that does not mean it is intended to be applied laterally, so to speak—that is, universally across the board to all peoples at all times in all places.

Consider this situation: Jesus told Peter to cast his net in deep water (Luke 5:4). That’s exactly what Peter did because he took Jesus’ command literally, in its ordinary sense. He had no reason to think otherwise. However, even though Jesus’ command to Peter was literal, that does not mean the same command applies laterally to everyone else. We’re not obligated to cast nets into deep water just because Peter was.

Here’s another way of looking at it. California legal codes are to be readliterally, but not applied laterally. They only apply to those in California and have no application to people in other states. Its laws have local, literal application within its own borders, but no lateral application elsewhere.

In the same way, the words of the Mosaic Law, like those of all laws, are to be taken at face value by anyone who reads them. Yet only those under its jurisdiction are obliged to obey its precepts.[i]

The Jews in the theocracy were expected to obey the legal code God gave them, including the prohibition of and punishment for homosexuality. It was not the legal code God gave to Gentiles, however. Therefore, even if the words of the Mosaic Law were to be taken literally by those under the jurisdiction of that code, this does not mean that in our current circumstances we are governed by the details of the provisions of that Law.

A clarification is necessary here. Am I saying that nothing written in the Mosaic Law is ever applicable to Christians or other Gentiles or that there are no universal moral obligations that humanity shares with the Jews of Moses’ time? No, I’m not saying that.

Though Moses gave legal statutes for Jews living in the Jewish state, that Law in some cases still reflects moral universals that have application for those outside the nation of Israel. As I have written elsewhere:

Perversion is still perverse, and wickedness is still wrong, whether it be adultery, rape, incest, or bestiality—or any of a number of evil acts all condemned by Moses in the “old” Law.[ii]

So yes, we can glean wisdom and moral guidance from the Law of Moses for our own legal codes, but there are limits. Working out those details is a different discussion, however. [iii]

The question here is not whether we take the Mosaic Law literally, but whether we are now under that legal code. We are not. That law was meant for Jews living under a theocracy defined by their unique covenant with God. Simply because a directive appears in the Mosaic Law does not, by that fact alone, make it obligatory for those living outside of Israel’s commonwealth.

Americans are a mixture of peoples in a representative republic governed by a different set of decrees than the Jews under Moses. We are not obliged to obey everything that came down from Sinai. Even though it was commanded of the Jews, that does not necessarily mean it is commanded of us. If anyone thinks otherwise, he is duty-bound to take his net and cast it into deep water.

That confusion aside, we’re still faced with our original question: When do we take the Bible literally?

Reading the “Ordinary” Way

Here’s how I would lay the groundwork for an answer. If I’m asked if I take the Bible literally, I would say I think that’s the wrong question. I’d say instead that I take the Bible in its ordinary sense; that is, I try to take the things recorded there with the precision it seems the writer intended.

I realize this reply might also be a bit ambiguous, but here, I think, that’s a strength. Hopefully, my comment will prompt a request for clarification. This is exactly what I want. I’d clarify by countering with a question: “Do you read the sports page literally?”

If I asked you this question, I think you’d pause because there is a sense in which everyone reads the sports page in a straightforward way. Certain factual information is part of every story in that section. However, you wouldn’t take everything written in a woodenly literal way that ignores the conventions of the craft.

“Literally?” you might respond. “That depends. If the writer seems to be stating a fact—like a score, a location, a player’s name, a description of the plays leading to a touchdown—then I’d take that as literal. If he seems to be using a figure of speech, then I’d read his statement that way, figuratively, not literally.”

Exactly. Sportswriters use a particular style to communicate the details of athletic contests clearly. They choose precise (and sometimes imaginative) words and phrases to convey a solid sense of the particulars in an entertaining way.

Sportswriters routinely use words like “annihilated,” “crushed,” “mangled,” “mutilated,” “stomped,” and “pounded,” yet no one speculates about literal meanings. Readers don’t scratch their heads wondering if cannibalism was involved when they read “the Los Angeles Angels devoured the Houston Astros.”

We recognize such constructions as figures of speech used to communicate in colorful ways events that actually (“literally”) took place. In fact, we never give those details a second thought because we understand how language works.

When a writer seems to be communicating facts in a straightforward fashion, we read them as such. When we encounter obvious figures of speech, we take them that way, too.

That’s the normal way to read the sports page. It’s also the normal—and responsible—way to read any work, including the Bible. Always ask, “What is this writer trying to communicate?” This is exactly what I’m after when I say, “I take the Bible in its ordinary sense.”

Of course, some people may differ on what point the text of the Bible is actually making. Fair enough. There’s nothing dishonest about honest disagreement. They might have reasons to think some Christian is mistaken on the meaning of the text. Misinterpretation is always possible. However, conjuring up some meaning that has little to do with the words the writer used is not a legitimate alternative.

If people disagree with the obvious sense of a passage, ask them for the reasons they think the text should be an exception to the otherwise sound “ordinary sense” rule. Their answer will tell you if their challenge is intellectually honest, or if they’re just trying to dismiss biblical claims they simply don’t like.

Two Thoughts on Metaphor

Reading any writing the ordinary way requires we understand two points about figurative speech, both implicit in the concept of metaphor.

The New Oxford American Dictionary defines metaphor as “a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is applied to an object or action to which it is not literally applicable…a thing regarded as representative or symbolic of something else.” So, metaphors take one meaning of a word and then creatively leverage it into another meaning to make an impact on a reader.

Here is the first point to be clear on: All metaphors (or other forms of figurative writing) rely first on literal definitions before they can be of any use as figures of speech. All words must first be understood in their “usual or most basic sense” before they can be used figuratively.

We find, for example, the word “shepherd” prominently featured in the 23rd Psalm. Do you see that we must first understand the literal meaning of “shepherd” before the phrase “the Lord is my shepherd” has any figurative power?

This point is critical for accurate biblical interpretation. Here’s why.

Sometimes we attempt to solve interpretive problems by digging through a Bible dictionary. This can be a helpful place to start since all figurative language relies in some way on dictionary definitions. But the dictionary cannot be the final word because it can never tell you what use a specific writer is making of any particular word or phrase.

Strictly speaking, no word standing alone can be a metaphor. Words can only be used metaphorically when they’re embedded in a context. Therefore, it makes no sense to ask of a solitary word, “Is the word meant literally?” because the word standing on its own gives no indication.

Dictionaries, by definition, can only deal with words in isolation. Other things—context, genre, flow of thought, etc.—determine if the word’s literal sense is being applied in a non-literal way, symbolically “regarded as representative” of something else.

Take two sentences: “The sunshine streamed through my window,” and, “Sweetheart, you are a ray of sunshine to me this morning.” Sunshine’s literal meaning is the same in each case. However, it is used literally in the first sentence but metaphorically in the second. Further, unless my wife understands the literal meaning of “sunshine,” she will never understand the compliment I’m offering her in a poetic sort of way.

So first, literal definitions must be in place before a word can be used figuratively. Second, metaphors are always meant to clarify, not obscure.

There’s a sense in which figurative speech drives an author’s meaning home in ways that words taken in the ordinary way could never do. “All good allegory,” C.S. Lewis notes, “exists not to hide, but to reveal, to make the inner world more palpable by giving it an (imagined) concrete embodiment.”[iv]

Figurative speech communicates literal truth in a more precise and powerful way than ordinary language can on its own. The strictly literal comment “Honey, your presence makes me feel good today” doesn’t pack the punch that the “sunshine” figure provides. The metaphor makes my precise point more powerfully than “words in their usual or most basic sense” could accomplish.

Remember, even when metaphor is in play, some literal message is always intended. Hell may not have literal flames,[v] but the reality is at least as gruesome, ergo the figure.

Once again, it’s always right to ask, “What is the precise meaning the writer is trying to communicate with his colorful language?” But how do we do that? Here I have a suggestion.

The Most Important Thing

If there is one bit of wisdom, one rule of thumb, one useful tip I can offer to help you solve the riddle of scriptural meaning, it’s this: Never read a Bible verse. That’s right, never read a Bible verse. Instead, always read a paragraph—at least.

On the radio, I use this simple rule to help me answer the majority of Bible questions I’m asked, even when I’m not familiar with the particular passage. When I quickly survey the paragraph containing the verse in question, the larger context almost always provides the information I need to help me understand what’s going on.

This works because of a basic rule of all communication: Meaning flows from the top down, from the larger units to the smaller units. The key to the meaning of any verse comes from the paragraph, not just from the individual words.

Here’s how it works. First, get the big picture. Look at the broader context of the book. What type of writing is it? History? Poetry? Proverb? Letter? Different genres have different standards for reading them—obviously.

Next, stand back from the verse and look for breaks in the passage that identify major units of thought. Then ask yourself, “What in this paragraph or group of paragraphs gives any clue to the meaning of the verse in question? In general, what idea is being developed? What is the flow of thought?”

With the larger context now in view, you can narrow your focus and speculate on the meaning of the verse itself. When you come up with something that seems right, sum it up in your own words. Finally—and this step is critical—see if your paraphrase—your summary—makes sense when inserted in place of the verse in the passage.

I call this “the paraphrase principle.” Replace the text in question with your paraphrase and see if the passage still makes sense in light of the larger context. Is it intelligible when inserted back into the paragraph? Does it dovetail naturally with the bigger picture? If it doesn’t, you know you’re on the wrong track.

This technique will immediately weed out interpretations that are obviously erroneous. It’s not a foolproof positive test for accuracy since some faulty interpretations could still be coherent in the context. However, it is a reliable negative test, quickly eliminating alternatives that don’t fit the flow of thought.

If you will begin to do these two things—read the context carefully and apply the paraphrase principle—you will radically improve the accuracy of your interpretations. Remember, meaning always flows from the larger units to the smaller units. Without the bigger picture, you’ll likely be lost.

Don’t forget the rule: Never read a Bible verse. Always read a paragraph, at least, if you want to be confident you’re getting the right meaning of the verse.

Do I take the Bible literally? I try to take it at its plain meaning unless I have some good reason to do otherwise. This is the basic rule we apply to everything we read: novels, newspapers, periodicals, and poems. It’s reading the “ordinary” way. I don’t see why the Bible should be any different.

___________________________

[i] This principle is critical to understanding the role of Old Testament Law in New Testament times.

[ii] See Gregory Koukl and Alan Shlemon, “A Reformation the Church Doesn’t Need: Answering Revisionist Pro-Gay Theology—Part I,” available at str.org.

[iii] For the record, I think the immorality of homosexuality is one of those universal moral laws since, among other reasons, it’s identified in the New Testament as wrong irrespective of the Mosaic Law (e.g., Rom. 1:27).

[iv] C.S. Lewis, The Pilgrim’s Regress, “Afterword to Third Edition,” (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1958), 208.

[v] In more than one instance, Jesus described Hell as “outer darkness” (e.g., Matt. 8:12) and literal flames give light.

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oxiegoeimi · 5 years

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‪.‬ ‪📷 by #‬mkorchia‪:‬ isolation. . Watching all the heathen, as they drink and smoke the pain away, downing prescriptions and balking at the dangers of overworking life away. Hearing them scream through the shower curtains, dancing at one past midnight while the upright sleep to rise and dress the shame away. Yes, observing all the stupid, those who do not realize that loving without reason is not enough to face the Divine someday. Maybe, it hurt to hear it. You probably never wonder how other beliefs somehow find ways to parent, marry, or sacrifice their bodies at war for those at home across the way. Yes. Watching all the savages, as they subscribe to television packages and speak languages not similar to those we grew up with in this perfectly written world we made. Listening to the broken record, the ‘they’ are not enough like ‘us’, and ‘we’ need to save ‘them’ every sabbath or Wednesday. Maybe I am being a bit sarcastic. I know that being wrong is crazy in an “objective” culture who is so right that it refuses to learn change. Or, maybe those heathen are more heaven than memorization and saying the right things to not be cut off from communities who would rather close the doors off on those who differentiate. - oxiegoeimi psyche 11.1 🦁🏳🔐💙 remember to always #trust #nature 🌲 #Healer 🔥 #Spirit 🕊 #hope ⚜️ #grace ☔️ #love 🌸 #life 🌊 #unity 🌈 #believe 💝 #weareone ✂️🕚🎶 #energy #PinkySwear #prayer #meditation #freelove #hereandhereafter #dream #vision #Eternity #paradise #infinity #light #origin #writing #source #journey #create #coexist together 💜🌠🌅🌟 (at Blue Flame) https://www.instagram.com/p/B5OcxQCgd2L/?igshid=1sg6yf84ewvol

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scriptmin · 7 years

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Absolute Yoongi

Summary: But then what good would he make as an outlaw if he did not take risks? If he did not play with risks? It’d been years since he’s had this much fun.

Yoongi would think that after an entire decade of running with various packs below ground, he would have discovered all there was to see of the side of the world relevant to his survival and livelihood. A heart seasoned, hardened, against unimaginable cruelties, gore, immorale, knives that were not always metal blades—but rather, the words slipped from cunning tongues—plunged into the backs of former allies, comrades, friends, family, drummed unfailingly beneath cement-like ribs broken and repaired beyond count.

Yet as he slinked low in his seat, housed by the warm fumes of drip coffee and fresh bakes on the day of Sabbath, an entire twenty-four hours traditionally dedicated to rest and recovery—deserving even for the most inhumane—it would be a lie for him to claim that he foresaw the elephant-like stomps of a figure that perhaps did not even break five feet, the sudden occupation of the seat across him and the slamming of crisp, white documents imprinted with neat black wording in rows and rows of unintelligible phrases before him.

He did not quite expect a pair of round, curious eyes of toffee staring back at him, intercepting his field of vision with sentiments displaying a hardened resolved, yet those same toffee eyes were wavering, shaking, signs of a fallible confident front that seemed to crumble inch by inch as the seconds ticked by, a silence bursting at seams to be addressed. Yoongi merely balked.

Who is this girl?

“W- Well, what are you waiting for? Go on, s- sign it.”

As Yoongi pondered every possible explanation for this pretty stranger to be sitting in front of a man who had not been expecting anyone’s company—the most likely reason being she had mistaken him for someone else—the documents on the table were flipped over by small, hasty hands, contents becoming legible now that they were faced in his direction. His eyes skimmed the surface, picking up the words “the provider”, “receiver”, “shall oblige and respect”, “aforementioned duties and boundaries”—and it slowly dawned on him that these phrases were clauses, the entire stack of fifteen pages no less a contract. But for what purpose exactly?

Yoongi eyed his newfound companion inquisitively—taking in the palpable anxiety that was quite literally oozing out of her pores as she sat perched like an owl, torso hunched forward in anticipation, her hands clamped between her thighs and the surface of the wooden chair beneath, in an attempt to perhaps conceal their trembling state. The girl was most likely sprinting to make her arrival, the sides of her forehead glistening with a thin sheen of perspiration, brunette strands having fallen loose from her ponytail, framing her oval-face with youthful, schoolgirl femininity. Yoongi hadn’t thought characters like her existed beyond novels, a character so full of naïvety and submission that a natural-born predator such as himself could not resist feeding off of.

Then the expertise that came with a decade of putting up pretenses, of sly, slick manipulation had kicked in, fueled partly by the attraction to the girl’s undoubted beauty, even if she appeared a tad too childlike for Yoongi’s usual tastes. It would make a rather entertaining story to recount with Namjoon over the beer they agreed to be having later tonight—it wasn’t every day a guy like him had some puny girl slamming down bizarre contracts in their faces.

And so Yoongi had reclined in masculine contempt against the backrest of his seat, right leg kicked up to rest by the ankle over the knee of his left. With lithe fingers, he had grasped the papers, lifting up from the table’s surface and holding it over his face, just low enough for him to peek over and observe the shifting pupils of the girl before him.

Yet in spite of all the other logical, practical reasons that flitted through his mind, his following actions were perhaps inspired by more emotional drivings, in the form of undercurrents of desire to break away from his mundane routine running beneath his skin, under his uncountable façades. And from the moment she entered his field of vision, a beautiful mess of disheveled hair and near-tangible nervousness, a sight no less than absolutely adorable, he knew that informing the girl of her mistake might just be the stupidest thing Yoongi would do in his life.

“What… exactly is this?” He began carefully, meticulous in crafting a front of recognition for her, yet not the contract.

The girl shifted and squirmed, unable to meet his eyes as she responded with equal caution, and perhaps embarrassment, “I- I had some time on my hands last night. Figured it would be good to have some established guidelines if we’re going to do this right.”

Yoongi squinted at the documents in his hand, a myriad of doubt and disbelief parading through his mind. Had this girl actually written up a contract for some guy she most probably found a random dating website? Could someone truly be so cluelessly endearing?

“Well then, I’ll have to read it before I sign, don’t I?” He tried to remark flippantly, thumbing through to the next page where he began to narrate its contents in an immaculately spiteful tone, “Let’s see now… The provider shall render services typical of a faithful romantic partner to the receiver in the below stated means, although it is preferred that he makes an effort to be creative beyond the provided examples: one, hand holding is an obligation in the presence of, though not limited to, members of family, friends and acquaintances. It is therefore recommended that he learn the names and faces of those listed in Annex A as soon as possible.”

Yoongi raised his brows, cracking his neck. “Two,” He eyed the girl pointedly, only being able to catch the crown of her head as her chin dipped, her gaze focused on something beneath the table—perhaps the twiddling of her fingers—before returning his line of sight to the document in hand, the beginnings of amusement faintly marking his lips. “He shall engage in displays of affection appropriate to that of a couple six months into a relationship, although kissing should be avoided unless a situation that potentially compromises the believability of the relationship arises, in which the provider must be the instigator of a mouth to mouth connection lasting no more than- this is a work of art, really.”

In response to the tossing of papers back onto the table, airy undertones of disbelief and blatant mockery apparent in his voice, the girl coughed, her voice tender and abashed, “I- I know it sounds ridiculous. But it will help prevent complications down the road.”

“Complications?” Intrigue at the prospect of uncovering more about the girl and her surely class-A backstory had propelled Yoongi’s body forward, his arms coming to rest at the edge of the table as he peered at her like stargazing telescopes, with every intention in the world to draw out once more the endearing shyness that had afflicted the swirling amber crystals in her eyes when she first came to him—and with much success. Yoongi smirked in triumph. “And what such complications might you have in mind?”

“Well…” Her head was angling down again, thicker locks escaping the grasps of her hair tie. Yoongi squinted, his hands itching with the urge to pull all that hair out of her face. Didn’t she feel stuffy? “You and I are entering a contractual partnership with specific gains—I need the performance of a boyfriend, and you get paid for doing it, we’re going to part ways once our objectives are met. The clauses will help us refrain from acting needlessly, so we won’t develop a genuine attraction to the other.”

Yoongi’s head tipped back, enlightened but exasperated, eyes rolling up to the ceiling before returning to the girl, only to find that she had remained stagnant in her position, unchanged in her logic, albeit there was a splash of rose across her cheeks, her bottom lip noticeably reddened having been subjected to the tireless gnawing between her teeth. At least with the angle of her head this way, she wouldn’t have noticed the feral-like prowl Yoongi’s gaze alone had on those lips of hers. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, to be honest, but much like her sudden arrival, Yoongi certainly wasn’t expecting it to lead to becoming someone’s pretend-boyfriend.

Therefore yes, yes he was absolutely positive that this girl had to be fictional. In what kind of alternate universe had she been raised in to develop a personality as unorthodox as this? Or perhaps this was all an expertly orchestrated hidden camera prank broadcasted live— how many people were watching? How many were already laughing?

“Hello?” Came the gentle prompt, a tiny palm waving over the expanse of perplexity that was Yoongi’s current expression, his forehead creased, brows pinched, mouth half-agape. He blinked once, twice, then retracted his jaw firmly shut, gathering his composure. “Are you going to sign it or not? I actually have somewhere to be after this.”

“Pardon me,” Yoongi began carefully, “but remind me again why you opted for this instead of simply… getting a boyfriend?”

The petite girl across him huffed, supposedly in disapproval of his forgetfulness if he were to eventually become her fake boyfriend. But it was quickly overridden by dejection that had appeared in the form of slouching shoulders and gravity-pulled corners of her lips as she spoke, “You’re not my type.”

Yoongi almost choked.

“Finding a real boyfriend takes time, and I’m running on a deadline here. I just need someone to shut my sisters up.”

“And how did you find me?”

He knew he’d asked a wrong question when her features then contorted into that of confusion. “It was you who found me. How many clients have you had that you’re mixing things up?” A tiny fist true to her elfin stature came up to her lips, her own brows furrowing with thought as she mumbled under her breath, “Not good… not good at all…”

“Oh. Right… Man, I really have to get myself organized. Don’t worry though, you’re like, my only client right now.” Only half-appeased by his response, the girl dropped her fist, focus turning to Yoongi’s hands and how empty and unmoving they still were. Noticing her expectance and patience slowly wearing thin, he jerked them to action, arm reaching round to his back pocket to retrieve his wallet, withdrawing a chic, black card from one of its leather compartments. “I’ll look through this contract one more time before I sign myself over. Wouldn’t want you to waste all that effort into typing this up.” He was then sliding the card across the lacquered surface of the wooden round-table where he’d purposefully stopped, fingertips just barely grazing the side of her hand. The fervent fluster decorating her cheeks was juxtaposed with yet another sly, humoured grin on Yoongi’s part. “How about you go pick something you like from the bakery?”

“I already ate, actually.”

“I’ll have a hazelnut coffee.”

“O- Okay…”

And he watched her submit without much fight at all, a response that triggered yet another wave of dominant triumph as he clutched the papers and slinked back into the comfort of his seat, slowly becoming at ease in the presence of this stranger, despite their meeting only lasting ten minutes at best. He began investigation with Annex A, where he was met with a page full of little portraits, names and short trivia about each positioned just below the pictures. And it was in a span of another five minutes that Yoongi had gotten himself acquainted with all five other members of her family—her parents and their company owned an arsenal of five-star hotels across Asia. Her sisters were not too shabby themselves: the oldest was a third year resident at a university hospital, the second had just started writing for the city’s biggest newspaper, and the third was apparently traveling the world and holding art exhibitions for her high-value sculptures.

In other words, they were the ideal power family, perhaps having been the most recent generation of a long-running pedigree line of business execs, doctors, lawyers and other prominent figures. And it was in this background that he began to wonder exactly where she had her place.

Aside from being the stereotypical youngest child that everyone else doted on, and carrying signs of a well-fed, well-clothed rich girl in the designer clothing that looked terribly mismatched and unsuited for her, there was nothing about her personality nor aura that would constitute as one of them. If the timidness she displayed oh-so generously before him, a stranger, were to be replicated even in the safe and secure environment of her home, in the presence of closest kin, Yoongi was absolutely positive that she would be run to the ground.

“One hazelnut coffee and… that cheesecake thing over there- please? T- Thanks.”

The perfect prey for the perfect predator, Yoongi noted. She was utterly hopeless.

Bzz. Bzz.

True to the habits of a busy man, Yoongi’s hand had gone to the little black rectangle that sat upon his end of the table, the single press of a button illuminating a screen chock full of pending matters that screamed for his attention. He exchanged the papers for his mobile, part of his mind returning to true reality, but it was quickly noticed that none of these messages were recent. And it was then, in the peripherals of his vision, that a similar rectangle screen had gone dark on the other side of the table, this one in the colour of white and pink, the frame of the phone decorated by little cartoon stickers. Her phone.

With the fade-out, he had by sheer luck managed to catch a glimpse of a polite where are you? disappearing into the blackness after the notification had automatically timed out. And then, then he had been surely rattled out of his all-powerful, testosterone-induced pedestal when he thought of her real “contractual partner” contacting her, and her realisation that she had been sitting and quite literally revealing half her backstory to the wrong guy.

Yoongi had been the instigator of many despicable things, yet he never resented himself for any of it as much as he did for the vile temptation to invade the privacy which he himself valued to the point of ruthlessness should anyone dare breach it. This self-mutilation stretched further, deeper, along with the furtive glance spared her way to note that she had moved to a side counter, waiting for her order to ring up, and then his eyes had returned to the device, inside of his cheek caught between gnawing teeth.

Finally, his hand shot out, snatching the mobile and bringing it across the table, hiding it between his thighs as he allowed himself one peek at the screen. He found two pending messages:

[2:13pm] Kim Taehyung: Hey are you like late or something? Youre on your way to Wings café right? call me if you need help im already waiting inside.

[2:53pm] Kim Taehyung: where are you? i’ll wait for another 15 mins if not i’m just leaving

“Here’s your—”

“Wha- fuck!”

“—coffee…?” She was eyeing him strangely, almost judgmentally, as she returned to the table with a small tray in hand, a steaming takeaway cup and plate of cheesecake laid delectably atop it. Yoongi on the other hand was doing everything in his power from screeching, going red-faced trying to ignore the throb in his kneecap after he had jerked in surprise (totally guilt-triggered) and knocked his knees on the underside of the table, further cementing his belief in karma. “Are you okay? You didn’t come off as such a scaredy-cat.”

“I’m alright,” Yoongi tried to reply levelly, a phrase meant to assure himself more than it was for her. He quickly clipped the phone beneath his thigh. “I was just caught off guard.”

“That looked painful.” She was separating the contents of the tray now, placing Yoongi’s coffee on his side of the table and pulling the rest of the miniature tray towards her. And though her words were supposedly offered out of concern, it was blatantly obvious that the dessert on the table had captured her full attention, for she had not spared an extra glance his way after her initial reaction, toffee eyes excitedly trained on the cake slice.

Shaking his head, Yoongi merely returned the contract to the table, retrieving a pen from his jacket pocket. He had made sure to regard her the same attention she had regarded him with, adopting a faux aura of coolness, so it was only natural that he had delighted in the snap of her head when he clicked his pen, flipping in an I-couldn’t-care-less manner to the last page where two horizontal lines were positioned at the bottom, just below the concluding paragraphs.

The line on the left, labeled “provider’s name and signature”, was obviously blank, whereas the one the right had been filled up by a tiny scrawl in a sky blue gel pen. And… is that silver glitter? Yoongi had only barely managed to make out the scribbling, a signature which was just a disastrous conversion of “Y/N” into cursive lettering.

“Y/N.” Yoongi had repeated out loud. And he could swear her face had reddened just by the sound of her name. He brought the tip of his pen towards the black line, a blank that seemed as eager as the girl in front of him to be filled up. Aware and self-assured by her attention, Yoongi brought the tip down, meeting at last the crisp white sheet with smooth black ink. “Consider me signed over.”

“Huh. That’s it?” The girl remarked. “That’s your signature? Just ‘Kim Taehyung’ written out?”

“You’re not one to be making comments.” Yoongi tapped the butt of his pen against her own signature. “What’s up with the decoden pens? I thought this was a formal and leeeegally binding contract?”

When she had pursed her lips shut, a face of childish defeat overcoming the initial look of question, Yoongi never did realise that he had been smiling at her. Never did realise that in the span of fifteen minutes, this elfish girl with a devilishly adorable blush-reflex at anything he said had already carved a little spot for herself in the back of his consciousness, had gotten so settled in that for one reason or another, the protective and borderline paternal instincts which remained largely dormant in Yoongi, had begun to stir and awaken.

She was staring back at him. Perhaps having noticed that his gaze dragging on too long was a sign that his mind was someplace else. When Yoongi finally returned to the present, it was he, for the first time, who felt oddly jittery in his seat, the eyes that had been trained so dearly on her suddenly unable to find a comfortable place to rest, now that she was the one observing him.

Coughing and clearing his throat, Yoongi broke the silence. “Just eat your cake, babe.”

“I- I will…” And the atmosphere between them had returned to that of their initial confrontation—light, curious, and slightly awkward.

“So I’m a pretty open guy,” he then began, driving the open-ended exchange to an area with more purpose. He had to unlock her phone. “I don’t believe in hiding anything, so I think we can start off with exchanging phone passwords.”

“Isn’t that a little…”

“Why, you hiding something?”

A dash of pink had darted out the corner of her mouth, licking clean a tiny dollop of cream that had stained the edge. With a full mouth, she quietly answered, “No…”

Surely, such a poorly-planned and juvenile excuse would plant suspicion and doubt in the mind of any other girl. In this modern era where everything, from birthday reminders to intimate diary entries, was kept and stored away in handheld devices that never left the side of its owners, the revelation of something as personal as the password to this digital Pandora’s box was something most people would think twice, think triple, and still emerge with an answer along the lines of no.

Yet as Yoongi already gathered, this girl was no ordinary girl. This girl was one overflowing with naïvety, with untainted trust in humans until they blatantly acted out of line, and even then, her definition of overboard would be skewed to the point where she could be taken advantage of and wouldn’t even realise until the perpetrator himself bore a confession.

“It’s not like we’ll ever have the need to go behind each other’s backs right?” Yoongi was sliding his phone across to her, number pad to enter his password already prepared. He didn’t want her glancing at those more-than-questionable messages lined up on the screen. “Mine’s one-two-two-one. Try it.”

She transferred the dessert fork from right to left, and with her now free hand, tentatively keyed in the combination. The device was unlocked, number pad dividing to reveal the home screen of his phone.

“Your wallpaper’s pretty dark.”

He quickly locked it shut again, and her line of sight returned to him as he brought his own cell down to his lap. “Mmm. And yours?”

“Oh- hang on, I’ll get my phone—”

“No no no, it’s fine!” The girl froze, the look of perplexity much like the one she had given when he knocked his knees on the table returning to her face once more. Yoongi checked himself, then expertly removed the agitation from his next words: “You can just tell me.”

Adorably enough, her hands had stopped digging through the purse she wore slung across her torso, coming back to the table where she picked up her fork again. “Um, okay, it’s one-zero-zero-four.”

Yoongi’s hands were already moving under the table, retrieving the device that sat beneath his thigh.

“So what do you do, you know, for a living?” Whilst maintaining an innocent conversation chest-and-up, he had expertly keyed in the digits, maneuvering swiftly past the home screen and into her messages. Yoongi had intended to delete the chat entirely, but caught himself mid-swipe when he considered that she might notice the sudden absence of the chat, and instead opted to put a dead-end to all potential attempts of doubting his identity.

“Oh, I’m a college student. On my third year now.”

“Mm…”

[2:59pm] You: sorry I changed my mind. please don’t contact me anymore.

“You, um.” Yoongi jolted. “You must be pretty busy even on Sunday, huh?”

He’d quickly tucked the device back under his thigh, replacing the emptiness in his palm with his own phone in case she leaned over for a peek. “No babe, just settling some stuff. I don’t usually text while I’m on a date, I promise.”

“You don’t have to call me pet names, y’know. I mean it’ll be good to do it in front of people, but when it’s just us, it’s kind of weird. We only just met.”

“Well,” Yoongi began, one arm leaving the surface of the tabletop to reach for her fork. She gave it up to him without much thought, and he had nonchalantly fed himself a small piece of the cake before returning the utensil to her. “If we’re going to convince anyone of your new relationship status, we oughta start with convincing ourselves first, no?”

“I suppose…”

Bzz. Bzz.

[2:59pm] Kim Taehyung: uh… ok i guess.

Heh. Subduing a victorious smirk, Yoongi had deleted the four chat bubbles, wiping out all traces of the gaudy Kim Taehyung in her life. And then he was moving on to her contacts list, scrolling, scrolling down to the K section where he’d replaced the string of digits with his own number.

Done deal.

“You sure you’re not busy? You’re spending awfully a lot of time on your phone.”

More like your phone. Slipping her device back under his thigh, Yoongi returned to the conversation with full gusto, confidence boosted now that he no longer had to worry about her finding out about his cosplay acts.

“You’re right, no more of that. I’m all yours now.” The influx of undivided attention seemed to reel the girl back into her shy and awkward demeanor, for she had avoided the adoring gaze Yoongi had enveloped her in, opting instead to speed through the rest of her dessert.

“You said you had someplace to be afterwards, where is it? I’ll drop you off.”

“What? N- No, that’s not necessary. I’m just going to my volunteer session. We have family day every Sunday at the community centre downtown.”

Yoongi shifted, resting his cheek in his fist; a position that, although expressed his comfort in her presence, still conveyed enough about his interest in the matter. She appeared more at ease with this. “You volunteer? That’s cute.”

“Uh… Yeah. What about you? What do you do?”

“Me?” His head cocked, mostly out of reflex, as his free hand reached for his coffee, thin, pale fingers going round the warm circumference of paper. “I don’t do much.”

“Then what made you… do this?” She gestured roughly to the space between them, the flailing of her palm indicating the rather peculiar positions they now held in each other’s life. Internet strangers to pretend lovers. Yes, rather peculiar indeed.

While his partner seemed absolutely captured by the discussion, Yoongi was more than glad to be rid of it. “I was bored.” He shrugged, hand moving to swirl the brown liquid. “Needed something fresh in my life. Something… unexpected.”

His eyes flickered back up towards hers, and with the sudden focus her body had reacted completely instinctively— a small flinch, rapid flutter of lashes, a gaze that simply could not seem to settle on any one thing. Yoongi was smug about the power he held over her, but now he had become quite enamoured, deciding idly in the back of his mind that he could watch this girl all day and be able to ignore, suppress, the slow but sure crescendo of his heartbeat.

“O- oh, looks like I’m running late.”

In a blink, she was setting her fork down, abandoning the uneaten half of her dessert; she was gathering her bearings, her belongings, tucking the contract under her arm before she slung her purse back over her shoulder. And she stood, the screeching of the chair violently snapping Yoongi back to attention. “I have to get going.”

“Of course. Good deeds don’t magically get themselves done, now do they?”

Clack!

“Hey, I think you dropped something.”

Both her head and his had dropped to identify whatever it was that had landed on the varnished floorboards, although one of them already knew what it was. When she had bent down to retrieve what she already recognized to be her cellphone, Yoongi had shot out of his seat, beating her small, dainty hand to the chase.

Wiping the screen on the fabric of his jeans, Yoongi had presented the device to her, smug grin juxtaposed by her shy gratitude.

“T- Thanks.”

When her hand came up to grasp the phone, Yoongi had held it just a tad tighter, feeling her tug on the other end for a split-second extra before he finally let go, grin stretching wider.

“You’re welcome.” He observed her tuck the device back into her purse, his hands now clothed by the inner lining of his jacket pockets. Casually, he asked again, “You’re sure you don’t need me to drop you off?”

“I’m sure.” There was so much vibrance on her face, from the pupils in her eyes to the generous curve of her lips, her cheeks free from the peachy tones that had adorned them so faithfully throughout the entire meeting. When she wasn’t so busy getting flustered, Yoongi was able to sift out hints of elegant maturity that could have only come with age; the exact kind of beauty that pierced his every barrier and shook his soul to its core.

“Can I trust that we’ll be meeting again soon, Mr. Kim Taehyung?”

This newfound venture had the potential to develop into a weakness that led most who dealt in the underworld to their demise. And perhaps, Yoongi too could be risking more than he could foresee by reaching his hands out to her. She was a special type of danger, but his hunger for a good gamble overpowered all the cons, was driven by the amount of risks he would have to take. He knew well the adversities she could be exposed to by being roped into his world, however shallow and temporary her presence may be. And in a certain perspective, he might have even felt sorry that she had to mistake him, of all people, for her arranged boyfriend, considering not just any woman could have the will to stay with a man like himself. But then what good would he be as a gangster if he did not take risks? If he did not play with risks?

“Yes… yes, you can.”

It’d been years since he had this much fun.

#bts fanfic #yoongi scenarios #bts scenarios #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #bangtan fanfic #min yoongi

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libidomechanica · 4 years

Text

Untitled # 8294

Juan may end in a soul, or what you wear fetterd love alone with what hardly Death, I said, “and I stood up to the caught me & then I lived

so that perpetual one, which within that due, uttering so good, Christian eye surveyed her like think Im worse with a beck

ye shall found my lovers eyes, wherever their happy are in the store of prayed. The whole heirs. So, either suffer this face grew, your verse, with

bullet tearing of porcelain her beams and he music playst, upon thy breast, and the usual for a Moment; she did

not need him alone and as the stars the rivers gone for that mine eye is mortally tied and night? With lullaby now seems Beauty. Interjections;

and I of your restful death. That was God, or show you all was her hand, march and the Chekhov story tell, or tell thy might

seemed midnight, as Angels, who with want at thou art asunder; and chilly women, and situations, let not to play, at first. On steering days from ostentation

till not by care? But, where the loss, when we purge, even the sky, with waking of Empire, nor nourishing, nay ’‘tis undistinction and

my souls thorn, arrayd himself for rest; such Sabbath; only a gift for a night, over had a meaning might not so much syrup ran at him the

old inn-door. From time and clouds and love-begotten, and he rode down. When I am. Thine, by then, in song, so my true need required, that lie’ remote

Shalott. They fitted Sage had given, was she. Are but in despised poems! The pearl garland with their fits of the oceans

power than the pine; but I can my arms I put to lift and but vow the dreams with me her hand anxious hand, whose everything rolled into

my tomb the tasted to balk gulbeyaz prove, and (as I sipped into tread, and then I thought ye fortress, will rememberd

yet, Youth Massacres would but vainly guests something thus Juannas dreamboats? as if she struggled in the guy of your own followd it as gentlemen. ’‘

tis she’ was holding, waiting til they had to duty so great shott, that now. She pass; though you can pensive, silent, showd Juan silly poets, by poet, silly

managed, that I was but a sport us while his war-horse that shines bridge go ing in Patagonian landscape writing thorn, all

the petalled word to thy sweet, and daring— who would hope still whatsoever bright;’‘tis a work me wrong, ambitious thou think of old from your wives,

if thou know whether a life you wear u is for the Heart—strongly knit, to plastic concubine. And little isles of his Beauties more’ than

what your head? Uttering. Whether her friend and told her death, as filchers use of poets, by poet, silly poet, silly; but what slave, and hesitations

that I had thou would do not feels rights that may but poor heaven know him self might be pure, as ’‘tis the corner me again precipitate the sad

hours after the will choose, and from marble, stare which is, of course, ran most terrifying through with the thigh’ and I am in

his mate in the last I lay next I may hand like one I hope you shine on deck and more am I in the field, ⁠who in thee, and

half so ill, and want believed,) by everyone not gainsay love to the end of thee. That killingly Aptitude; wise Head—clean as clear raindrops in your child!”

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #182 texts

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englishlistwords · 5 years

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When one sets out to compile a list like the Top Ten Libertarian Rock Bands, one is faced with a few challenges:

Rock purists will object and say, “Hey, they’re not libertarian!” because most rock purists balk at libertarian ideas.

Libertarian purists will object and say, “Hey, they’re not libertarian!” because they refuse to touch with a ten-foot pole anything that could remotely violate the non-aggression principle.

There simply aren’t many outspoken libertarians in mainstream rock today.

My response is that sometimes people are libertarian by accident. Wasn’t rock n’ roll born in an anti-establishment, anti-authority environment? Even many leftist rock bands (i.e., nearly all rock bands) produce a lot of individual songs that could be libertarian-sympathetic, whether they are anti-war or anti-authority.

With that said, these are the top 10 libertarian rock bands, in no particular order.

1. Rush

The classic case of a libertarian band is Rush, whose influence and popularity is hard to overstate. Rush are prog-rock royalty. It’s hard to believe that their immense, progressive sound and musical virtuosity is produced by a mere three men.

Not only has Rush’s 40 year career made them a highly venerated rock band in general, but the main lyricist and octopus drummer, Neil Peart, was often inspired by the great classical liberal novelist, philosopher, and left-wing punching bag Ayn Rand. That fact is apparent on several Rush songs such as The Trees (an allegory of smaller trees complaining about larger trees simply for being larger and hogging all the light), A Farewell to Kings (fairly self-explanatory), 2112 (an epic story of a dystopian future of absolute rule), Anthem (the same title as a Rand novella), and the hit Tom Sawyer (paints a picture of a rugged, Randian individualist).

2. Muse

The British-born Muse is one of the freshest, most popular art rock bands making music today. They share several things with Rush: the same band member count, a mono-syllabic quadruple character name, as well as an affinity for “progressive” song-writing. In addition, Muse adds a healthy dose of piano, synthesizer, pop-style melodies, and Black Sabbath-esque metal/hard rock guitar riffs.

Muse lyrics tend to be highly skeptical and critical of the established powers. Lead singer Matthew Bellamy likes Henry George (a sort of Marxist on land-ownership, but libertarian on everything else) and “left-libertarianism”.

Looking at their music catalog, a non-aggression principle fan could find plenty with which to identify. The 2006 album “Black Holes and Revelations” opens with a not-so-subtle attack on a political figure entitled Take a Bow. Others like Exo-Politics, Assassin, and Knights of Cydonia have subversive/individual liberty themes.

The political rebellion increases on subsequent albums the Resistance and the 2nd Law (see the Uprising, Resistance, and Supremacy).

When we finally come to the album Drones in 2015, the civil disobedience is at fever pitch. The album’s theme “drones” applies not only to the controversial unmanned aircraft used by the US military, but also to the idea that the average citizen or soldier could become an unthinking shell, doing whatever they’re told. See songs like Reapers and Psycho.

3. The Kinks

You may be thinking, The Kinks? The “You Really Got Me” band from the 60s? That’s right, the Kinks. It’s a little known fact that “You Really Got Me” is a subtle ode to overzealous police arrests. While that is actually not true at all, there is a lot more to the Kinks than their biggest hit.

Much of the Kinks’ catalog is in fact dedicated to decrying the initiation of force, the welfare state, clandestine spying, or other big government woes. There is perhaps no better example of this than “20th Century Man” on the 1971 album Muswell Hillbillies. Front-man and songwriter Ray Davies sings:

I was born in a welfare state fueled by bureaucracy

Controlled by civil servants and people dressed in grey

Got no privacy, got no liberty

‘Cause the 20th century people took it all away from me

And this was 1971. Oh Ray, if you could see us now. Actually, he can. He is still living and still making music. Hm, funny. Anyway, there are some other libertarian gems on Muswell Hillbillies such as Acute Schizophrenia Paranoia Blues, where Ray’s paranoia causes him to worry greatly – about things that are kinda true; and Here Come the People In Grey, a tribute to intrusive government workers.

Some other standout tracks from the Kinks on this subject would be:

Brainwashed, sung to a retired World War I vet who has grown dependent on and trusting of the powers that be

Some Mother’s Son, a beautiful, tragic ballad about men dying in war

Live Life, an exhortation to keep cool and do your own thing in spite of political upheaval and media sensationalism

Got To Be Free, an expression of longing to, well, be free

4. BackWordz

Though BackWordz is the newest band on this list, they are probably also the most outspoken and plainly libertarian. Their mission is a sort of libertarian evangelization through the vehicle of Linkin Park-esque metal drenched in hip hop. They are no joke, as their debut album “Veracity” charted at number 2 on the Billboard Heatseekers chart. This is remarkable for a couple reasons. The first is the fact they are an independent artist with no major label backing. Another reason is that they are not the typical anger-infused, chest-beating hard rock band – as a sampling of their song titles shows:

Individualism, railing against collectivism and affirming the right of secession

Self-Ownership, criticizing the idea that the State can save us

Praxeology, a term developed by libertarian super-hero Ludwig von Mises, is the study of human action – has any rock band ever had Ludwig von Mises as the subject of a song?

Statism says: “I’m on a life mission to abolish all the government”

Democracy Sucks, the title says it all

One of the most radical bands to come out in a while, I look forward to seeing where BackWordz goes. They have potential to hugely expand their audience with their high-quality production and song-writing. Let the songs get a listener’s blood pumping first and once the lyrics start the sink in, perhaps some minds can be changed.

5. Alice Cooper

Alice Cooper is the father (not mother) of shock rock. As his band was developing in the late 60s, Alice says:

…it was quite obvious that rock was full of idols and heroes, but there were no villains. I couldn’t find a villain in the bunch. I thought, ‘If nobody wants to play Captain Hook, I do!’

Not only did Alice Cooper cause parents with conservative values heartburn about his affinity for rebellion, horror film lore, and a creepy stage show, he might well also cause statists alarm.

He has an anti-political streak and says

I hate politics with a passion…I know people incorporate politics into rock n’ roll – and I think that the antithesis of rock n’ roll is politics. That would be like me singing the Dow Jones report.

He elsewhere says:

“If you’re listening to a rock star in order to get your information on who to vote for, you’re a bigger moron than they are. Why are we rock stars? Because we’re morons. We sleep all day, we play music at night and very rarely do we sit around reading the Washington Journal.”

(Note: it’s a separate question whether or not the Washington Journal contains good ideas.) Not only does he want his music free of politics, but he has several gems that outright attack and lampoon politicians and the whole process. His latest album “Paranormal” especially has some politically skeptical tracks, something any libertarian could appreciate. Some standout songs would be:

Elected, about a pompous spotlight-phile running for office

Rats, could be how the elites and rulers see the populace

Lock Me Up, a taunt to those who don’t like what Alice has to say: “You can take my head and cut it off but you ain’t gonna change my mind”

Freedom, an anti-authority anthem for freedom of expression

Private Public Breakdown, about a politician who has lost his grip of reality (soooo, all politicians; Alice possibly has Donald Trump in mind)

6. The Interrupters

Remember the late 90s? The Mighty Mighty Bosstones were skanking all over the radio, welfare reform had been achieved, and the President of the US declared that the era of big government was over. Congress actually passed a “balanced” budget. The correlation between ska/punk and smaller government is undeniable. Now, that connection has reemerged in the form of the female-fronted punk band, the Interrupters.

There is a very real chance that the Interrupters have a Ron Paul sticker somewhere on their gear, because their front woman, Aimee Allen, actually wrote Ron Paul’s presidential campaign song. As you’d expect from someone with such good taste in candidates, many of the Interrupters songs center on the ideas of liberty.

Not only are the lyrics libertarian-friendly, but the songs are just plain good songs. Chuck Berry style guitar leads overlay no-frills punk rock songwriting with rich vocal harmonies. The melodies and progressions are so catchy, the only way your foot won’t be tapping along is if it is tied down by some oppressive police state. Some of my favorites are:

Liberty, a pretty straightforward lament about the rights we are losing

Babylon, uses biblical imagery, encouraging listeners to “rebel against the kings of Babylon” – even mentions money-printing to the delight of Austrians everywhere

Can’t Be Trusted, celebrating the reasons for us not to trust the authorities

Take Back the Power, a pretty transparent message

Outrage, about the tendency of people nowadays to be constantly outraged about something, anything

7. Megadeth

One of the “Big Four” in thrash metal, Megadeth are heavy metal titans who have been head-banging since 1983. Heavy metal is a genre whose imagery is rife with libertarian sympathies: oppressive tyrants, bloody warfare, rebellion against the ruling powers, and on and on. Megadeth takes the prize for anti-state themes in their songs, in spite of frontman and former Rick Santorum endorser Dave Mustaine being politically nonsensical sometimes. (They also take the prize for “Band Name Most Likely Created By A Middle Schooler.”) If we can look past the Santorum misstep, Dave comes sort of close to embracing libertarianism: “I probably [am] a lot more along the lines of what a Libertarian is”.

The title track of “Peace Sells…But Who’s Buying?” is a metal classic, and although it comes short of chucking the whole state apparatus, it raises some pertinent questions:

What do you mean I couldn’t be the president of the United States of America? Tell me something. It’s still “We the people” RIGHT?

Holy Wars decries wars of religion in which “brother kills brother.” Symphony of Destruction chillingly warns of giving a dictator absolute control:

Take a mortal man, put him in control. Watch him become a god, watch peoples’ heads-a-roll.

Dave and co. have really nailed it, though, on their most recent Grammy-winning album, Dystopia. Track after track describe a tyrannical government coupled with a decaying society. In addition, it’s right up there with Megadeth’s best albums. The title track is about what you’d think, and includes the line “What you don’t know, the legend goes, can’t hurt you. If you only want to live and die in a cage.” Perhaps my favorite is The Emperor, a snarling punk outcry against the man in charge, pointing out what should be obvious (no clothes).

8. NOFX

Finding a punk band that appreciates private property is tough. There are many who are great on criticizing the U.S. war machine (Anti-Flag, Bad Religion) or presidents with the last name Bush (Green Day). These are noble things to be sure. Sadly, there just are not any major punk bands that haven’t drunk the socialist Kool Aid (red Kool Aid, presumably). NOFX is not too different in that respect. However, they are right on several key issues: foreign policy (see We March To The Beat Of Indifferent Drum), freedom of expression (see Separation of Church and Skate), and freedom of speech (see Freedumb). What sets NOFX over the top is their tribute to actual real libertarianism, The Plan. In it they sing:

Call us libertarian, cause we do as we please Don’t need fear, or force, or farce to know morality Morals aren’t a substance you can shove in someone’s ear They’re basically a byproduct of, a mind thinking clear

Having come up in the 90s, it’s also refreshing that they don’t appear to buy into today’s identity politics. Their songs are littered with rude, locker room humor, and they poke fun at all sorts of different demographics. While this may cause some to take offense, at least NOFX do not advocate locking people in prison just for speaking. Indeed, if the Social Justice Warriors ever take over (Lord, please no), expect to see NOFX albums at the top of the burn pile.

9. Thrice

Thrice has wandered the back alleys between the “metalcore”, “post-hardcore”, and “indie rock” sub-genres since 1998, and still going strong at the time of this writing. In a Thrice song, you can’t be sure if you might hear screaming, beautiful singing, acoustic guitar, keyboards, or face melting metal licks. Themes of personal brokenness, relational challenges, theology, social evils, and distrust of the status quo fill lyricist/frontman Dustin Kensrue’s lyrics. Kensrue doesn’t seem to embrace a particular political ideology, but admits “I would align with a fair amount of Libertarian stuff at times.”

You may be able to guess this from songs like “Blood on the Sand“, a condemnation of the US wars in the Middle East or “Under a Killing Moon“, a song about totalitarian leadership in search of “witches to burn.” “Doublespeak” examines the tendency of people to not want to know the truth about “who pulls the strings.” “Black Honey” shows the folly and futility of wars in the Middle East, comparing the US government to someone slapping a swarm of bees and wondering why they get stung. “The Earth Will Shake” is an awesome, skull-pounding chain-gang spiritual about prisoners longing for freedom – and if the earthquake doesn’t topple the prison walls, this song will.

10. Bob Dylan

It would probably be folly to label Bob Dylan “libertarian,” as he is generally impossible to label. Dylan has unquestionably shaped popular music since the 60s. A few years after he started playing folk, he exchanged his acoustic guitar for an electric guitar and started accompanying his beautiful, poetic, cryptic lyrics with rock music. Outrage from many of his folk fans followed. However, having heard this new sound, it occurred to the Beatles and every other rock band at the time that their songs didn’t have to all be about puppy love. Dylan has taken so many forked roads in his career that no one (and perhaps not even he) can guess where he will go next.

Maybe it’s that whole “I do what I want” attitude that contributes to the streaks of liberty found in many of his songs. Though his protest songs from the 60s are usually associated with the left, which was doing most of the protesting, libertarians can still latch on to:

Masters of War, a bleak condemnation of war profiteers

With God on Our Side, exposes the inconsistency of how cultures justify war, and who we choose for enemies and allies

Blowin’ in the Wind, his classic, hit song that asks questions like “How many roads must a man walk down before you call him a man?” and “How many deaths will it take ’til he knows that too many people have died?”

Rainy Day Women #12 & 35, a lament about how people often want to “stone you” for minding your own business and doing your own thing

Man of Peace, a scathing blast at politicians and people in power: “Sometimes Satan comes as a man of peace.”

I Shall Be Released, a beautiful folk/gospel ballad of a prisoner looking forward in hope to his freedom

Honorable Mentions

It’s a good thing that not all of the contenders would fit in a group of 10 – we need more libertarian artists! So here are some honorable mentions:

LEAH, an independent artist who plays fantasy/celtic influenced metal. She has a few songs that hint at her own personal beliefs, which are libertarian.

Tatiana Moroz is a singer/songwriter with a beautiful voice who worked with the Ron Paul presidential campaigns and is active in the cryptocurrency community.

Jordan Page is a singer/songwriter who campaigned with Ron Paul. A hard rock sound and solid, liberty-themed lyrics.

Anti-Flag is a politically radical punk band – great on anti-war and government oppression themes, but not so great on private property. Check out “Die For Your Government” or “911 For Peace.”

Incubus is a massively popular alternative rock band who rose to fame in the 90s. Song themes include hubris in political leaders and thinking for yourself.

Thrash metal is back, and Havok brings the liberty message along with copious amounts of hair banging around. Give a listen to “Give Me Liberty…Or Give Me Death.”

My ego is not so great that I would dream of being near the top 10, but if you’d like to check out my own libertarian music, my song “Send In The Tanks” could be a good start.

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johnjankovic · 7 years

Audio

GOLGOTHA

Stay calm and await the gnashing of teeth, this is only the beginning.

4 John 1:1

Prior to crucifixion’s banishment, decreed by then Roman emperor Constantine in AD 341 as a defunct method of execution — Cicero notedly expressing the spectacle as the most cruel and hideous of them all — this practice which the Romans imported from the Phoenicians three hundred years before the fateful day above Golgotha, and which historical archives document as existent even three hundred years earlier, lent itself to a display of deterrence for law and order most manifest in the six thousand crucifixions along the Appian Way to quell Spartacus’ rebellion in 71 BC. The event, in the main, involved three stages, the victim’s flagellation, public humiliation in wrestling the patibulum of what weighed one hundred pounds to the top of a knoll, and finally the nailing of palms with iron spikes to the said crossbar and feet to the anchored staticulum, both dovetailed in a hewn mortice that was stayed by gravity’s downward force upon the suspended body. The ordeal left the persecuted prostrate with pain that for Jesus on the eve of His death the mere thought of its eventuality, inescapable as He understood it from premonitions in the Garden of Gethsemane, precipitated hematidrosis, a physiological condition of acute anxiety originating from abject fear that which induces the perspiration of blood (Luke 22:44). It was this night’s mental and physical exhaustion, a prelude to the forthcoming horrors, which compounded the agony between Gethsemane and Golgotha.

Yet Jesus’ torture was atypical of Roman crucifixion, the speed of expiry even confounding Pontius Pilate (Mark 15:44). It assuredly was the most bloodthirsty of any heretofore seen ascribed to how criminals and slaves affixed to the cross ordinarily remained conscious for several days. The Son, however, survived less than three hours when, in deference to Jewish law prohibiting crucifixions on tomorrow’s Sabbath especially amid the ongoing festivities of Passover, removal of the footrest was essential to expedite death thus entailing contortion of the feet at an extreme angle for placement of the spike into the metatarsal bones. There suspended, sardonically adorned with a crown of thorns piercing the forehead as fashioned from an acacia nilotica plant outside Jerusalem’s praetorium, this bloody deed overlooking the panorama of a sadistic mob abreast of one centurion, four legionnaires, and the exactor mortis all of whom draw lots on the inheritance of His raiment (Mark 15:17; Matthew 27:35; John 19:24), Jesus brutally suffocates from pleural effusion and finally death issues from cardiac arrest primed by hours of hypovolemic and traumatic shock. The event was a climacteric to the preceding hours beginning with Judas’ betrayal and Jesus’ apprehension who in custody was escorted to the homestead of Caiaphas, a high priest of the Sanhedrin for more than a decade and ally to the Roman emperor Tiberius. Here to the Pharisees’ displeasure the subsequent proceedings were not at all of contrition even in the wake of being seriously drubbed but rather in sheer defiance the Son in a full-throated diatribe admonishes His interrogators (Matthew 23:1-36).

The death knell that night came from one of Caiaphas’ many questions on the identity of the haggard accused now before him whose rejoinder he judged as blasphemous (Mark 14:61). ‘Are you the Messiah?’ he asked, ‘the Son of the blessed One?’ Jesus responded in the affirmative. The Nazarene fated to die was quickly marshalled to the Procurator of Judea, Pontius Pilate, and always obsequious to Rome the horde manipulated Roman law to proffer that rather than offensive to their proper religious sensibilities, in more secular logic, Jesus anointed himself king, an act they argued treasonous to Cesar (Luke 23:2; John 19:12; John 19:15). Incredulous of the false charge, Pilate sought to recuse himself and court favour of an enemy hence he next despatched Jesus to Herod (Luke 23:12), tetrarch of Tiberias there in Jerusalem already to fete Passover. The legal rationale was that inasmuch as His ministry originated in Galilee only the magistrate whose jurisdiction includes the province should adjudicate the case. Yet Herod, too obtuse for the moment’s significance, solicited instead for entertainment of cute parlour tricks and some wizardry from the Galilean (Luke 23:8). These overtures Jesus spurned who, then clothed patronizingly in the garb of a king, was returned to Pilate. Intransigent still, however, the Roman Prefect continued to balk at the petition electing instead to have the Son scourged and not executed in a show of appeasement that he trusted the restive mob would accept.

Such flagellation materialized more gruesomely than what popular conception allows or what the Church seems to have sanitized as tantamount to casual whipping. Miniature size pieces of sharp metal and bone were stitched into the many tails of the flagrum whereby each of the thirty-nine welts, on account of Mosaic Law proscribing anything above, inflicted an array of gaping wounds upon the flesh of the naked victim whose hands were chained to a column fully exposing the dorsum as he first doubled then kneeled when racked with pain that radiated all throughout his body. This method did the Romans habitually avail themselves of to prosecute verdicts of capital punishment in executions of Gentiles. Shrill screams resonated, ribs fractured, pneumothorax resulted in the collapse and bruising of lungs, muscles hemorrhaged all from the alternating blows between the flogging predators each of whose fresh opportunity at this schadenfreude obstructed the victim’s ability to breath as the oedema of pleural and pericardial fluid accumulated in the chest cavity and that the effluence of blood and water from Jesus’ impalement later bespoke (John 19:34). The harrowing experience caused dehydration associated with excessive perspiration and in preceding the Crucifixion there ensued the onset of hypovolemic shock. The Shroud of Turin ultimately numbers lacerations in excess of one hundred thus it is widely accepted the flagrum consisted of three thongs to inflict one-hundred-and-seventeen lashes commensurate with the thirty-nine prescribed by Mosaic Law.

Jesus long resigned to His fate, offering no mea culpa of recantation, stood for the last time before Pilate who once already endeavoured to exculpate the Nazarene by way of a Paschal Pardon which the Jews outrightly jettisoned in supplicating instead for the release of the murder Barabbas (Matthew 27:15; Luke 23:18; John 18:39). Presently bleeding crimson from orifices all over the body, Pilate hopes clemency for the prisoner’s appearance would quiet further cries for punishment, the obstreperous crowd did not acquiesce, neither dispersing nor yielding in size and unrest. Fear now beleaguers the Prefect. From his chair with trappings of Roman authority and of prosecutorial discretion a message was borne to him from his wife beset with worry, ‘Have nothing to do with that righteous man’, it read, ‘for I have suffered much because of him today in a dream’ (Mathew 27:19). Pilate in a fit of conscience once more attempted to set free the grossly disfigured Nazarene yet the cacophony of anger grew ever more deafening, ‘If you release this man, you are not Caesar’s friend; for everyone who makes himself king sets himself against Caesar’ (John 19:12). ‘Shall I crucify your King?’ Pilate now perched atop Gabbatha bellowed to the mass of skeptics below (John 19:13). ‘We have no king but Caesar’, they reciprocated (John 19:15), so it was the lot of Jesus was irrevocably sealed.

From the praetorium to Gologtha, the place of condemnation and execution, a half-mile of road was trudged upon at noon by the parade of Jesus who balanced the instrument of His death atop a bloodstained shoulder (John 19:14). Of the four crosses that Romans customarily used, crux immissa (t), crux commissa (T), crux decussata (x), and crux simplex (I), the configuration of the first in this case is certain which Luke the Apostle corroborates in his recording of the Titulus Crucis placed ‘over him’ (Luke 23:38). So enfeebled was the Son by midday, exhausted, dehydrated, bloodied, and symptomatic with siriasis that the exactor mortis commanded an onlooker, Simon of Cyrene, to carry the crossbeam for the remainder of the journey lest the prisoner die on route. By this time Jesus’ vestiture adhered to His body, and, akin to a bandage torn from a lesion, the fabric that papered over His open wounds which it clotted was abruptly divested upon arrival at the hilltop with agonizing hurt. Forensic pathologists concur at this point around the brutality mimicked onto the Shroud of Turin that Jesus most certainly suffered a collapsed and hemorrhagic lung prior to the Crucifixion as his body could only sustain less than three hours more of torture. What followed proved exponentially more sinister than the beating and flagellation combined in the prologue of evil about to be visited upon Him.

Atop Golgotha Jesus’ cloak and tunic were shed. Cast to the ground on His back amid sweltering heat, the executioners stretch the arms to align directly above the crossbeam. Twelve-inch nails driven into the radial sides of both palms then strike the median nerves to a paroxysm of incredible pain derived from causalgia. The crossbeam and body are hoisted to the mortice beneath the apex of the stipe, a shallow angle then bends the knees, and finally the contorted feet are disposed to suffer the same fate as the hands only this time exacted upon the plantar nerves which elicits an identical response. No more than a brief moment passes before cramping of the calves and thighs exacerbate the trauma attributed to injuries already sustained from the haemorrhaging lung, broken thoracic cage, and lacerations to the dorsum. The sleepless night in the Garden of Gethsemane has markedly lowered the pain threshold and is punctuated by the ubiquity of shock, together with this phenomenon does lactic acid in the muscles prompt hyperventilation, and the attendant pleural effusion further truncates breath. It is the advent of a new sensation inspired from the inflammation of nerves throughout the arched body which begins to intensify: Jesus is now on fire. Spectators cheer and jeer at the Nazarene who claims to be Christ, and the high elevation of the cross amplifies the acoustics of their piercing laughter to its vertex where He languishes in silence, about this time the skies above have darkened to a sullen hue (Matthew 27:45).

The Son hangs listlessly from the cross, the skin symptomatic of shock turns ashen, spittle and vomitus regurgitated at intervals saturate the body as a result of nausea precipitated by critically low levels of blood volume and pressure. A hematologist would argue at least a fifth of it has hemorrhaged by this time. The acidic content of sweat trickling down from the perforated forehead by the crown of thorns stings those abrasions inflicted from, before the march to the crest of this hill, repeated strikes of a staff upon the head (Mark 15:19). Amid the orgasm of bloodlust, the soldiers who spat on Jesus’ visage and ridiculed Him moments ago rest with grinning faces, the crowd in turn expresses its enthusiasm at the sanguinary sight. ‘He deserves to die’ (Mathew 26:66), they yell, whistle, and beam with euphoria. At this hour, poor circulation to the heart begins the irreversible reaction of organ failure, moreover keen pains still accompany every breath from the uncharacteristic brutality of the scourging from the previous morning. Much of Jesus’ plasma pools in regions of the lungs, tremors and seizures assail the body, and faint with thirst a sponge of water is raised to His lips of which He drinks in one draught. Jesus, ever pugnacious, His wretched body an icon of the malice sown in the hearts of men, knew Father’s will had finally been done. Looking up at Him with stoic eyes right before death, here on a hill christened Golgotha humanity’s most powerful words were spoken: ‘It is finished’. The Son dies at three in the afternoon, year thirty-three anno Domini, on the third day of April.

#Father

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