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Porn and Football

Back by popular demand, this essay can be found in “The Complete Transmissions Volume 1” by Paul Waggener, available on this site.

Millions of people right now are glued to a screen watching their fantasies play out in front of them; toned, muscled bodies on camera performing just for them – sweating and grunting with exertion. The viewers are totally invested in the action, waiting with baited breath, their sweaty hands moist with anticipation of the main star making penetration…into the endzone.

This similarity between professional sports and porn does not end there – both take in billions of dollars each year, both create celebrity status for their participants which they use to market product, and both contribute to a sickness that is weakening (predominantly) males across the world. That sickness is mediation.

With sports, this is seen even in the language fans use to refer to their chosen team – “we,” “us,” words of identity, grouping themselves in with a team of humans they have never, and likely will never meet, who they roar support for in the coliseum, wear jerseys branded with their favorite players name and number, and debate endlessly with other fans about how good “our program is this year.” Sports fans participate in trivia nights at their local bars, citing endless statistic and minutiae – here’s a statistic: studies show that self-identifying sports fans are on average more unhealthy and in worse shape than those who are not.

The answer for this? Mediation. So much time spent sitting and watching others perform leads to a lack of desire to perform oneself. So too, with pornography – statistically, habitual pornography viewers are more likely to experience sexual dysfunction like ED, and have less grey matter in the brain areas related to sexual stimulation – like any drug, its continued use demands more and higher levels of stimulation in order to achieve the same levels of interest.

Observation instead of participation is the name of the game in the modern world. Video games, sports, pornography, movies, reality television, even the news – it can all lead systematically to becoming a “receiver” instead of a “sender,” which is, of course, what the leaders of Empire have in mind for you. If your switch is constantly set to “receive,” your brain becomes open, malleable, like a spongy mush ready to mop up and dribble out every bit of sewage they spill into it, an invertebrate fit only for couch-ridden outbursts of approval or dismay at “your” team’s escapades, “your” representatives political decisions, or to weakly leak out your pathetic seed as you savage yourself to another false representation of sexual contact between two slabs of painted meat slamming their surgically altered bodies together in feigned ecstasy.

This is not the life we were meant for: to wither or bloat like drowned corpses as the over-minds dangle pretty distractions in front of our milky eyes, working for our whip-holders for a pitiful wage or a massive sum, either way to be spent on frivolous trinkets or bourgeois comforts. We were meant to bite that hand that seeks to distract us! To tear free of that leash of mediation and docility, to rend the throats of those who would keep us in thrall!

Next time you sit down to play-off or jerk-off, consider what that time might be better spent doing – are you content to live in the cage that they’ve constructed for you, or would you rather bed down tonight after a real fight and a real fuck, with blood in your mouth, rebellion in your mind, and glory in your heart?

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This Is Only Temporary

All photos by Andrea Pagan

This weekend I had the honor of attending an Operation Werewolf event hosted by Leonardo of the “Dire Dogs” in the Venetian countryside. This was my second time as a guest in Europe, and just as before, every single mile and moment spent was one I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

To be present at the beginning of a new legend is a true privilege, and this is what I believe I was witness to in my time there. As someone who has been a member of a tribal organization for over a decade now, seeing these sparks roar to life as new tribes are built, new traditions are founded, and new members howl out their oaths to crew, gang and tribe around the fire beneath the bright moon takes me back to the beginnings of my own.

When the four founders of the Wolves (myself, my brother Matthias, and the Carnes brothers Sam and Nathan) decided to form our tribe some 11 years ago, it started from a tiny seed within which dwelt a vast and eternal need- to form a brotherhood that went beyond the bonds of the families we had been born into and to extend outward to men who we found worthy to speak an oath to. We wanted to create something legendary. For us, the need arose from its lack of existence- there was nothing in this world that we knew of that was like what we wanted to build.

From motorcycle club to esoteric order, there existed nothing that held both brotherhood and ritual, blood and earth, violence and love, loyalty and myth within its boundaries. Therefore, we set out to create it, and the Wolves were born. Oaths were conceived straight from the heart, and rituals were envisioned and enacted, growing and developing over years of practice and experience. Throughout the years, men have come and gone- those who have left our tribal boundaries have had their names erased from our histories, and those who have remained have grown in strength and character, and have had their actions spoken of and given honor to in countries all over the world by other strong men.

This is the soul of what we do. Our rites and rituals come not from the dusty pages of a book, to reconstruct what our ancestors have done, because we do not need to wonder what they would have done. We know what they would have done, now, here, in our time- because their voices sing and tremble through the blood in our veins, and their words have shattered the silence again. They have seen these new lands and this new age through our eyes, and breathed once more the cold night air with our lungs. There is no division between them, and us- just as there is no division between our gods and us. They are all living, inside our blood and hearts, and only those who have stood with us around the fire and shed their blood with us will ever know these truths.

Our greatest honor is to be remembered. To be spoken of by men who we respect, to have our names shouted to the night sky as others raise hands in salute of our deeds. This is because we know that all life is temporary, but that our deeds can live on forever- through the blood, through the stories of our lives as we weave them into the stories of others- and to do this so strongly and full of vitality that we are never forgotten.

And here’s the thing- those who always stay home are never remembered. As I walked onto the plane in Milan to return home to America, there was this little sticker on the wall, that read “This Is Only Temporary,” and the hairs on my neck stood up.

Images of the weekend flashed back through my mind, and I felt the shock up my arm as I punched Chris, a “Wuduwasa” prospect from England in the face during his “jump in” after ritual, saw the dark blood shining on his teeth in the moonlight. The buzz of the tattoo machine as I made tattoos with Tatiana’s machine, and the sound of laughter and fellowship around us. The overwhelming feeling of pride and honor in my heart to sing the ritual galdr with Marius from Norway’s “Ulvepels,” and Darko, the Serbian cannon-ball. 6 am conversations about truth, honor, and loyalty with Thorwald, Max, Svante.

Every time I see someone make the choice to stay home rather than to do whatever it takes to go forth and seek these experiences, these friendships worth crossing the oceans for, these times that will never be forgotten- I feel a brief and passing pity for them. Time is fleeting, and we will never be here again. This is all temporary. Only our legend will last- and in my life, every action is a prayer to send my names and the names of my brothers into eternity.


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Written for Operation Werewolf by Terence Mitchell

Every single day, throughout the day, we are faced with options; these are either soft options or hard options; and it’s our choice in the matter that determines our trajectory. It’s our choice wether we continue along our evolutionary paths toward a greater knowledge of self and exploration of potential via a revolution of spirit, or if we stagnate and further entrench ourselves within a quagmire of self-sabotage and self-deception, thus culminating in self-loathing.

Soft options are instantaneously gratifying; they petition to our perversities by appealing to our epicurean tastes, our shameless desire for comfort, ease, and first-world convenience. Soft options delay the inevitable; they hold us hostage to an ideal that cannot be maintained; they anchor us to an ideology that will eventually weigh us down and facilitate our demise. Soft options perpetuate that which we wish to overcome: addiction, apathy, obesity, disease, dependency, toxic relationships, eating disorders, and even personality disorders.

Soft options are weekend-long Netflix binges that offer zero value to our lives, and junk food binges that offer zero nutritional value to our bodies; they raise our cortisol levels, increase our estrogen, and lower our testosterone. They render us weak and incapable; they make us less than men by forcing to the surface that which is most deplorable in men.

But there exists another option, albeit a less popular one. An option that demands discipline; an option that is unwavering and thus unwilling to negotiate with resistance- an option whose only desire is to destroy it. One choice at a time. One day at a time. This is the hard option. And this is the option we must choose.

The hard option is choosing to live vigorously while the overwhelming majority live vicariously through the lives of other men and fictional characters. It’s the choice to move daily, without exception. It’s the choice to eat nourishing foods that heal and repair our bodies, despite the preparation required, and inconvenience thereof. It’s the choice to make the time to write down our thoughts and ideas so as to bring them into existence, and to read real books when it would be much easier to watch something mindless on TV.

Men are defined by the options they entertain. Hard options make harder, more resilient men; and it is these options that provide unlimited potential for physical, mental and spiritual growth, along with a deeper knowledge of Self. It is this knowing that leads to further doing; and so we do what we must.

We do this in the seemingly insignificant battles that belong to a greater war, fought in the dark and uncomfortable places- during the lonely hours while our loved ones sleep, and the rest of the world dreams.