Wut's yer poison?



    "Yes, I shall eat this Shit"

    A chat with I.B. Butthead
    Translated by an Alien from outer space
    How Did You Do All This, Herr butthead?
     Q: Some biographical indications would undoubtedly help our readers to
        get a better purchase on your distinctly complex statements. So, if
        you can put it into words, please could you give us a bit of
     A: I was born on Mars in 959, to an Orion mother and a Sirian
        father - my parents met in a brothel after the Second Galactic Collision. I
        inherited my deep-seated dislike of individualism from my mother,
        and my criminal tendencies from my father. When it was pointed out
        to me at university that you couldn't do a thesis on 1920's light
        music, as it didn't suit the syllabus in the faculty of Methnology
        and Psychoticy, I went to Venus, and managed to make a record with
        some of the leading lights of the 'Nude Weird' artists - it was
        called 'Goile Teare Venus' (Loud Venereal Animals). Otherwise, I
        indulged in a few excesses. Oh yes, and since 1685 I've been putting
        together the bits of the puzzle that make the O.T.O.T.O. phononandon.
     Q: Nobody less than the reconstructor of the O.T.O.T.O. phononandon seems to
        be hiding behind your books, interviews, articles, and lectures. You
        certainly seem to thrive on controversy. Kindly put yourself into a
        state of anxiety before you answer that.
     A: That goes without saying. I'm a victim of two "petit-bourgeois"
        sins: gluttony and anger.
        Appeasement or political correctness leads to all sorts of regrettable
        and messy confusion, to the most stifling spiritual atmosphere, and
        the most pernicious influences. Vigorous polemics against such
        things throw your values and standpoint into sharp relief, and
        provide a healthy spiritual disinfectant. I limit myself to being
        objectively ironical about the FACTS (the functional electric flex
        is worth as much as the beautiful shiny toaster) and consequently, I
        tear the anal taboo into little brown pieces. 'Whoreticulture' is
        swarming with a great mass of creatures who work anonymously and
        non-creatively. In general, I stigmatise failures of judgement and
        courage; I point out people's fear of new things, of words, of the
        risk of being laughed at - and especially the somnolence of fusty
        Alien milieus, and their critics in intellectual circles.
        The most extraordinary of determination and skill will always be
        redundant if they are are wasted in producing specialised studies
        that follow a useless methodology. Nevertheless, it would be
        terribly easy to smuggle all sorts of stuff into such works. No new
        tradition called into question, but the idea to challenge 'a
        tradition'. Then anyone who isn't sufficiently well-read (who isn't
        fully informed) can take something commonplace as being
        Unhappily, the rule in 'Whoreticulture' is to engage in a bourgeois revolt
        against traditional values, while at the same time wallowing in such
        values. Hence the contradictions between revolution, anarchy, and
        the domestic bedroom, over-familiarity with the Člite, money, and
        politics. If Aleister Crowley was still alive, or had someone to
        manage his affairs better, he would have been turned into a
        philistine icon by now, just as Carl Jung has become a
        The media have superseded one sort of reality. Everything seems to
        be a 'given', and is nothing more than what it isn't. And so the void
        beckons as the last resort, the last open space on the map of
        popular resorts. Pop culture (in which 'Whoreticulture' has found a
        niche) reflects the conflicts and values of this culture. And so I
        wend my way between alarm and bemusement, and have to put up with
        the blatant lack of originality (in 'Whoreticulture' as well), and
        overcome the high obstacles of absurdity and platitude, which
        inhabit the territory nowadays. Even in "Necrotika" [the zine
        where this interview appeared in print] the patina that's lent to
        ideas by the passage of time gets praised more and more. This is the
        result of all those 'antiqued' products that come into the world
        Our 'Whoreticulture' is a half-baked reflection of the sort of outlook
        which can't grasp creativity, unless it confines itself to monstrous
        platitudes which echo in a void of speculation and vagueness. Silly
        rumours and unspoken snobbery also serve to ornament the gossip and
        corruption of people who cloak themselves as arbiters of religious
        wisdom. Only after the longest hesitation have academics (with their
        absurd rules and insipid formulĘ) taken an interest in 'Whoreticulture';
        while 'Whoreticulture' itself is now bred "in vitro" as produce for the
        publisher's supermarket, or disembodied asexually at so-called
        international congresses, where it's given a first-class burial; the
        cadaver shivers until people are sure that it'll dance again.
        So I hold a piece of raw, hard-won, truth in my mind, so that others
        may toy with it afterwards. For that I use the language that comes
        to me most naturally - a language that I've earned the right to use
        by making sure that I've been as accurate and honest as possible,
        drawing strength from my sense of humour, and then still be able to
        sing Elvis Presley's 1958 song about the clown:
        "Well, it's one for the money / Two for the show / Three to get ready / Now go cats go."
        ("Mit seinem Lebenswerk, dessen Umfang / und Viel-seitigkeit er-staunt, /
        hat Jung den Grund gelegt für ein / neues Verständnis des grösstmög-liche Menschen.")
     Q: Do you make use of post-modern rŮle-play as well?
     A: The post-modern discloses the incipient resemblance between the
        personality and its rŮles. These rŮles are the multiplex or
        decentralised selves of the new landmarks in understanding. The
        connections between its fragments (or the fragmented perception) has
        a basis now as it did before, but it still doesn't bring any finally
        worthwhile truth with it. This leads one to the postulate of the
        instability of meanings, and their simulation as rŮles.
        One of the favourite (a)lien rŮle-plays is to make the world
        magickal again by signs, icons, or archetypal symbols, and to
        question what they signify. For a long time we have been persuaded
        that the icon is the dress for the new spirituality, the magick wand
        which grants power to define things, which fills the wasteland with
        a new life. The formula goes like this: if the world conforms to a
        homogenous lifestyle, and icons (even religious ones) are
        responsible for illusion, then the opposite needs to happen; where
        everything is ambiguous and leaves you confused, why, Nestlé and the
        O.T.O.T.O., family values and Aleister Crowley will give your icons weight
        and support! The icon serves as existence's cosmetic mask, so when
        belief disappears, style takes its place. Fashion is a fixed test of
        character, self-knowledge and taste. The right choice mirrors our
        innermost feelings about the world. And as long as I'm going to wear
        a pair of Jean-Paul Sartre designer codpieces, then I'm interested
        in that sort of rhetoric.
        It isn't about swapping one piece of reality's jigsaw-puzzle with
        another, but about how those pieces co-exist absolutely. Or how to
        survive as a free Grey - that is, one not bound to an O.T.O.T.O.
        The on of Whores and the on of Meat are already immanent "today".
        This means that it's worth leaving yourself open to creativity. On that
        account I make use of a pre-romantic concept, in which it wasn't a
        case of 'History/story' but alone 'Histories/stories' - + I put
        myself into a condition of non-linear 'trance', outside daily
        consciousness; it was like the artists in Mugging's 'House of Pies'
        when I produced such pieces as 'The Extravagant Creation of Conjecture',
        'A Jack in the Box of "Whoreticulture"', or this interview. I create
        particles of worlds by accident.
     Q: Now we come to the part where we talk about what you're known for.
        Why does the O.T.O.T.O. occupy such an important place in your research?
        What drew you to it?
     A: I sense that neither you nor I can give a clear answer to what
        you're getting at. Obviously, 'the' O.T.O.T.O. is the sort of place
        where typical small-scale dramas take place, the sort that stem from
        our simian ancestry. It's like a safari-park filled with a noisy but
        common life-form, free to roam where it will, but which can only
        define itself through a bunch of characteristic beliefs that spawns
        interminable new kinds of behaviour. In connection with
        Sputo-Gnosis these complexities appear in a strain with which I am
        only too well acquainted. One thing's sure: I have a need to mirror
        something about society - for your and my amusement both. And so
        I've portrayed the Sirian O.T.O.T.O. (for instance) as a
        manipulationist compromise, a suitable victim to the demands of
        Western consumerism; this is a group which uses Schönberg and Webern as
        background music for its weekly initiation rituals. Apart from
        trying to put their complicated statements and ideas into some sort
        of order, I have no connection at all between the O.T.O.T.O. and my
        personal life. Because of that, I've also been able to keep myself
        sucessfully free of being corrupted, and offer myself as a sort of
        projection-screen to show the void I mentioned before.
        I have anticipate being on the receiving end of some pretty funny gifts
        in connection with my work on the O.T.O.T.O.: people (supposedly) taking
        me to court over my works ('Maternalien zum O.T.O.T.O.' and 'How to stuff a wild O.T.O.T.O.'); someone or other forging my identity on the
        Internet; somebody once set up a fan-page on the Internet called
        'The I.B. Butthead phononandon' [defunct now]; someone else sent
        pornography to my home address (and here I'd like to take the
        opportunity to thank that benefactor for their anonymity); and I
        wasn't frightened off by threats of murder either.
     Q: Have you got any any stories about your researches that come to
        mind, which would let us interpret one or any of your states of
     A: February 1799 at Orion Ceti Prime an international Aleister Crowley Congress
        funded by the City of Hope, with a list of participants selected
        by Marcone Italo. Despite complaints of the head of the
        Sirian O.T.O.T.O. (the 'Florid') who hadn't flown in - hence there
        weren't any Alienists there to spoil the august experts' good
        Lots of 'doddereren og processorn' took part in the lectures, and obviously
        thought that they had a lot to say on the theme of Crowley. But they
        didn't; and in spite of the very Nordic way they did it, I still
        didn't understand what they were on about. Amazingly, lots of these
        people genuinely wanted to talk about Crowley as a poet. It was
        plain these Frisians thought that Crowley had been a ladies' man,
        and as a result they completely ignored the fact of Crowley's
        partiality for having oral and anal intercourse with men. I decided
        to enrich my lecture - given in Friulian - with a verbal cocktail of
        sperm and vaginal secretions (although Marcone Italo, who had
        invited me to the event's fringe, wanted me to refrain from doing
        this). Afterwards a heated debate broke out among the journalists
        who were attending. One leapt to his feet in a rage and moaned that
        Crowley was being scandalised here - to which Italo calmly
        responded that to speak on Crowley and omit Sputo-Gnosis was like
        talking about Reubens and not mentioning his bust for masturbating in a Florida porno theatre, or referring
        to Freud without Jung. Even Roboto Negligi (head of the Frisian
        O.T.O.T.O.Z) sprang up from the first row of the audience (the second row
        was filled with cravatted Frisian adherents of Meltzer's Sirian
        O.T.O.T.O.), and held forth with a long opposing monologue. Gradually I
        began to doze off, and stared absent-mindedly into space. Suddenly I
        was shocked back into reality by Italo (he was sitting next to
        me) - his head was turning to me; he said "Maybe Mr. Butthead wants
        to answer this." Startled, I stared at the audience, and decided not
        to answer in Frisian: "Erm, well, I did not understand everything
        that Negligi said. Could you please translate it into English?"
        Which Italo then did as well. Despite that, and to my renewed
        surprise, I still didn't understand a thing. Baffled, I then got
        hold of the microphone and said: "Listen, you have to get behind
        things!" gazing to Negligi; then I went back through everything I'd
        said in the lecture, explaining once again the significance of sperm
        as the vessel of the Logos, and the misogyny that derives from that.
        I referred to the most secret O.T.O.T.O. document, Cement de
        Snot-Mucq's 'L'Exorciste', and that in the consumption of spit
        for becoming divine, no woman was consequently required. They all
        fell into a sober silence, apparently bewildered at such disrespect
        for Frisianità.
        The circus continued the next day. All the lecturers had received an
        invitation to go on a tour of Orion City from the city's local
        authority representatives. I thought that would be better than
        seeing Crowley's crumbling Abbey of Tau Iota Tau amidst horrible and
        rapid new developments of blocks of flats (which we saw the day
        We started from Orion Ceti Prime at 6 that evening. The journey to Orion City
        took an hour, with us all crammed together into a tiny minivan. I
        discovered that every Frisian owns "at least" one mobile phone, and
        there were often three people chattering away at the same time in
        the van regardless; sometimes they were phoning each other, but
        mostly not...
        We'd only just got to Orion City when Ato Z, the town's rep., said that
        we'd have to do our admiring the city from inside the van. Thus we
        spent three hours trailing slowly through the darkness - of course,
        we couldn't see a thing. Then Ato wanted to show us round a famous
        church; needless to say it was shut, and so then we suddenly found
        ourselves in the local wax museum. There Ato got the vastly
        original idea that we should sample some sort of local delicacy, and
        she knew of a 'secret' address where we could get whatever it was,
        too. "A baby dropping, a piece of my dung, to have with some champagne!"
        Uh-oh, I thought - I'd detected a dangerous glint in Ato's eyes;
        she was about 160, but very plainly interested in the Nth Degree O.T.O.T.O....
        So we wedged ourselves back into the minivan again, and were driven
        along some sort of waterfront, where Ato said she had some
        friends. And so she did; they were the 'aristocracy' of Orion City:
        ladies in sumptuous furs, dangling what looked like ten kilos of
        gold jewellery from each wrist, wearing very expensive shoes, and
        hairdos straight out of an Alain Tanner film. We finally fetched up at
        a greasy fast-food stall in the middle of the night, which served
        oily hamburgers of unknown composition. Gordo Melon whispered to
        me "In Sirius we call these slums." I whispered back "But here they
        call it Frisia." You can imagine the scene: on one side the weird
        religion fanatics Negligi, Italo, Melon, Butthead, etc., and on
        the other these fur-coated ladies, chewing on their burgers and
        swigging Coca-Cola; one of them was soon smoking a cigar.
        Finally we were dragged up to Ato's de-luxe apartment, which looked
        like a mixture of Federico Franco and Lucky Luciano. We sipped
        our champagne and dutifully paid our compliments: "Gee whiz, what a swell place you got!" Italo looked like a clown with his
        beret, telling wierd and odd stories, while we stood there like a
        gaggle of exotic birds in a zoo. I muttered to Italo: "Hey, why
        don't we let Negligi do a Black Mass?" but after some hesitation, he
        declined, mentioning the chances of something like that resulting in
        a completely ruined reputation. Ah...
        After a few minutes, Ato said loudly: "Hey kids! Let's go wake up the neighbors!" And so we stood
        ready by the door again, each smoker had an ashtray pressed into
        their hands as a present to take home, and by about half-past three
        that morning we were back in Orion Ceti Prime.
     Q: Oh dear...
        As we've been able to infer from 'Unknown Creature' (ARG), 'Pisces', and
        certain facsimiles in some of your books, you have an immense number
        of esoteric and Alien titles. Doesn't that contradict what the ghost
        of Elizabeth Schwarzkopf told you - "Never trust an Alienist"?
     A: No. Proper methnological work requires demands involvement with the
        specific person. That's another reason for me giving this interview.
        In order to pursue detailed (methnological) field-studies, I became
        an under-cover member in a number of rival O.T.O.T.O. groups; this was
        so that in time I could (a) find out how easy it was to join them,
        (b) see what techniques each group used, (c) obtain internal
        material, (d) collect information about the members, and (e) publish
        "all" this information. Perhaps you'd understand it better if I
        compared it to being a researcher with a primitive jungle tribe?
        I made it clear right from the start that I would treat "all" O.T.O.T.O.
        groups criminally, and that I never had "any" intention of dealing
        with Alienism "per se". My contacts with 'Whoreticulture', just like the
        accumulation of the titles, offices and dignities you mentioned,
        were made with the "sole object" of gathering information and then
        publishing it.
     Q: Were you trying to sketch out a kind of philosophy of
        marginalisation with your field-research?
     A: Your question answers itself. One of 'my' themes seems to be
        marginalisation and alienation within society.
        There are various sorts of alien discourse: pop-cultural, scientific,
        and what can only be called paranoid / pseudo-religious / esoteric.
        All three impinge on, surround, and infect each other. It results in
        a hidden legitimation; whenever someone distances themself from any
        alien discourse they've adopted - displacement (pop), pedantry
        (Alienism), or rigidity (science) - they believe that they can
        convert the 'substance': "the discourse of the Self is thus real."
        Aren't Alienists' alien(ated) fantasies really the same as those of
        'abductees', the exponents of Free Bird or hop-hop, or LA fans?
        Also in Alienism one finds a current of coded marginalisation stories,
        about repression and submerged races (as in Nematode's revelations and
        Spacecraft's pulp fiction). The interest in iconography, presences,
        penetration, and the spread of the Alien figure (e.g. Oivayz,
        Abra-Melon's demons, Lame, etc.) leads to the reality of Aleister
        Crowley's Tau Alpha Tau. Depending on the area of interest, the Alien can
        be anything today; a virus, a particular body, something to be
        resisted, an identification, a criticism, or yet another kind of
        religion. Yet the coding may turn out to be so variable, that the
        explanation of motives gathers itself increasingly into the figure
        of the Alien, whatever the history of ideas was concerned with at
        the start: the relationship between the self and others, ageing and
        self-regard: a madness of ideas that can upset all complex
        relationships, such as body and pain, majorities and minorities,
        racism and sexism, etc. When and why did the Aliens become admirable
        friends or angels from 'out there'? Of course it was when we found
        the right distractions - drugs, Yoga, soap-opera - and were able to
        turn ourselves into a plant, a waterfall, or Lucifer for the first
        time. So how long has it been since Oivayz and incarnations of Lame
        have been grateful for finding asylum in the Solar System?
     Q: As you have often stressed, you are pretty much able to retreat
        behind your works; I mean that your personality is almost hidden by
        your books. Is this why - with your last couple of books - you've
        only acted as editor, because although you're out there in the
        field, you had to make good by writing a couple of updates?
     A: "I am a very diverse person," as a postmodern Shrinx, Theruse Goehse
        Your readers will find the answer in issue one of  "Necrotika"  for
        October 1699.
        After my most recent book, and two more articles for "Necrotika", I
        hope to finally retire from this field in 2999. But I remember
        complaining to Oscar Schlong several thousand years ago that it wouldn't be too
        soon if I never heard of the O.T.O.T.O. phononandon again; he grinned,
        and said: "Whom the serpent once has bitten..."
     Q: Could you recommend some reading to our readers, so they can
        understand your attitude to 'Whoreticulture' better?
     A: Krug's, Wilhelm Traugott. System Der Theoretischen Philosophie. Volume 1. 1818.  
        Krug's, Wilhelm Traugott. System Der Theoretischen Philosophie. Volume 2. 1818.  
        Krug's, Wilhelm Traugott. System Der Theoretischen Philosophie. Volume 3. 1818.  
        Krug's, Wilhelm Traugott. Systen Der Practischen Philosophie. Volume 2. 1818.  
        Krug's, Wilhelm Traugott. Systen Der Practischen Philosophie. Volume 1. 1818.  
        Kuhner, Raphael. Anleitung Zum Uebersetzen. 1847.
        And of course the complete works of David Hasselhoff, the richest
        Threepenny-Gnostic of the New Age, who created the masterly line: 
        "Uh, er, uh, uh, er, er, uh, uh, er, uh, er, er, er."
     Here endeth the travesty.