Coming close to death changes you, and not always for the better. Although as I slowly became more and more fatigued as the cancer within me grew and I felt that if I kept getting worse that I wouldn't see another year, the idea that I was near death's door didn't truly come home until the surgeon looked at my CAT scan and said, and I quote, "Shit!". The cancer in my kidney was large, so large that part of one of my ribs had to be removed to get it out, and there were grave concerns that a tumor that size would not be fully encapsulated, meaning that it had probably already spread to other parts of my body. So far nothing has been found, but cancer is an unpredictable disease, and any test I take could show its return.

I remember driving back from the doctor's office after getting the news. The one thing I kept thinking over and over was, "You asked for it, and now you've got it." I'm not suicidal, but there have been a number of times in my life where things just seemed to be too fucked up to be fixed. I never attempted suicide, nor wished for death, but in those trying times I truly wouldn't have minded seeing the grim reaper at the door with my name at the top of his list. What a wonderful excuse it would be, when your life is a shambles and there's no hope in site, to have your time come up so that you don't have to dig yourself out of yet another deep hole. But I've never tried to tip fate's hand, and so whenever life serves up a shit sandwich I do what I always do: sit down and take a big bite. I always tell myself that death will come soon enough, there's no need to rush it.

I feel sorry for those people who deny themselves the opportunity to look death straight in the face. You never have to accept death. You can get on your knees and beg your god to save you, making a coward and a fool out of yourself. You can deny that you will ever die, concocting whatever afterlife story brings you comfort. Or you can expect that you will not die this time around, believing whole heartedly that the doctors will save you, and never thinking about the time when they can do nothing to help you. Denial isn't only for the religious even though it seems to be a prerequisite, and most of us are too scared of death to even contemplate it. I feel sorry for those in denial because until you really face death you never really understand what life is all about. This is probably for the better, because life is one big steaming pile of bullshit. Coming close to death is like emerging from the pile and suddenly realizing that we're all buried in feces. When you don't die your first reaction is not to jump back in, but to break out a fire hose.

I never really understood suicide bombers until I was at death's door. When you're dying you never want to just go away. You feel that if you could give your life to further some noble cause then you could at least die contented. Forget about 70 virgins in heaven, forget about the glory of Allah, and forget about religion entirely. The best reason worth dying for is to give a gift to those who live. Your family, your friends, and your countrymen mean far more than any myths, so when you reach the point where you can no longer bear how others are being treated, and their lives as well as yours have been reduced to being worth little or nothing, you have no problems giving up your life to try to save theirs. It is in essence the same noble cause that all soldiers believe in when they go off to fight, but in the case of a suicide bomber it is more deeply felt, since a suicide bomber knows that there is no chance of coming back alive. Suicide bombers are not driven by anger and hate and a thirst to bring death, but by love and devotion and a desire to save lives.

Our media has trained us to believe otherwise. We've been told that suicide bombers are bloodthirsty murderers who are brainwashed by cowardly, hate-filled fanatics to slaughter innocents in the name of their god. Of course, much killing is done in the name of (fill in the blank), but it is not necessary to invoke the name of a deity when rape, torture, and murder become all too common. When life becomes too painful, death is a reasonable option, and when you realize that a friend or relative who you watched being buried could just as easily have been you, dying to prevent others from the same fate is a tradeoff with a powerful emotional logic behind it. It is the same instinct that drives mothers of all species to fight for and sometimes die to protect their young. There is no denying that suicide bombers are used as pawns in political and military struggles, just as are soldiers, agents, and mercenaries, and thus many are asked to commit atrocities which are justified as being for the greater good. But the fact that there are so many who are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice should be the focus of our concern, not their selection of targets or their death toll. When we watch from our positions of comfort, we do not feel what they are feeling, and we cannot imagine why they can't just go about living their lives as we do. To us it looks like insanity, or evil incarnate. The trouble is, when suicide bombers are effective, and they make us feel like they do, we are filled with the same desire to defend ourselves, whatever it takes, and we fan the fires of destruction.

I'm trying to get "Food for the Gods" to you as soon as possible, whatever it takes, but the printing shop that I commissioned to do the booklets and tray cards has choked big time. The first print run had several pages of the booklet screwed up and was completely unacceptable. I took it back and they agreed to do another run but one of their printing machines broke down. What a pain. In retrospect I shouldn't have angered the gods since they've obviously conspired to thwart my attempt to release my CDs, so I now humbly apologize to those petty, self-righteous, bastards and invite them to spend more than a little time with me when I get to my infernal resting place. In any event, if the printer actually does get his machines fixed and finishes the job correctly there will still be a two week delay on the release. If he doesn't, he will know my wrath and fury. Words cannot fully describe my feelings about the printer I was referred to and his lack of professionalism, but "motherfucker" is a good start. A big ‘Hello’ to anyone receiving the Burning Blade for the first time. This is the Fireaxe newsletter.