I USED TO WORSHIP SATAN

If you've read this blog before, you know that I grew up in a family of hard rockers. I was born and raised to the sounds of Maiden, Helloween, and Sabbath. As I got older, metal got harder. My dad would come home with new albums from Metallica or Slayer and it's all we would listen to for days. My older brother always felt the need to outdo my dad, so he started getting into death metal bands like Carcass, Deicide, and Obituary. Being the youngest one, I had to try and do my best to keep up. When I was around 12, I had finally scraped enough allowance money together to order the most extreme album I could find: the Emperor/Enslaved split. I was now into black metal. Full on satan worshipping, church burning bands that murdered eachothers members and ate their remains. Fuck you, dad. And fuck Metallica, I heard those guys go to the gym.

Soon enough I was wearing an upside down cross around my neck. Well, actually it was just a cheap plastic crucifix I found, where I poked a hole through Jesus' feet and put some string through. Later on I also melted Jesus' face off, because that's how badass I was. Mind you, this was the early 90s, when black metal was still run by dudes that would carry dead ravens in a bag for sniffing purposes. Not a bunch of videogame testers that live in their moms basements and play the evil keyboard. Black metal had a cause, but since I was too young to be raping any nuns, I tried to do my part by carving upside down crosses, pentagrams or a straight forward "Satan" into pretty much anything I could find.

One late evening, in my room listening to Dark Funeral, I came to a painful realization. If I was a Satan worshipper, I was missing one pretty important part: the actual worshipping of Satan. Once I realized my faults, I knew I had to do it. Right then and there. I needed to immerse myself in evil, man. I lit one of my mom's candles, turned off the lights, and kneeled in front of my Baphomet poster (as seen above). Alright, sick. That's pretty evil for a twelve year-old. Now what? I didn't know any Satanic rituals, and that Anton Lavey Satanic Bible shit was too expensive. I didn't do drugs, so I figured I would just close my eyes and say some Satanic shit until I got into some trance, or something. Alright, let's say his name in many different ways to summon him, or something. That'll do the trick. Baphomet, Goat of Mendes, Lucifer, Satan, um... Satan. Satan. Uh... Satan. Yea, I just sat there saying "Satan" over and over for a few minutes. I don't know if I was expecting something really evil to happen, like maybe get possessed or something, but instead the door opened, which the Baphomet poster was on. So now, I'm facing my brother. On my knees. In candle light.

"Umm... do you... do you want some fries?" That was all he said. He was so weirded out he didn't even make fun of me. I got up, walked into the living room, and ate some fries like nothing happened. That was pretty much the end of my Satan worshipping days.