8824 NE Russell St.
Portland OR 97220

Black Lamb


Now in its 14th year of publication, this magazine was created to offer the discerning reader a stimulating selection of excellent original writing. Black Lamb Review is a literate rather than a literary publication. Regular columns by writers in a variety of geographic locations and vocations are supplemented by features, reviews, articles on books and authors, and a selection of “departments,” including an acerbic advice column and a lamb recipe.


Black Lamb welcomes submissions from new writers. Email us.


If you have questions or comments regarding Black Lamb, please email us.

Post Armageddon

There's a sweet new world waiting for us out there.

December 1st, 2014


manson2Charles Manson has been besieged by hot chicks begging to marry him. These girls look beyond his wrecked octogenarian carcass and the swastika on his forehead, not to mention his embarrassingly feeble guitar playing. Are they nuts? Of course they are, but I’m not much better.

I’m feeling fascination, even sympathy, for a complete nut case named Timothy Treadwell, the poor guy who lived with grizzly bears in Alaska and who eventually died in their paws. Everything I know about the grizzly man comes from the documentary of that name, directed by Werner Herzog. This excellent film tells the story of a drug-addicted loser actor from Los Angeles who discovered the natural world and was saved by it. The bears were such an exhilarating drug for Treadwell, he needed no other for the rest of his life.

Watching Treadwell play with his animal friends, you can’t help but like the guy. You envy the joy that he exudes in this wilderness setting, no matter the hardships of tent life and the miserable wind and rain that come with the territory. You start to overlook his delusionary behavior. He thought he was protecting the bears, when in fact they needed no protection: they are apex predators protected by park boundaries. Worse, Treadwell thought he had become a member of the bear tribe, when in fact he was on the path to being their victim, along with his naïve girlfriend, Amy.

Most men in Alaska think Treadwell was an irresponsible jerk, but many women do not concur. Women interviewed by Herzog express their love and admiration for the nut job. Treadwell loved animals, and that apparently is enough to redeem him, no matter that he is responsible for the death, by grizzly, of his companion.

Madness is ubiquitous, and it is historic. When Jesse James was gunning down bank tellers and stealing the savings of farm families, some people cheered — addled people with the same flawed brains as the Treadwell admirers. When Che Guevara slaughtered innocent shopkeepers as ruthlessly as a weasel tearing up baby quail, we looked the other way and put his face on our T-shirts. A new monument is now being erected to Ted Kennedy, even though he let a woman slowly die in a car. What cocktail party is Roman Polanski attending tonight? His admirers are legion. His thirteen-year-old rape victim? That’s ancient history. She’s probably dead by now, so who cares?

Our cities are burning and our highways shut down because zealots are taking to the streets in defense of a criminal who was shot by a cop in Missouri. The cop has to go into hiding instead of getting a bonus for eliminating a dangerous thug from a troubled town. Madness.
Can you name one person who is not infected with some kind of madness? We are the most irrational population of idiots ever to take stewardship of this suffering planet.

When the bombs of insane Iranians finally put an end to the human experiment, there will be a long dark age to contend with. But don’t worry, everything will turn out fine. Although the post-nuclear planet may appear to be devoid of life, that will not be the case. There will be blind crabs on the ocean floor, miles down, who will likely survive the atomic blast. These arthropods will, within a billion years or so, evolve into primate creatures that will bring back the Italian Renaissance. Those small white crabs already have violin-like appendages, thus saving us eons of evolution as they eventually turn into Gasparo di Salo, inventor of the fiddle, and Pietro Locatelli, renowned composer for that instrument. \

These thoughts of a brighter future, free of madness, comfort me and help me tolerate the insanity all around me. There will be a golden era sometime after the white crab restart and the eventual return of the modern world. In that heady era people will plant bananas and trap fish in wicker tubes. People having an abundance of bananas and fish will share them with their neighbors. Thieves will be clubbed and thrown into the river where they belong. No prisons, no wardens, no counselors, professors, or other non-productive people.

Many golden millennia will pass before society becomes decadent enough to produce a man playing with grizzlies. The tribe will understand that a barrier exists between the human world and that of bears, and that this barrier must not be crossed, except maybe if we need a rug for the floor of the wigwam. This long, happy time will be known as the Era of Sanity. There will be no place for the likes of Al Sharpton, Geraldo Rivera, Nancy Pelosi, or Ban Ki Moon. What’s not to like? •

Posted by: The Editors
Category: All Madness Issue, Roberts | Link to this Entry


  • Blogroll