Clayton Luce

Clayton Luce

Founding Editor/ Publisher
http://www.cultnation.org

Clayton L. Luce is a writer and journalist, editor, artist, event producer and multimedia production professional living in Louisville, Kentucky.
He spent 6 years in international public relations for an international NGO and founded Emagyn Production Company and Emagyn Publishing Company which were later combined into Emagyn Media Company, specializing in video production, graphic design, corporate branding and small form publishing.
Clayton is also an activist in the fields of cult abuse and political reform and is also an active supporter of N.O.R.M.L. for marijuana reform legislation.
In 2014 he co-founded GonzoToday with many other like minded individuals as a New Journalism platform to counter the ever omnipotent news and Mainstream Media industry increasingly constrained by private interests, lack of journalistic integrity and the oppression of freedom of the press and artistic expression. He currently serves as executive publisher and a board member of GonzoToday.com and its social charitable parent organization GonzoToday Group, Inc.

The GonzoToday mission is to advance the promotion and social integrity of the arts and culture as well as to provide a grassroots based affiliate network of artists, galleries, writers, publishing houses, musicians and record companies for the purpose of creating opportunities for artistic expression and ideological freedom and community as an alternative to mainstream outlets/organizations.

In 2015 Clayton was appointed to the GonzoFest Louisville creative production as well as the GrateVille Dead music festival production team. In 2016 he was granted a Kentucky Colonelship by new Kentucky Governor and general Nazi, Matt Bevin, for no apparently good reason at all.

His plans are to flee the country as soon as possible, and never return.

Grateful for Grateville Dead Louisville

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By: Clayton L. Luce
Slideshow and cover photo by: Michael Palmer
Videography by: Steve “Shooter” Russell

They did it again! Those sneaky, dirty hippies converged once more onto the pristine grounds and picturesque vistas of the Louisville Waterfront Park to commence a weekend of drinking, laughing, probably smoking marijuana and playing loud hippy music through giant loudspeakers at 2,000 decibels late into the evening.

1The event occurred at the Brown Forman Amphitheater, although it was reported to GonzoToday that several hippies were also spotted wandering through other areas of the park, some of them bathing in the shitty river and yet others taking cool baths in the temperature controlled fountains of the main lawn. Despite these obscure and terrifying occurrences the festival was reasonably contained and carried out in a highly responsible manner by festival co-founders Ashley Angel and Dennie Humphrey, who might themselves be hippies or some other thing not far removed. Ashley wears dreadlocks and Dennie smiled far too much for your average debt-bound, cash-strapped angry white American. Why was he so happy? And what the hell was Grateville Dead anyway? Well I for one was bound to find out and and so – sweating profusely and fresh out of hash – we headed in to get some sort of usable footage and maybe a coherent story from one of these drunk hippies.

Immediately upon entering the venue I was impressed by the production quality and general cleanliness and pleasant aesthetics of the amphitheater. The built in half arena contained music, which through natural amplification of the amphitheater seemed to be pleasantly reflected back out towards the Ohio River behind the stage and the sound quality from any point in the venue was of the highest quality. Continue reading

GonzoSchmest, Gonzo Days and the Interview with Clayton Luce

GonzoToday publisher Clayton L. Luce answers a few questions about GonzoToday, GonzoFest, and reports of bats being forced into indentured servitude.
By: C.A. Seller

 C.A .Seller: By your own admission you are an Adventurer, Mystic, Magician, Lover, Artist, Writer and Fool as well as a Master Apprentice at  the School of the Inner Circle. Is it true you are also Executive Publisher of Gonzo Today or do wish to invoke your Fifth Amendment Rights?

Clayton Luce: All of these things may be true. It’s hard to say, really. There is a strange reality to everything that just makes it all more confusing. So enough of that gibberish. As for the publisher title I do my best not to be executive at all and that was actually an addition to the title that I amended to make my call-sign initials more balanced. The other way was too top-heavy. Besides you have to sound official in order to deal with certain types of Bastards.

CLL
EP

CA: Having grown up without shoes, how did a young Clayton Luce come to know Hunter S. Thompson?

CL: Well, I did have shoes from a rather early age. In fact, I had an early pair cast in brass, but they have long since been melted down. I came to know him through the Johnny Depp portrayal I suppose. That was my first intro to his work because I grew up in a wealthy, religious home and being an avid reader I used all forms of youthful skill and treachery to acquire copies of Hunter S. Thompson’s work, which often became accessible in places like youth homes for boys, jail cells and on the bookshelves of lifelong dope fiends that would buy liquor for young punks with $5 and a cigarette. I have always been drawn to the written word, both as a writer and an avid reader, and Hunter’s work was a sharp blade cutting through much of the traditional bullshit that I was force-fed as a young man. It was a brutal and unrelenting sort of honesty that I could relate to, along with a sense of rebellion and the Outlaw Spirit. And there was the prophecy element, but that is another matter altogether. Continue reading

Destroy All Monsters

 

I’ve got this ache today. It’s the sinking feeling that I’m a forgotten cog in a well-oiled machine, or just that I’ve been had.

Is there anybody else who wants out?

Outside at night where I live in an ordinary middle class suburb, the whole street is dark except the television lights flickering in each house. It’s that listless silvery light of a room filled with hypnotism. People sit inside those houses with nerves so frayed from dismal hours of mind-numbing work at bad jobs that to concentrate on anything other than the television is too demanding.

Like machine gun fire, they get a steady stream of war, murder, school shootings, bombings, robberies, beatings, political red-herrings, and what we have lately: a ridiculous presidential candidate who clownishly spews bile from a mouth like an aqueduct.

Most of the USA, especially the exhausted middle class, is hooked up to this spookishly turbulent world of entertainment, to such an extent that night after night the real world fades away like a vapor – and then, poof, it’s gone for good!

The viewers, too sleepy to be aware of it, undergo a barrage of insults: They’re too fat and ugly. They’re too stupid. They’re powerless to do anything. They need to be wary of strangers at risk of death.

The demeaning messages creep up at first from the periphery of their vision like a vampire devising mental trickery with its long, shadowy fingers.

A strange, unsettling world begins to take shape. The fat, ugly, stupid, powerless, frightened viewers then observe on the screen a world where people appear to constantly murder, rob, and generally attack each other as if they’re at war with each other in every way imaginable night and day.

Eventually, the people watching are mesmerized. a fiction seeps into their minds, deep down into their emotional lives, and they become so afraid of each other that they don’t want to participate in life anymore. They want to withdraw, comfortably alone, and remain isolated.

Thenceforth, they aren’t much of a match for anything, much less a match that could take on the corrupted system that has been loosened everywhere lately. How long has the monster been unleashed now? At the zenith of the USA’s political power, the USA seems to have decided to delight in profit at the expense of humanity – a great waste – and the monster began to stomp, like a Godzilla wrecking through foreign lands.

The people are tired. They’re hooked up to the screens in their living rooms. They have little to no chance of gathering together in support of a cause if only out of a debilitating fear of one another.

Picture someone standing in your living room night after night, saying to you in a snide voice: You’re stupid. You’re fat. You’re ugly. You’re worthless. Nobody is ever going to love you. But be careful, if you meet a stranger, they might kill you. Don’t trust anyone. People are violent. People only care about themselves. People will hurt you. We’ll make sure we keep you safe from them. We’ll keep you safe from the whole world. All you have to do is work and raise a family of hard workers and listen to me, night after night.

Imagine the impossibility of someone subjected to that for a lifetime actually having the strength to make a difference in the world.

The nondescript screen emits images. The sleep-inducing box presents fictional scenes from a fictional world that replaces reality with an ugly narrative. Albeit, eventually the one believed to be outside the living room window.

But it’s not. It’s a fiction.

An artificial world, and nothing more, is created inside people’s minds by the screen: People are cruel, people just want to hurt you, people can’t be trusted. You’re fat, ugly, unwanted, unloved. You consume goods, make money to buy things, go and be a hard worker, raise hard workers – and that’s it! Bam! End of story! You’re dead!

The city streets have begun to look more and more like a great, long, dismal funeral procession. The people are terrified of looking into one anothers’ eyes. They look away as if a panic might take hold of them if contact is made with one of the potentially life-threatening strangers.

These boxes in almost every living room, which emit light and images, are propaganda-laced. They hold everything in place, just as it was last year. The people are hooked up to a drip filled with opiates so they can bear the night and make it through tomorrow: another mind-numbing day in an office where everyone hates their existence, their job, and the strange feeling that came over them last night in bed, the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

But the damage is done. Almost nothing is left but the inevitable zombie stare that addicts have. Almost nothing is left but the zombie stare that hints at the completely disintegrated personality within.

The propaganda-laced screens, the drip filled with opiates, the drugs are like warfare, and if they don’t leave the body at a young enough age the victims end up with half-eaten brains and a pathetic imbecile sits there, blood coming out the ears as if a beating had taken place. They become weak, passive, apathetic. All of which makes it easier to slip the drugs to the next generation.

Next time you see the stars, look up. Wonder how far space goes; it goes on nearly infinitely; and feel that sense of miraculousness in being here. Count an infinity of stars in your mind. The universe and the natural world are in a constant state of undress awaiting the world’s lovers to notice their beauty. Fill yourself with awe, amazement. Get into a tender mood. Then look at strangers.

People everywhere on earth are on a tiny rock in the middle of space, in the middle of nowhere, yet with brains, blood, cells that are all alive. They’re made of stardust from billions of years ago, and made from atoms as old as the beginning of time.

Every atom in your being belongs to the beginning of the universe. It was born there. It has existed for a countless length of time in space. Now it’s in you, your body, your mind, your thoughts. We are in fact alive like something surreal, something magnificently windswept, something far more powerful and gorgeous than we’ve been led on to believe.

And wonder: With the state of affairs in the world as it is, shouldn’t we teach at every opportunity the feeling that there is, on final analysis, something else to life, something more to a person?

Not fat. Ugly. Stupid. Powerless. Fearful. Depressed. Broken. Dead.

People are so very low they don’t know how to stand up anymore. They’re lying down. They’re beaten, nearly all of them.

Bring it out into the open: your true self, your real face, your beating heart, your love, your benevolence, your empathy, your humanity, the stuff that exists at such a deep level that you and you alone know it’s there. That stuff. That’s what we’re made of. You know what it is.

Give it away. Give that to the depressed, the worn, the broken, the powerless, the frightened, the sad, the wounded, the floundering, the dissidents who have just begun to flash those stardust eyelashes open.

Bring them up to bring the monster crashing down, for good. The madness in the modern world is due to the people being swindled, hustled like a sugar dealer on the street would hustle an addict. Unblock the doors, climb to the apex, break through to the extremity of existence. Do whatever needs to be done.

Godzilla is stomping. Destroy all monsters.

 

Cliff Gogh’s books available here