Of Lions and Men was conceived as a sample excavation of the masculine mind of Western Man, and is essentially an attempt to provide context for the books Taboo You, Incubus of Your Sacred Emasculation and At the End of Masculine Time. During the writing of this ‘prequel’ a handful of Taboo You readers have sought from me a deeper understanding of the tribal nature of the Taboo Man, essentially asking for an example of how to operate as an alienated masculine soul in our feminist society, and most importantly, how to function in a tribal context once a tribal group worthy of the misanthropic man’s association is found.

It is first important to establish the fact that all tribal societies that I have studied over 40 years of reading on primitives, have made allowances for the odd ball man; have constructed a limited field of potent, purposeful interaction between a self-alienated person [as opposed to the ostracized reject]. Unlike civilized societies, which, as they become more modern, increasingly seek to extinguish behavioral variance, the primitive tribal hierarchy makes a place for taboo men in the form of the shaman, otherwise unclean killer, homosexuals, the insane, and extra-tribal associates such as traders, interpreters, and healers.

The taboo path is dependent upon and interactive with a tribal worldview. Taboo men will find themselves more accepted among feral tribal entities such as gangs, fringe fraternities, hunting clubs, combat arts clubs, etc. In our sissy postmodern contexts these are gatherings of taboo men, who seek to make their own normalized cultural space on an elevated spiritual plane.

There is also the fact that our materialistic, “trade-based” society—in which the only things that truly matters are the accumulation of goods, control of precious commodities, physical comfort and carnal enjoyment—is structured around counterfeit tribal lines. The modern workplace, from the hellish industrial maiming pens of the 19th Century, to the soul-squashing cubicles of the 21st Century, are structured in such a way as to hijack our collective tribal instincts for the enrichment of extra-tribal slave masters and pathological social puppeteers.

Gabe and I are occupants of a curious refugee camp of the masculine soul. The martial arts scene in Baltimore has been almost completely transmogrified from the men’s karate and judo clubs of the 1960s to the women’s fitness/child care centers of the 21st Century. Vestigial martial arts fraternities with traceable lineages to Asian based traditions abound, and continue to figurehead paper tiger organizations supposedly devoted to preserving the world’s martial heritage and local masculine culture, but actually functioning as daycare and clit maintenance facilities.

One of these fraternities is the art of Kenpo—currently, as I am told—divided into three or four squabbling camps. Jim is the proprietor of the last commercial Kenpo school in the Baltimore area to focus on combat rather than daycare and women’s fitness. In order to do this—since the dearth of actual kenpo combatants is so stark—he has chosen to import alienated combat arts practitioners such as Gabe and myself, to ply our physical trades under his roof. This gives Jim various advantages in competing for the dwindling masculine dollar. It also gives him the status of having a raw type of fighter in his commercial environment; the type of fighter that is too rare to pay the rent through dues in an emasculated environment, and is therefore left looking for a home.

On one occasion, Jim got us together and lectured us on the sick politics of the kenpo world. All he asked of us was to continue being polite and dangerous, to continue to bring badasses through the front door for training. Jim is fighting the asymmetrical guerilla war against the goliath daycare centers who are trying to drive him out of business and take his students. He also has to worry about keeping out the few ‘asshole’ martial artists that will try to pose as us, who will either come through the door with the image but without the substance, or with the substance but without the ethics.

One Sunday morning, before Jim came in, as I was taking the floor with my fighters and Gabe was gearing down, a big fit fighter came in and began asking questions. Gabe cornered him, questioned him on lineage, [Gabe is an encyclopedia of legit fight trainers in Central Maryland] and then called me over without a heads up on anything. I knew what this meant, that Gabe had said something like, “Holmes, if you’re going to come into my Sijong’s school and ask questions and peek behind the curtains thinking that you can get the scoop on us without divulging your intentions and your lineage, then you can step out on the mat with this man or one of his boys and find out what’s up.”

I approached, shook hands, invited the man out on the mat for a free boxing or stick session, and watched him swallow hard. This prime age heavyweight had just been vetted and punked out by an old lightweight and a bloated and broken down welterweight in the most polite way. When Jim is there and when he is not, he has two nasty old dogs that are at his personal service, who do not fall under the aegis of the duplicitous octopus-like organizations that comprise the feuding kenpo hierarchy.

Furthermore, if we get out of line he just cuts us loose with a word, for we serve at his pleasure. Since I have been there he has used me to vet out two bad seeds. Gabe was once there to keep him from decking some old karate guy who had insulted his students after Jim had opened his doors for him. Gabe saw Jim climbing over his desk to deck the ninjitsu master and darted off the floor to drag the insulting fool away so our boss would not have to face a law suit or criminal charges. Just as Jim shields us from the greater economy, we shield him from the things floating in its sour underbelly.

The lesson here is, that to be a taboo man, you must not just be dangerous, non dependent, and free-willed, but must also be capable of forging reciprocal relationships directly with people who have the power to punish, dismiss, or humiliate you, without being able to take shelter in some hierarchy. Hierarchies just as often shield the lower members from unilateral action by the top man as they do the top man from the bottom man. If Jim decided to strip Gabe or I of our status, than we may not appeal to the World Kenpo Foundation for Disgruntled Knuckleheads, but must walk on, out into the emasculated wilderness of what remains of the combat arts world. This relationship occasionally entails Jim putting us in a subservient position in front of his students, like when he reminded me not to hit the speed bag when he was teaching. It also entails him forcing his—sometimes reluctant—students to salute us outsiders as seniors.

A close look at the rise of such barbarian leaders as Genghis Khan and Cortez, will demonstrate a facility for playing the hierarchy and taboo men off against each other in such a fashion.

The taboo man who wishes to be relevant to a tribal structure not only needs to be able to measure up to the tribal standard—in Gabe’s and my case, being able to fight and coach—but also be willing to serve at the pleasure of the chief, and the chief alone.

I will conclude the discussion of this concept, as it pertains to the greater emasculated society, with The Money Tribe.