Orbis Tertius

This is a brief response to a well-ranted Facebook comment (found here: http://www.facebook.com/JessieBoulanger/posts/2152140888158?ref=notif&notif_t=feed_comment_reply).

This post notably makes reference to 'real music', '[art]', & '[culture]' as opposed to 'processed crap' which I'll interpret as unreal, or manufactured, for the sake of this response. This is the argument of real v manufactured (i.e. unreal). My point will reduce to the idea that music videos (read 'Old MTV') are more real than reality shows (read 'Current MTV').

The first thing to note is how Reality Shows, in truth, are not "reality."  They are, at best, a type of manufactured reality (which is no reality at all?). This is indicated by several things. Firstly, the characters are "acting" or playing for the camera and the result is a reality that is only real to the camera. It is not real to real life however, which is the reality they are purporting to show. Other indicators are that scenes are re-shot and the strange absence of cameras in the final product.

Music videos, which (generally) do not in any way pretend to be real are, conversely, much more real. I don't want to spend too much time on this, but suffice it to say that they an exaggeration of a feeling or an idea and it is clear to the viewer that an exaggeration is happening.

As as example I will compare Fox News (as 'Reality Shows', sorry conservatives) to 'The Daily Show' (as music video). Between the two, Fox News is the only one that presents itself as real news. 'The Daily Show' is very clearly (or should clearly be seen as) a satire. With Fox News, viewers assume they are getting the truth, what is real. With 'The Daily Show' the veneer is so thin, that no one mistakes as real news. Ironically, because the satirical veneer is so thin, the viewer actually gets a better idea of what is 'real'.

At the level beneath this one we could consider that nothing is real, but for that read 'Simulacra and Simulation' by Jean Baudrillard (to which this blog is heavily indebted) ...

But Why is the Rum Gone? Or 3/5 Mile in Ten Seconds?

I decided it was time for another blog, but I have no idea where to take this thing. As such, I'll begin with what I'm doing right now (or was doing before I stopped to type): (1) listening to KMFDM, (2) reading 'The Rum Diary', (3) playing with Play-Doh, and (4) being thankful I have rum and ice.

(1) KMFDM: More people should listen to industrial music. It's very danceable and, often, very funny. Plus it has the sociopolitical commentary you find in punk music (aside: the Sex Pistols are the, note the definite article, punk band).

(2) The Rum Diary: I haven't read this in a while and I cannot get over how incredible well written this is. It makes me feel very small indeed. The more apropos point is that I have been thinking about opening sentences and how tough they can be. The opening lines I write tend to be self referential (see above). The one real exception is when I fail at writing poems. There is only one opening bit I've ever written that I really like, but it's much too obscene for this venue.

(3) Play-Doh: In making a Halloween basket for my niece I decided to include Play-Doh because I didn't want it to be all diabetes inducing fare; I did include some M&Ms though. Overpriced Dora the Explorer stickers also made it in basket. Which leads me to wonder: does Lou Dobbs go mad with rage whenever he hears of Dora? I was working with black, white, & purple which, when combined, can create some very interesting abstract-expressionist-esque results. Maybe I'll post pictures...

(4) Rum & Ice: The only germane beverage when reading 'The Rum Diary' would be rum & ice, wouldn't it?

Now that I've written this little bit I have two ideas for future blogs: (1) the necessity of suffering for human identity/pleasure and (2) an idea that has failed to catch the train to long term memory. I'm not really sure if anyone reads this, but please goad me if you do (& find them of some value). Please direct any notice of typos or grammatical errors to the Rum...

An attempt at Craft (aka Crap)

A Work in Progress (Reflections)
The Soul's mirror
Is an image that I
Cannot breach or
Break to find
To find my Aleph*
Would not it
Break to
Show me just
A glimpse...


Same but with a different structure (& probably better)
The Soul's mirror
Is an image that
I cannot breach
Or break to find
To find my Aleph*
Would not it break
To show me just
A fleeting glimpse...

*an artifact that can reveal the entire universe at once

[Insert Pretentious/Hipster Title]

a.k.a. Two Things I Hate & One Thing I Like

To Google, Facebook, et al.
Screw you. Life is not one giant threaded conversation. Let each conversation exist on it's own.

To movies where the 'lovable loser' falls for his second choice 'or the girl that's always really loved him'.
You suck.

Okay, enough bitching and onto things that I like. Namely: style. Not clothing style, or hair style, or who-knows-what-else style, but writing style. Finding a writer whose style I like is ... one of those ineffable things that I love more than so much else. It's sinister.* It's not hard to come up with an interesting story idea (unless your Hollywood) and anyone with a hammer and sickle can pound away till they harvest 200 pages of something. To develop a writing style, however, is not easy. It's hard enough to break past your influences and you have to wallow in them for a while anyway until something new is birthed.

I thought I saw some signs of a new style tonight (not in my writing ... it's still soaked in placenta) which is exciting.

As I've rambled a bit about style, I should list some of my style heroes. In no particular order they are Jorge Louis Borges, Hunter S. Thompson, William S. Burroughs, & Kurt Vonnegut. The ampersand is from HST and the ellipses from WSB. The scary thing about studying your favorite writers is that you see what they are and that can be a bit unsettling. In order, my style heroes are: normal (at least there's one!), drug addict trapped in a fictional creation of himself, pan-sexual heroin addict who accidentally killed his wife, & a smoker who was in Dresden when the bombs fell. Nothing I really aspire to. There is no Heroin chic.

Style reminds me what is so great about the world in the first place; and that is ... **** if i know. Ho Ho. Semi-colon used in remembrance of Kurt Vonnegut.

This is getting long and not getting anywhere so let's end it.

Addendum 1: If I could be anyone else it would be Richard Ashcroft.
Addendum 2: I'm not the only one who's paranoid (write word) of going blind?
Addendum 3: Bad puns are my father's fault.

*This is a reference to both Allen Ginsberg and an unnamed artist.

A Requiem for Hope

Requiem for a Dream is one of those movies, that, when it is over, you are stuck in a trance. It lacks the humor that is found in its oft compared brothers Fear and Loathing and Spun. About an hour after you are released from the temporary catatonic state. Which is nice because you can escape from the dark depression the film brings on. This is only a temporary reprieve because once you leave the emotional state the film induces, your mind is free to ponder what just happened.

Though it is often portrayed as a “look at the horrors of drugs” movie, it is much more. The first thing to notice is that the characters that use drugs end up on them both on purpose and on accident. The two story lines weave together. As the director noted, this is not an “illegal” drug movie, but a movie about addiction and anyone can be addicted to anything. Inevitably we all become addicted to something that gets in the way of our dreams (hence the film’s title).

I find the film much darker. No one has just one dream. The pursuit of one dream/goal will interfere with the pursuit of another. Slavish dedication to one dream will rule out all others and leave the dreamer unhappy in achievement. Life is suffering and try as Americans do to avoid suffering- it cannot be done. That is the paradox: suffering precludes happiness and the removal of suffering also removes happiness.

Society Circles

Let me begin by noting how much I despise end notes. Why must I flip forward three hundred pages and then back as much just to get a little information? Make it a footnote and end the misanthropy. Now let us (or me, as it is my pen making the markings) move on.

It has been my theory that societies operate as circles. Societies are groups of people (countries, business, friends, etc) that operate (live) within a demarcated area. When a society forms it is a “circle” of individuals with a similar enough set of beliefs that allow them to live (and hopefully) prosper together. Over time, however, the circle gets smaller as the beliefs of the individuals become less compatible. For example, the split into factions we could call “Democrats” and “Republicans.” Eventually the circle gets so small that there are significantly more people outside the circle than in. It is at this point that the process needs to start again.

Recently, though, I realized that this theory was too narrow, or maybe, two dimensional. Unexpectedly, this revelation was born from the movie SPUN. If you haven’t seen the movie it is a three day speed experience following a meth addict (Ross) acting as a chauffeur for a cook (someone who “cooks
up the methamphetamines). My first thought was that this is a sub culture, a sub-circle, existing within or under the main circle that is America. Everyone in the meth circle interacts and influences people outside the circle. There are the cooks (and smurfs) who increase pseudoephedrine sales. There are also users who interactive with an effect non-users.

This makes me think that instead of a circle, a society is a series of interconnected rings.

Momentum

Momentum. There is no getting anywhere without it. The Vikings and Broncos didn’t win because they were better teams. They won because their opponents were unable to muster up any momentum. Starting is easy. Anyone can call up a blank screen or make his way to the start of a long trail. It’s the next step that can be a bummer. You need a spark to drive the soul to some momentum.

That’s what I have been lacking. No spark to turn the one paragraph into a two page paper. No momentum to make the workplace better. The spark is escaping me and preventing me from worthwhile accomplishment. Some loss of strength is inevitably caused by the deteriorating condition of the American intellect. It may very well doom us all. A country where Sarah Palin is respected as a national figure by anyone is probably not a country for me. No amount of philosophical or practical wisdom may be able to dig us out of the pit we have fallen into it. In the absence of momentum I close with words of manufactured wisdom.

“Good evening, London. Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of every day routine- the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any bloke. But in the spirit of commemoration, thereby those important events of the past usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, a celebration of a nice holiday, I thought we could mark this November the 5th, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat. There are of course those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now, orders are being shouted into telephones, and men with guns will soon be on their way. Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression. And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable, but again truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror. I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you, and in your panic you turned to the now high chancellor, Adam Sutler. He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent. … More than four hundred years ago a great citizen wished to embed the fifth of November forever in our memory. His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice, and freedom are more than words, they are perspectives.” (V for Vendetta, 2006)