I’ve been asleep at the cultural wheel, it seems. Really asleep, deep narcolepsy - as I taught youth who were on the verge of devolving into the preening, product-driven, putzes we have become as a nation of Hollywood-wannabes. - It’s not with glee that I say we are cooked – this infantile society, self-important, so cardboard in our continence, so holographic, so dribble-brained with the numerous belly-button gazing and crotch shots. - This is a silly game of consumers jockeying for more silliness, infinite impotence, unimportant thought, and driveling drone dervish to show just how juvenile and unmanly we are in our machismo that is anti-evolutionary. Men like children. Watching the pathetic TV and NBA finals. The amount of LSD-forced crap coming out of that box, out of the marketing game, all the popular culture and the sports culture, it’s been viral, exponential, disastrous. Men who are insignificant. Children, spoiled, too much disposable income for Doritos this, Dodge that, Dumbing Down this and that. Twenty-somethings gathering around the TV box, each new season of each new mindless so-sophisticated or slapstick series - These sports junkies are bizarre, overpaid capitalists, strange humanoids, Consumer-sucked in Citizens of the Planet Credit Purchases. Men and women chanting and cheering and crying while these unimportant, do-nothing athletes play ball. TV is sickening, each angle, each replay, each far-out frame of flash and dash the meaningless of a meaningless adventure in someone else’s meaningless adventure. The game segues from 99 angles of 10 stooges pushing bodies toward a bouncing ball. The movie promos – the movies, my god, what punks, what stupidity, what vapidity, what creative-less sponges formulated for marketing, profiting, financing – and the commercials, with these overpaid felons, these illiterate car salesmen and saleswomen as the voice box announcers and prognosticators, analysts. We are flabby brained fools, lacking story, lacking a geography of narrative, lacking the rite of passage of serious service to fellow humans. Narcissism is at a premium. Overpaid gluts. Silliness in every sentence, every word. The superficiality is deafening. So many chubby dads, chubby moms, chubby fathers. Huffing and puffing away. Sucking ice-cream, lollipops, Mountain Dews. Outfitted like some Reebok or Nike ad model gone heavy. Nothing but the classlessness of the corporate logo class, the athletes shilling Taco Bell, Gator Aid, Red Bull, iPhone, Microsoft You can’t put this shit in a bad novel. All these vapid volumes of boiler plate sport talk, all those promos for the most amazingly pathetic movies coming out soon. Fascists, the facilitators of dumb-downing and buckets of disassociation from community, from anything serious, anything worldly or political, participatory, anything from some insipid pool of democracy for losers. People talk about products. Beer. Food. Fools for humanoids – athletes. They talk about the next fun infantile thing that will push more dopamine into their dopey numskulls. Suck on a Coors, all-you-can-eat a three foot Subway, drive relentlessly to some miniature Disneyland or little vacation spot that looks, sounds and is like every other city full of Burgervilles, Applebees, Cabellas, Pizza Huts and some replicable entertainment zone or strip. Flaming hot burritos with flaming hot Frito chips smothered in fake cheese, rolled up in fake flour tortillas, minced up with salt-happy fake meat and dashes of pepper spray left over from the SWAT team’s Occupy Wall Street practice sessions.
Posted on: Wed, 19 Jun 2013 05:50:26 +0000
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