The Search for Health in Decadence

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Tuesday, June 30, 2009

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I am a Celebrity Star (and I Will Go Far)

1) Michael Jackson's hips forge my new destiny.

I am a celebrity star
(and I will go far)

I met Michael Jackson
in a dream, and his dance hips
spun a hypnotic wave
through space and time
driving a wedge into fate
which collapsed destiny

I was a normal man
with normal alienation
and a normal fear of cameras
and then Michael Jackson's hips
sent me moonwalking to stardom

I first realized I was a star
while receiving a text message
responding to a picture
I'd taken of myself

"niiiiiiice"

I am becoming a celebrity star
and I am going far

I hide from paparazzi
with clever disguises

I fall in love with celebrities
and break their hearts
(and they break mine)

I am becoming a celebrity star
and I am going far

my self-awareness is a function
of understanding what others see

my self-awareness is keen attention
how I look and sound on a screen

my self-awareness is understanding
how I do just the right thing
make you want to be like me

I am a celebrity star
and I will go far

you feel that you know me
you feel that you know me
you feel that you know me
and it makes you sad

2) Disambiguation

I'll never know if you really know me
I'll never know if you love me for me
I'll never know if I am my role or myself
I'll never know if I'll ever know

3) The Neo-Social Compact

The only way to make a real difference
is for people to identify with your brand.

I am a product
I am a product
I am a product
I am a product

(you can't get enough)

My concern for humanity is endearing,
and this endearment is not nearly good enough.

4) The validity of arguments.

A man is his actions
A woman is herself viewing her actions
A celebrity's actions are cultural currency

I feel sorry for Daisy and mad at VH1 for putting her on TV instead of in therapy. I am mad at myself for watching. I make jokes at everyone's expense (these are funny jokes). I marvel that Brooke Hogan has her own show and has music videos and albums for sale despite her public-private life. I think anyone's mother who would have a relationship with her daughter's classmate needs therapy. I think everyone needs therapy. I think the field of therapy needs therapy. I am sometimes able to read dense sentences from Nietzsche's "Beyond Good and Evil" in my dreams, but when I wake up the sentences are quotes from Paris Hilton and Donald Trump. I watch the evening news and yell at the news anchors for spending more time on celebrities than the Iraq War, the Afghanistan War, the Iran elections, Darfur, the War in the Congo, and for never fact-checking bald-faced lies politicians say.

Not every argument is valid. Every argument is not valid. One of these things is true.

5) I dreamt that I met a celebrity and I was a normal person.

I've never had a dream that I was a celebrity trying to be a normal person. Dreams never work that way. We falter in the direction of seduction every time.

6) I am a celebrity star (and I will go far)

I need to be loved by everyone
I need to be hated by everyone
I need to be noticed by everyone

I catch your eye
and sex beyond sex
weaves a trail
up your spine

I am a celebrity star
(and I will go far)

I catch your eye

posted by Will at 11:39 PM 5 comments

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Five Followers!

This post is dedicated to reaching the hallmark of five followers according to my blogger dashboard! I'd like to thank all five of you for making this post possible!

posted by Will at 11:37 PM 0 comments

Monday, June 29, 2009

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Long week

It is good to get out of your comfort zone and do things that you aren't used to doing. And there are times when I feel that I'm better at observing human behavior than participating in it. Navigating these landscapes wears on me, but this struggle helps me feel alive and human. I see how people falter and how they succeed and their struggles are all beautiful in their own way, regardless of whether they succeed or fail.

As for me - I am alienated. I struggle with connection. I don't even suspect that I'm particularly eager for anyone to fall in love with me. I think that love should be earned, and I think it will take a truly alienated person to make that connection with me. Not depressed, not an alcoholic, not disengaged... but alienated and observant. Engaged and intelligent. Creative and independent. Justifiably alienated...substantively.

There is a great, great void that cannot be filled. Do not try to fill the void. Live in the wake of this void. The wind swirling from it is electric. There is more than enough energy in this storm for a lifetime.

posted by Will at 1:20 AM 0 comments

Friday, June 26, 2009

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My Hands, My Hands

I wear trails on my tails
contrails distilled details
weather wails -- listen
the weather wails

distinct possibilities
cloud my flawless inkling
from the absurd morass
clear lines of thinking

I am the kind of man
who sleeps when waking
dreams while sailing
and screams gracefully

I mimic emotional absences
with tender truths
that stroke the earth's
swelling objective indifference

this tender grand stoicism
I grant myself in echo
and the world around me
repeats the world around me

I can find love and its copy
behind a mirror's scintillation

I can find emptiness hollowed
filled with gentle wishes

I can hear the sound of my voice
from a tape recorder
played from a computer
rhythmically on repeat

but my hands are untouchable
and, thus, incorruptible

what I mean is - they feel
and for this they are real

the weight of responsibility
with each thing I touch

posted by Will at 10:57 PM 0 comments

Monday, June 22, 2009

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Finally!



Appropriate response, ladies.

posted by Will at 7:53 AM 1 comments

Monday, June 15, 2009

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The media is the message

A brief thought about this interview posted on YouTube:



The reason the product department is the marketing department is that there is no difference between the two anymore. The product is the marketing, perhaps this will help you to see how this is a self-generating system.

posted by Will at 9:08 AM 0 comments

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

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Reviewing "E Unibus Pluram: Television and U.S. Fiction"

Upon suggestion, I have decided to read E Unibus Pluram: Television and U.S. Fiction by David Foster Wallace. Here is my review of the essay along with my personal reflections as it relates to me.


The essay starts by calling us voyeurs. This is an acceptable premise, given his citation of the statistic that American watch on average six hours of television a day. He goes on to say that fiction writers are particularly good at voyeurism and that the root of this is our self-consciousness and the affliction so many of us face about being being around others. TV is a gateway to observation that helps us find our voice.

Of course, fighting our loneliness and finding our voice through voyeurism is a effort in delving into illusion. He provides the example that people are asked to "act natural" while on camera, but acting natural while on camera for most people doesn't look natural at all. It is an illusion of looking natural.

He goes on to examine how television is viewed in a strange light of criticism. People love to hate television. He says we have a weird "hate-need-fear-6 hrs.-daily gestalt" about it. He goes from this point to talk about syndication and the self-referential tendency of television. The subject of television has become itself. This is no new idea, Umberto Eco famously wrote that "The media is the message."

He goes on to discuss "metafiction" - or a sort of inverse of realism. Whereas realism is a practice of showing what it sees, metafiction is the practice of telling it as it sees itself telling it as it sees it. Jean Baudrilland's "Simulation and Simulacra" discusses this a little - reality has slipped away to simulacra, copies without an original. This discussion of metafiction discusses how fiction fictionalizes itself, which sounds impossible until you understand the self-referential void these narratives emerge from.

Irony is the domain of postmodernism because meaning is lost in the procession of simulacra. Television is the best media for irony because what you see conflicts with what you hear so often. Images of dead bodies juxtaposed with the words of someone saying "there is no oppression" or people caught saying things that don't match reality - "Newt Gingrich said Obama said this, but you can see Obama actually said this." Irony is dangerous for television because it undermines its authority, but it gains validity by highlighting these ironies.

Wallace goes on to describe how we become more addicted to television, and how television creates a system that enforces this. This is more than self-evident to me, as we all know that advertising agencies and network executives pay big money to find ways to manipulate us - and we know it works.

This addiction to television has lead to a change in literature, because television is a major shared experience that we apparently spend more waking time doing than anything else. He writes about how pop references in literature work because we know these references, and because we are uncomfortable that we know these references.

It goes on to discuss how pop references have become a necessary part of contemporary literature. Whereas bloviated old college professors would make weird claims that literature is "timeless", Mr. Wallace notes that television and the postmodern condition requires a new sensitivity toward contemporary references due to the universal experiences we have in the system of understanding that has been created from television.

Finishing the first half of the essay, he examines an excerpt from White Noise by Don DeLillo(which I totally need to read now). The scene involves two guys following signs to the "World's Most Photographed Barn" and upon arriving one character realizes that this mutually enforced reality is a complete farce. "No one sees the barn" as everyone takes pictures of it. The scene around the barn loses the barn. As the character complains, the other character responds with silence.

The second half of the essay finally posits the thesis: irony, stone-faced silence, and fear of ridicule are key features of contemporary U.S. culture. In this vein, he sees a push to transfigure the power television has over the vast American landscape and the dominating presence is so extreme the it may be beyond transfiguration.

He provides examples of commercials and television shows and contemporary literature that address these themes, but already these examples are outdated compared to the intensity of newer material that is saturating our world. For example, he provides the example of the Pepsi commercial showing a Pepsi sound van manipulating people to come off the beach and eagerly get refreshed - "Pepsi: The Choice of a New Generation". The ironies throughout this ad about choice, and being an individual that stands out from the crowd but fits into the crowd, and so forth are still present in current ads, and newer ads are better about this. Consider the Axe ads with the sea of women forcefully telling younger men what they want and jumping all over them when they spray themselves. Consider the old Sprite ads with Grant Hill ironically selling a product whilst dollar signs are flashing on the screen with each comment he makes. The PBS Frontline documentary "The Merchants of Cool" addresses these themes to some degree, but also the new research methods that take these problems to a new level.



A common theme throughout this essay and "The Merchants of Cool" is the building of authority by television by being on your level with understanding that the authority of television is a fraud. This is maintained by continually attacking itself ironically and putting newer versions of itself up as authorities. There is an endless destructive force at work here, yet even once an authority is discredited it can return to favor by discrediting that which usurps it. Regardless, television is always looking inward at itself and continues to feed on its own world to a greater degree all of the time.

Irony, being the central feature of our times, he goes on to argue is oppressive. Irony is good at showing hypocrisy, it is a great destructive force, however it is not good at replacing what it destroys. He makes the analogy of irony being like a military coup in a third world country - once the coup takes place, the rebels rarely are good at running things, and, in fact, usually are just as tyrannical as the previous regime, if not more. The connection to this passage of the essay to "The Merchants of Cool" is clear - rebellion itself becomes marketed, there is no real escape route (including avoiding television).

He soon after makes the claim that television "discerns, decocts, and represents what it thinks U.S. culture wants to see and hear about itself." Being obvious that we don't want to see ourselves and mindless tools to authority, rebellious irony is of course where we are led.

Near the end of the essay, the author takes a futuristic journey of a man named Gilder. Unfortunately, Gilder's predictions are a little off. He assumed that television would be combined with the computer world in a way that hasn't exactly happened. Television is still unidirectional, and the interactivity that he predicted television to transform toward is almost entirely in the computer's domain. Text messaging, message boards, blogs, IMs, and even YouTube live in a separate domain. In fact, many people now spend more time on the internet than watching television, or they'll watch television on something like Hulu while IMing in another window, for example. We may feel more involved in the lives of celebrities by reading blogs or watching "bonus" footage or random YouTube clips, but the total interactivity that was imagined did not transpire, and I don't see that distance disappearing.

Regardless of the reality of it all, the author's overall prediction remained true - the passivity of the audience remains intact. He discusses how the fantastical nature of television keeps us hooked, and that hook helps prevent a real sort of shift.

Finally, he discusses Leyner's My Cousin, My Gastroenterologist which embraces irony with reverence. This is a cyberpunk book that wildly moves from image to image and leaves you feeling disoriented, but in a somewhat serious and humorous way. You can connect with and enjoy the book by recognizing that the references that the author uses collide together in a way that let you know he sees how defunct the system is and he brings you into that world. Instead of standard plot development, the book reads like a person flicking through the channels watching parts fade in and out of the story.

The conclusion of the essay quickly surmises that there is no way to rebel against a system based on rebellion. He claims not to know where literature can go from here because he is "in the aura" of the system. He plaintively suggests that maybe the next wave of writing that will take on this system is the "anti-rebels" - those who aren't afraid of being overly earnest, of causing eyes to roll, of making us yawn.

Overall, I found this essay interesting in an almost historical way. How far have we come since 1993? Television doesn't have 40 channels anymore, it has hundreds of channels. The discussion about television and its effect on us is almost completely drowned out by the discussion of what the internet is doing to us. Parents are afraid of cyber-bullying and online predators. Interestingly enough, television is the backdrop to how the internet has developed the way it has. Our conditioning to understand monitor screens as televisions helped to move in a direction allowing us to view computer information in the same light.

This ecstasy of communication that does exist via the internet actually allows us to have interactivity in relation to the aura of television. Conversations are built around showing pictures and video to each other and discussing them. The ironic twitch of thought leads people to attempting to transcend their boredom or ennui with communication based on communication to find more extreme ways of interacting and getting attention. And believe me, getting attention is the primary use of the internet. Television provides us with the fantasy of what it is like to be a star. The internet allows everyone to be a star. Whether this involves getting naked, or being a writer, or a commenter on a blog, or whatever. The internet provides you with an extended identity, a televisual identity.

Reality television is a phenomenon that hadn't exploded yet in 1993, and its effect draws right into the online phenomenon. Suddenly, "real people" in "real situations" are showing us how they really act in real life. This unscripted world is a world that we can relate to, because our world in unscripted - we could be those people. There is nothing spectacular about them, other than they're generally more attractive than the average joe... but they're just attractive average joes. The template of reality shifts as people adjust to this supposed mirror. It is one thing to watch a sit-com and realize these are staged, fictional stories; it is another thing to watch reality television and have no concept of how these real people are or are not real in the least.

We begin to see ourselves as the stars of our own reality television show - our own lives. Only there is no camera, but our cell phones take pictures and video. And thus, for so many people, this electronic world of communication becomes a lifeline - the reflexivity of getting constant texts and calls on the cell phone helps us realize that we are stars of our life.

Whereas Wallace talks about the isolating loneliness of television, the internet helps to bring that loneliness to the forefront so that we can confront it and feel like stars. Do a search on MySpace for "Princess" - how many names come up? How many friends does Paris Hilton have on MySpace? Tila Tequila gets her own show on MTV after already being a star on MySpace. Stardom is not something that is achieved by the few anymore, stardom is a state of being - a way of living.

No longer do you see yourself as an audience, you are looking for your audience. But this is isolating as well - how do you make real connections with others? Our insecurities and extreme self-awareness (imagination of how others perceive us) is crippling and we either voice those insecurities and look for an audience by exploiting our feelings, or attempt to look past these feelings. Self-awareness then is a confusing fragmentation, and identity is only preserved by finding real talents and embracing and fostering them - but even then the temptation to want an audience for our talents is immense.

posted by Will at 9:34 PM 2 comments

Friday, June 05, 2009

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The Phenomenological Experience: You are Yourself

Our individual phenomenological experiences make us who we are. Deconstructionism refers to the philosophical practice of breaking apart ideological biases to understand the "truth" behind these ideologies. People do this all of the time - we see what's wrong in the world, in our nation, in our community, in our relationships, in ourselves. We look at these issues and try to explain why things are that way.

Let me just provide a warning: be careful in how you deconstruct yourself. This may sound tautological, but - you are yourself. Your emotions, thoughts, brain, body, perceptions are all tied inextricably together. There are plenty of external influences on you, but that does not mean it is possible to separate you from yourself.

You are yourself, when you talk about your thoughts, feelings, and the confluence of forces that interact in your life with you - use words like "I" and "me." Phenomenological experiences are the basis for perception and analysis always begins with yourself.

All prescriptive suggestions need to come from a place of authority starting with yourself. This is why good writing comes from those who invest themselves in the subject and share their investment. Placing yourself as an objective third party is a farce.

I will tell you now, if I don't show you why I care about something or how the subject connects with me, then my writing is weak or inauthentic. It is likely that I am hiding something from you. This is not to say I need to put everything on a platter for you, sometimes it is there but you have to find it.

What is this entry about? Fear or laziness. When my writing is weak, I can almost guarantee you that it is because I am being lazy or I'm afraid to share myself with you. I endeavor to continue to bring the context of myself into my writing, visible or not, so that you can feel connected to my words. If I don't, I am sure that you will know.

posted by Will at 10:57 AM 0 comments

Thursday, June 04, 2009

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When people complain about "falling in love with potential" they only really mean people that don't live up to potential. Some people actually realize their potential, or consistently advance toward their goals. This is why complaining about "falling in love with potential" happens.

posted by Will at 2:15 PM 0 comments

Tuesday, June 02, 2009

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Pro-Life Killers

In memory of Dr. Tiller


wombs of our nation
hog-tied to pick-up trucks
trail fishtail to the clinic

busting down doors
vigilantes smash embryos
freedom demolition motion

floor covered in embryonic fluid
slipping violently on stem cells
crashing into sanitized walls

out in front wombs are weeping
sleeping sons summers seep
deep dripping dreams releasing

birth is a blast
tasted richly
gun barrels twitching

the wombs are women
are you listening?
the wombs are women
are you listening?
the wombs are women
are you listening?
the wombs are women
your skin is itching

western willow wisdom
gallows hallowed horror
a man's last words his first
his birth his condemnation

another man kills an abortionist
tells the women why with glazed eyes
fingers press the concertina tight

it is his song
playing quietly
filling the world

it is his song
his song

posted by Will at 10:17 AM 0 comments

Monday, June 01, 2009

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Something new pt. 3

When I was a little boy, I remember watching the footage of the Oklahoma City bombing over and over and over again. The charred children. The massive smoldering hole in the building. Worries about my father.

John was dropped off by Judy back at the house. Judy went off to her job. John didn't know what she did at her job, but he knew she was at an advertising firm and she worked in the back away from all of the people dressed up in clothes that say "I'm a go-getter!"

Judy often complained about people at work. John thought that she dressed the way she did to annoy them, though she'd never admit it. "I'm just expressing myself" is what she would say. Her nuclear bright red hair, facial piercings, and ratty band tee-shirts and "weird art" shirts put a barrier between her and, well, everyone really.

John sighed. I have no barriers. He heard a robotic voice in his head. I HAVE NO BARRIERS AND I WILL DESTROY YOU EARTHLINGS. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE. HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? John sighed again. It was time to go to work.

Evening shift at generic retail warehouse store. Generic polo shirt embroidered with generic company logo purchased with generic money removed from generic paycheck. Generic customers. Generic music. Generic lighting. Generic asshole managers.

They found 168 bodies. They found an unidentified leg. A human leg severed from a body that was never found. A leg was found and identified as belonging to a woman buried in New Orleans. They pulled her out of the ground and placed the leg in her coffin, and removed the incorrect leg that was in her coffin. The removed leg had been embalmed and no one knows who it really belongs to. A leg devoid of context.

John felt like throwing up. He imagined people passing in and out of existence like whispering echoes of tree branches scratching old windows. He imagined his life a fraud with his best friend an aborted memory removed from time. His loneliness a condition of fractal matrices coalescing around the dark matter of his existence.

In two weeks, John will finish his summer job at Generic Company and go back to college to finish his senior year. He will have a degree in anthropology. He will have no idea what he will do with his degree, but he knows for sure that he does not want to work at Generic Company anymore. That is two weeks from now.

John arrived at Generic Company and went to the employee's lounge. He looked at the clock. 1:53. It was against the rules to swipe in more than five minutes before your shift started. John went over to the vending machine and pushed buttons. John went over to the employee training computer and pushed buttons. John went over to the television and changed the channel to Oxygen for ironic reasons. John swiped in and walked across the store to his department. He looked at the master sheet. Lunch in five hours. John hated that, why couldn't it always just be right in the middle of his shift four hours in?

John had to find a manager to tell him what to do. There were three managers on duty right now. He hated all of them. They had no idea what they were doing. They often yelled at John for doing what they asked him to do. John's favorite manager was Young Manager. He understood that everything they did was bullshit, so he found ways to keep people busy that was not quite as degrading as what the other managers came up with. John went and found Young Manager.

"Hey John, you got your phone?" He smirked. They both hated phones.

"Yeah."

"We got a big shipment in of garden bricks. Go make a garden display with the garden bricks. Make sure to put up the sign that says how much those bricks cost."

"Great, so I get to take them off the palette and then put them back on when someone buys them."

"You got it. Have fun."

John went to the garden section. Sure enough there were new palettes of bricks. John knew where to build the display, because they had one there a few weeks ago until someone came and bought all of the bricks. John had previously built the display, and put all of the bricks on a palette to put in the guy's pick-up truck that bought all of the bricks. John put on gloves, got a palette lifter, and dragged the palette to where he was going to make the display.

"JOHN RUSCO CALL 2808 PLEASE. JOHN RUSCO CALL 2808." That was the closing manager. He was The Worst Manager of all. He always told everyone to call him using the intercom. He knew every one's phone numbers, but he liked to make people call him. John always was doubly annoyed at these announcements because his last name is Russo, and no matter how many times he told The Worst Manager "it is Rus-so" it didn't take.

John called 2808. "Hello."

"John, what are you doing?"

"Building a display in Garden."

"Could you come to Electronics please?"

"Ok." It wasn't a question.

John walked across the store. Each day John figured he walked about eight miles, if not more. The Worst Manager was standing there waiting for him.

"Hey John," his voice had an annoying drawl to it, "We are having an inspection tomorrow and we need to make sure every item over twenty dollars has a security tag on it. Could you go through these aisles and make sure everything is tagged?"

"Ok." It wasn't a question.

John spent an hour pulling item after item off the shelf into a shopping cart, looking for tags, and then putting the items back on the shelf. When John finished he had only put three security tags on items that weren't properly tagged. He went back to build his display in Garden.

The Young Manager called him. "John you done yet with the display?"

CNN played a live feed of the memorial. "Taps" and speeches and crying wives, mothers, children, and other family and friends. There was footage of the makeshift monuments of love. Flowers, children's drawings, photographs, and keepsakes pressed together.

"No. I'm just getting started." John knew he wouldn't like that.

"What the hell! What have you been doing?" John imagined his face exploding.

"I was told to stop what I was doing to check security tags in Electronics."

"Are you fucking shitting me? I had someone do that yesterday!"

"Sal told me to. Talk to him about it."

"Build that fucking display and don't go anywhere. If anyone tells you to go somewhere else call me first."

"Ok."

John worked on building the display. It was exhausting moving bricks for so long, and moving plants around. Time ended. Eventually it was "lunch time." John slid his time card in at 7:02 and went to the deli and got a burrito. At 7:35 he got a call on the intercom again, even though he told The Worst Manager he was on his lunch break and The Worst Manager made the schedule and could look at it himself. He didn't call back. John went back and slid his time card in at 8:02. He would finish working the rest of the night without thinking. He would systematically organize each shelf without thought. He would talk to The Worst Manager minimally without thought. And he would go home without thought.

posted by Will at 1:18 PM 0 comments

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