Wow, participation meme culturization
Kim Jong-Un, your friendly neighborhood global capitalist, selling hamburgers in Israel
Look what arrived in the mail today!
I kid you not, this is actually a thing. Last time I checked, we didn’t live in a Brave New World.
how to elevate the proletariat
step 1: take [insert generic racing game here]
step 2: replace racy red ferrari/luscious yellow lamborghini
step 3: awwwww yeah
"Phonetic“‘s phonetic spelling is… "fonetic"
"Phonetic" is not phonetic -_-
I’ve come to believe that what people are looking for - really looking for - is a reason to live. And that reason to live is a story, a story that we all weave together to make sense of our lives. If we can make our lives a story - if we can pluck this moment and fit it in this causal relation, pluck that moment to define ourselves, if we can find make our lives a story where we’re the protagonist, the embittered hero struggling to the finish line - then we’ve succeeded, and we’ve found our place, and we throw ourselves into our lives, eager to continue careening down the narrative thread that leads somewhere we don’t know, but somewhere - not nowhere.
[god forbid the road leads nowhere.]
and to do that, we ignore the banalities. We seek to turn every moment into an aesthetic one, into a moment that makes sense and hums with possibility, and binds us into the narrative of our lives. Why do I listen to music? Because music gives life a tempo - and anything with a good rhythm must lead somewhere.
What’s the reason we’ll find? For some, the narrative of their lives leads them to wuthering heights, dizzying levels of ambition that makes sure that everyone in the world - not just you, but everyone - knows that this world is your story, and your story alone. Why are people obsessed with power? Because then they feel they can write the story they choose, instead of being powerlessly dragged through another author’s plot, a minor character that fades into the background. Why do people want to feel superior to others? To make the story about them, and them alone.
If the spotlight’s on someone else, you’re just a two-bit actor on a stage dazzling with stars.
There’s some seven billion people on this earth, and we’re all tugging and pushing and pulling and ravenously ripping and gnawing for control, control of our lives, wrestling for the steering wheel. There’s one world, and everyone wants that one world to have one narrative:
People screech and fight for control of that narrative, and it spirals out of control — and the car screeches and nobody’s in control and the car went spinning and flipped across the meridian in a glorious aestheticized incinerating fireball and the steering wheel rolls gently across the highway drive. Kill, loot, rape, massacre; I feel alive when I snuff out another, it’s for that higher ideal, that higher ideology—
Sometimes, people band together, and hammer out a shared epic where everyone basks in the glory, together. Communism. Nationalism. Manifest Destiny. Can you hear that trumpet sound? The crescendo. It’s the Israelis versus the Palestinians, it’s the Yankees versus the Red Sox, it’s A versus B, man against man, it’s the Great Leap Forward and the French Revolution and Pan-Arab Nationalism all rolled into one. Destroy the enemy! Slash their throats! Make bloody sure that every ketchup drop’s drained from their decaying body. Make sure their story - their narrative - never makes it out alive.
Sometimes, capitalism happens, and we’ve got a ruler. $34,000 a year? You’re 2 inch 1/3. $90,000? 4 inches. $3 million AND a yacht!? God, damn, buddy, you’re the king of the ruler!
i’m the king of the ruler.
I AM THE KING OF THE RULER.
shimmering in the hum(an)i(di)ty
and I’m night-dreaming about blasting down LSD