Dog Poet Transmitting.......
May your noses always be cold and wet.
Well... there's First World and there's Third World and then... there's Hawaii. We 're talking degrees of speed and general functionality. I'm guessing, the way numbers usually run (unless they are dragging one foot behind them and pawing at the air with a reaching hand- like Igor- (grin)) that there is supposed to be a Second World there somewhere but I don't remember running across it, except maybe the couple of unfortunate times that I went through Columbus, Ohio... or once in Nogales, Arizona. Maybe the Second World is some kind of combination of the First and Third World. Maybe it just doesn't exist except in some kind of sinuous sidewinder, in and out fugue state; now you see and and now you don't and no... you didn't actually see it, you just thought you did.
We're presently watching some kinda Chorizo Sausage of a film called “Inherent Vice”. It features Joaquin Phoenix doing a Jeff Bridges imitation of John Lennon as a private detective. You'll see what I mean... maybe. It's one of those pastiche films where they stitch a lot of independent scenes together in the hope that here and there, three or four of them might actually display some kind of continuance or synchronicity with each other but it never lasts for long. In the hands of a competent director and writer, it might qualify as some kind of art film, if you think The Three Stooges meet Twin Peaks indicates the presence of art. These days, defining art requires far more education than that received by anyone attempting to participate in the creation of it. Let me rephrase that, it actually requires no education at all to define whatever it is that keeps showing up as a mockery of it but... 'it'? You ain't going to see much of it.
I can't figure out if this film is supposed to be satire; spoof, or.. what? It's pretty bad is what it is and this brings me to part of my point in the writing of this post today. There's a film out there running around starring the Beta Dog of the moment, Bradley Cooper. It's called American Sniper and after foisting The Hurt Locker off on us, the intelligence agencies that dictate what films get made these days figured they would do a ten year anniversary rerun and give us one more glorified piece of shit serving the military industrial complex. I'm guessing the Best Picture award is in the can, which is where they extracted the raw materials used in making the film, unless they are importing it in bratwurst links made from the main characters from a Goa Pig Toilet.
You don't usually see a film that is really, really bad get worse and worst at a higher rate of speed, like this one. The saving grace is that I was already mercilessly tortured by it last evening and there isn't that much left but... what there is is far worse than the first half and that surely deserves some kind of award.
I'm thinking this is all good metaphor for the world we live in. Whether it is movies or music... or whatever... I deleted the rest of the examples here, thinking they might be in bad taste. Well... given that they are all about bad taste that would probably serve to be so. American Sniper. I could imagine it entitled as American Viper. One more gung ho, Banker bought cowboy, killing whatever moves, in the service of certain elite circles he will never be allowed to swim in but... they will trot him out, decades down the road in his mothballed uniforms on the proper holidays, set aside to celebrate those too stupid to kill and comprehend what they are doing at the same time.
I won't be going to see American Sniper any time soon. It took years for me to see Argos and that was done just to keep my hand in and stay (relatively) current with their ever the same juvenile mechanics of elementary brainwashing tech.
Why is it that really, really bad films always take forever to end? I'm guessing if you are very afraid of death and you feel like it is closing in on you, it might be a good idea to rent or buy a whole bunch of these films (and there are a whole bunch of them) and just watch them over and over. I'm guessing you will feel practically immortal.
I often ask myself, when I am watching a movie, reading a book or reading about the daily doings of the ever replicating coyotes of darkness; What! What is it they are trying to do; to convey... to communicate? These are not the only questions I ask. I also wonder about where they got the money; who decided to fund, promote, produce or publish any of it.
When the world gets to Crazy Town, it doesn't just cannonball into the pool, one twisted and lubricious evening. It gets there in stages. It gets there in slight twists and turns of which not much extraordinary happens from one to the next. It move from the irritation of a hangnail or a temporary rash by one degree to the next until, without anyone knowing just when it happens, morphs into a full blown and terminal pathology; some kind of Stage Four, an irreversible condition for which no real fix can be found and then it staggers along, bouncing from one parked car into the next, until it finally slides down a passenger window like a forgotten derelict, picked up and tossed into the sanitation truck before the sun rises and before the good citizens are awake and on their way to whatever it is that they do every day; holding up their end of the facade just like all their mutually conditioned fellows.
Sometimes you get here and you spend a lot of time looking around; trying doorknobs, knocking on plate glass windows, talking to security guards and secretaries, if you get that far and... it dawns on you that you came in the wrong century and nothing you imagined you might get up to doing is going to be possible for you. You're in the wrong time zone. You got the wrong clothes on and your face looks funny to everyone else who see nothing unusual at all with any of the rest of the people they do business with every day.
It might occur to you now and then that it could be much much worse than it is and you thank your intermittently flickering stars that you aren't somewhere else, like one of Genghis Khans prisons or some hunter gatherer in the Hindu Kush. “Always look on the bright side of life!” (grin).
Here's a little anecdote that may or may not be revealing. I had left some limited funds behind. I knew I would need them further on and it doesn't make sense to carry everything with you because there is always the chance that you could lose everything at once. That sort of makes sense. So... I asked someone to Western Union me some part of that because it would get here quickest and for some reason we can't figure out how to do a bank transfer. I very much dislike Western Union. They are thieves and any time you have to deal with them there is a high annoyance factor. So... the money came in and I went to get it and first they said, “All our lines are down. You will have to come by some other time.” I thought maybe I would drive to another location. Luckily, my friend said, “We should call first.” Their lines were down too.
So... my friend left and I got a few things from the store and as I was leaving the woman from Western Union called me over and said, “Our lines are working now.” I filled out the form and then she told me that she was sorry but they didn't have enough money. She said they could only pay out from what they took in. She was wearing the uniform of the big supermarket that I was in but... so it goes. I went in the next day and it was the same thing. Then I said, the heck with it and just stayed home. Now I will go into town in a few minutes to what I hope is a bigger location. It isn't all that much money. The whole point of using this company is that it is very quick. Well... it's not.
I shipped all of my belongings a few days before Christmas. They still aren't here. I'm not complaining and I'm not agitated. I'm amused mostly. I have had so many unusual events since I got here that it can only mean a few things. One... it is being intentionally done to me. Two... I am seriously out of sync with something or... Three... I really don't know.
For 3 weeks now I have been trying to get the internet working in my place; can't figure it out so... I traipse a ways to the greenhouse, or mosquito feeding zone as I also know it by and that accounts for the occasional infrequency of postings. I am not complaining and I don't want anyone getting that idea. I wouldn't even write about these things if that was the case. I write about them because they are what is happening and part of my job is to talk about these things, especially when I can't find anything in the world worth talking about.
What I have done is just stepped back, expecting nothing and anxious about nothing. There's a message here but it is taking a really long time to mist write itself on the window I am looking out on the world through. I'm not going to worry about any of it. What will be will be (Que Sera). The truly amusing thing is that Mercury is not in retrograde but... it soon will be... heh heh... what a world.
That movie finally ended and it was really, really bad. Toward the end, Joaquin wasn't doing Jeff Bridges doing John Lennon anymore. It was more like a junkie Neil Young or a seriously retarded Elvis.
End Transmission.......
♫ Third World Bummer ♫
'Third World Bummer' is track no. 7 of 9 on Visible and The Critical List's 1993 album
'Jews from Outer Space'
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