After years of living disconnected from cable companies, detached from a pop culture life line in effect, I have bowed my head and accepted as fate the presence of television in my life. As part of my acclimation I’ve spent a few hours in the evenings slack-jawed and unresponsive, absorbing the schizophrenic light flashing before my eyes. I feel a part of a larger world as movie trailers give hope for an entertaining future, prescription pills assure me that as I age a full range of opportunities to alter my consciousness will still be available, and that the events of the day occurred with real people in real places rather than in an imaginative sphere created by grave voices broadcast over the radio.
After so much watching I began to wonder about what IT was before my eyes. My meager conclusion stands as such: there seem to be two types of situation one finds when spending time with the television; first that you are being spoken to directly, such as with news programs, certain portions of talk shows, sales networks and documentaries while in the second case you are allowed to over hear or participate in an event as if you were a fly on the wall. The second situation includes sitcoms, reality television, movies etcetera. A relatively innocuous observation, until I realized that in each case I was being subjected to a frighteningly perverse simulation of intimacy.
Regarding simulation a man of contemplative depth (see title) stated that, “to simulate is to feign what one hasn’t,” and since he mentions this in an effort to notify readers of the demise of reality and truth, it seems fitting to include it in my thoughts on television. I would like to keep this quote in mind as I proceed to the point of this post which is the disturbingly over publicized death and memorial of Michael Jackson.
In terms of the perversion of intimacy this event spanned both types of situation I had identified. There were the somber intonations of news anchors reflecting with mechanized empathy the loss of one who seemed to become much more significant once we found he was dead. While the “King of Pop” epithet has been around for years, the insisted grief pushed by individuals in the news and the constant repetition of just how influential and how significant his contribution to not only music, but to popular culture, became stultifying, and rather than a mere monarch he seemed to enjoy worship reserved for the gods. I should note that I am in no way joyous at his demise; a death, regardless of how popular you’ve become, is always a time for reflection and some level of sadness (depending on your belief in exactly what death means) and should be revered, for it is the end we all shall meet. It is the insistence that as a culture-loving populace that we should mourn harder, mourn more deeply and allow the bastions of televised information to supplant issues of import with retrospective slide shows and video clips that disturbs me. It is as if the world stopped turning for just a moment and we were asked to mark the time and place we were when we learned of Michael Jackson’s death, to recount to our children and grandchildren in the future.
Jaded, angry, unfair, insensitive. I may be all these things, but the entire fiasco was a testament to the latching-on, spewing-forth nature of what we’ve determined legitimate news in our country, only the elements that touch us as humans and to which news latches on are always digested for us before landing in front of our faces. Add the full coverage of his Staples Center service, the repeated retrospecitves of his career and life available on nearly any channel preferred, and it began to feel as if, all at once, a full picture of life was presented which justified the lump in the throat, the tear gently rolling down the cheek. Have we forgotten that emotional response is not merely an indulgent luxury?
To bring us back to the idea that “to simulate is to feign what one hasn’t,” it seemed as if the spectacle of Michael Jackson’s death and memorial had reached the level of hyper-reality, a grandiose parade of archetypal cues to elicit emotional response void of the potential for reflective growth. Rolling out in his solid gold casket, in a venue symbolic of the commercial aggrandizement of entertainers we bore witness to the simulation of a death of a modern day god. Jackson had enough fame and resources to feign significance as he passed, and by virtue of his fame and resources entertainment outlets feigned expressions of grief normally reserved for intimate off-air occasions, and as spectators most of us feigned interest. And instead of allowing for the family to have time to themselves we demanded more, gave ratings to shows that trailed mourning Jacksons and yearned to see and learn intimate details hid away during Michael’s life. Propriety is lost when reality is lost; in simulation we are allowed to demand like wild jackals our insatiable hunger be satisfied.
Once comfort is found in simulation, interest in reality wanes. This is the price of spending too much time in front of the television, since all of what comes before us on our flicker boxes is simulation. The recent coverage of Michael Jackson’s death stole a bit of our reality, and there is no turning back. It was large enough to commandeer the majority of basic cable stations, supplant issues of import, and to blur the lines between the reality of human response in times of grief and suffering, and entertainment.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
The Beauty of Right and Wrong
It is easy to forget that the moral directives and value systems by which we lead our lives are ultimately a creation of our own minds and experiences. While this observation may to the more scientifically slanted secularist mind seem achingly apparent, I can envision another type of mind reacting as if this were a statement of irredeemable blasphemy. I can also envision yet another type of mind which hears this type of remark and dims like a bulb unplugged from the wall, but that is fodder for another entry.
So much is at stake when one stops to ponder whether we are in control of the attributes of right, the elements of wrong. If there are no deific codes then we are as children in a classroom with no instructor, left with the task of educating ourselves and, possibly more significant, others. If I am mistaken and my postulate is misguided, then I suppose I’d be the child in class who enjoys staring out the window rather than developing an aptitude for long division. An essential element of each example though is the fact that we are here to learn, that as students we have a limited viewpoint and are going to need to rely on something or someone to guide us.
As may have already been assumed, I prefer to imagine that we are instructor-less, left in a room cramped tight with bodies, strange assortments of resources and imagination. Because we are in such close proximity and since it really isn’t all that comfortable, certain agreed upon resolutions must of necessity come to pass. We learned early on that the infliction of pain and suffering on top of what we already were experiencing was not in our best interest. We learned that these strange resources could be manipulated into other strange objects which, when adequately constructed, could be enhance life. These things worked better once we all agreed to toil together, develop common goals, and so on. With such productivity our imaginations were free to blossom, and such a harmonious system of society was awed at by those who created it. Generations passed and those who originally overcame the obstacles of a burgeoning world were left to dust, while their descendents reaped the reward of active mind, yearning for new frontiers. Some moved to inspect our resources more closely, further manipulating as their forebears had while others looked up.
While this may not be an entirely accurate reenactment of the millennia it took to reach our present state, it is my conviction that it’s not completely off base. That we live today is only by virtue of the shoulders we stand upon. Morals and values are no exception. Unique to our time, though not exclusive to it, are the multitude of ways we can reach the elation of having done right. A gay couple entering into matrimony experiences the same human joy of dedicating oneself to another for eternity as a straight couple. A recluse hunkered in a forest cabin constructing miniature teddy bears enjoys the same sense of a full days work as any other dedicated worker, regardless of profession.
There are arguable elements to these examples, but the bottom line is that a feeling of right comes from within. As long as it doesn’t immediately disturb the ability of others to know a similar feeling, the pursuit of right ought to be left subjective. The coincidence of overarching moral codes and values comes from centuries of societal development, of knowing our selves and understanding that those things we want or don’t want probably apply to others as well.
The opportunity is too great when crediting a deity as the foundation of moral order to experiment with manipulation, it’s our nature.
So much is at stake when one stops to ponder whether we are in control of the attributes of right, the elements of wrong. If there are no deific codes then we are as children in a classroom with no instructor, left with the task of educating ourselves and, possibly more significant, others. If I am mistaken and my postulate is misguided, then I suppose I’d be the child in class who enjoys staring out the window rather than developing an aptitude for long division. An essential element of each example though is the fact that we are here to learn, that as students we have a limited viewpoint and are going to need to rely on something or someone to guide us.
As may have already been assumed, I prefer to imagine that we are instructor-less, left in a room cramped tight with bodies, strange assortments of resources and imagination. Because we are in such close proximity and since it really isn’t all that comfortable, certain agreed upon resolutions must of necessity come to pass. We learned early on that the infliction of pain and suffering on top of what we already were experiencing was not in our best interest. We learned that these strange resources could be manipulated into other strange objects which, when adequately constructed, could be enhance life. These things worked better once we all agreed to toil together, develop common goals, and so on. With such productivity our imaginations were free to blossom, and such a harmonious system of society was awed at by those who created it. Generations passed and those who originally overcame the obstacles of a burgeoning world were left to dust, while their descendents reaped the reward of active mind, yearning for new frontiers. Some moved to inspect our resources more closely, further manipulating as their forebears had while others looked up.
While this may not be an entirely accurate reenactment of the millennia it took to reach our present state, it is my conviction that it’s not completely off base. That we live today is only by virtue of the shoulders we stand upon. Morals and values are no exception. Unique to our time, though not exclusive to it, are the multitude of ways we can reach the elation of having done right. A gay couple entering into matrimony experiences the same human joy of dedicating oneself to another for eternity as a straight couple. A recluse hunkered in a forest cabin constructing miniature teddy bears enjoys the same sense of a full days work as any other dedicated worker, regardless of profession.
There are arguable elements to these examples, but the bottom line is that a feeling of right comes from within. As long as it doesn’t immediately disturb the ability of others to know a similar feeling, the pursuit of right ought to be left subjective. The coincidence of overarching moral codes and values comes from centuries of societal development, of knowing our selves and understanding that those things we want or don’t want probably apply to others as well.
The opportunity is too great when crediting a deity as the foundation of moral order to experiment with manipulation, it’s our nature.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Greetings, just getting my feet wet...
The title of this blog is drawn from a Wallace Stevens poem titled Man and Bottle. It comes at a point in the work where Stevens situates the poet in terms of a history of poetic thought. The writer, the poet, can not be satisfied with the images of the past or with the complacent use of those images. He must destroy the architecture of metaphor and symbol now serving as the hovel in which we comfortably sleep.
It is my hope to feel the limits of this hovel and to stretch my arms beyond the bounds, possibly even to stand up and iron out the swollen knots in my back. Whether or not I’m successful will be up to the faceless world of internet dwellers to decide. I will be content to put my petty notions into the world.
The old delusion present in our days of hope and change, of stubborn G.O.P rhetoricians driving the working man to an incestuous political cannibalism for fear of seeming nervous and weak, of activists mimicking bygone days of protest with a sense that slogan repetition and drum circles will humanize the threads of our blanket capitalism, can be found in our collective inability to assert our right to mind. It is present in the constant shower of advertisements implicitly claiming to cure the creeping fear that we are more isolated than ever in human history, if we only consent to seek popular products. I fear that this delusion is even present in my nagging hope that language can be redeemed from the gross aberration it has become. Though, the first step to any recovery is to confess having a problem. To break from what we wish the world was and work voraciously to create what we would like the world to be, genuinely leaving aside the waste products of the 20th century, is what I believe to be the purpose of identifying, claiming and ultimately eradicating old delusions.
So much unsubstantiated ranting is what is in store for this ol’ blog. Hopefully the ever present irony of such a brand of social and cultural criticism here will draw a smile from time to time.
It is my hope to feel the limits of this hovel and to stretch my arms beyond the bounds, possibly even to stand up and iron out the swollen knots in my back. Whether or not I’m successful will be up to the faceless world of internet dwellers to decide. I will be content to put my petty notions into the world.
The old delusion present in our days of hope and change, of stubborn G.O.P rhetoricians driving the working man to an incestuous political cannibalism for fear of seeming nervous and weak, of activists mimicking bygone days of protest with a sense that slogan repetition and drum circles will humanize the threads of our blanket capitalism, can be found in our collective inability to assert our right to mind. It is present in the constant shower of advertisements implicitly claiming to cure the creeping fear that we are more isolated than ever in human history, if we only consent to seek popular products. I fear that this delusion is even present in my nagging hope that language can be redeemed from the gross aberration it has become. Though, the first step to any recovery is to confess having a problem. To break from what we wish the world was and work voraciously to create what we would like the world to be, genuinely leaving aside the waste products of the 20th century, is what I believe to be the purpose of identifying, claiming and ultimately eradicating old delusions.
So much unsubstantiated ranting is what is in store for this ol’ blog. Hopefully the ever present irony of such a brand of social and cultural criticism here will draw a smile from time to time.
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