Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Peeping Tom: Projecting our Dreams

SWF, 5'4" 115 lbs., blonde/brown. I'm kinda boring I guess, lol...what are you supposed to write here? I'm into reading and old movies, work out at home but don't go to gyms. I'm Christian so I've never been with anyone. This is my first time on anything like this and I probably won't do it again so my friends say "this is ur 1 chance." On the east side but willing to travel for the right person.
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Billionaire, buildings/kids, blond/blue. Civic nationalist who's never been in office before, with lots of respect for your people. First time on this and you've got one chance to save it all from globalists. On the east side but willing to travel for the right country.
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When Trump does something good, it proves he's good. When he does something bad, it proves he's being pragmatic.

The victorious side (I won't use all the air quotes I should be using) in any given American presidential election tends to engage in this kind of behavior, initially rationalizing any actions taken in the vicinity of the victory, then becoming, over the next four years, gradually disillusioned with the numbing sameness of them. Trump's transportation and ambassadorial picks, had they been made by a victorious Clinton, would be viewed as horrible betrayals of the American people by most of the voters who supported Trump. Yet, when Trump does them, that same group claims his picks show not that he's a betrayer, but that he's pragmatic.

Are they indications that he's pragmatic? Is he really going to save America from the crushing burden of those monstrous, parasitic, non-representative federal and international agencies? Is he really going to stop rewarding the soulless Fed-automatons of the Republican Party with prestigious posts?

The American voter, confronted with someone who seems to be different, is like a horny teenager in a 1960s high school or college movie, peering out the window into the second story window of the row house next door, where the local cute girl is drying off from her shower. Is she going to take it off? Is she??! Come on, man, I really need this! Would she say yes if I got up the courage to ask her out? Is she still with that jerk of a boyfriend of hers (the one we saw in that carefully choreographed asshole-prep scene two minutes ago)? If I stayed true to her now, would her later modeling career make me the envy of every other man?

Outdated example, to be sure. How about we update it to selfies on a dating site? No, better yet--the banner ads for those dating sites, where models who aren't actually members of the site are supposed to entice you into joining up and meeting people whom the webmasters adjudged not to be banner material. Everyone knows sitting in the club for four hours isn't as amazing as the sign makes it out to be, yet somehow the sign works.





(Omigod, that is sooooo fat- globalist-shaming!)

There's an element of Stockholm Syndrome at play here with Americans and their election-players, to be sure. But that alone would not explain the mysterious frenzy for change that grips them. There's an element of consumerism, and an element of inner-voidism, in the way that this people is conditioned to look at a glimpse of a product--new car, new wood-siding, new shirt--and imagine all sorts of things which will result from the product, but which are not part of the product--or which are, in fact, inversely correlated to the product. Buying a $40,000 truck seems like it might get you girls, for example, but in the long run, the payments leave you unable to go out as often. Or, to hop to the other side of the metaphor, going out to clubs often seems like it might get you a companion who makes life here better, but in the long run, the transactional sex leaves you hollow and used, able to mime commitment but not to feel it. Even if your shell makes it to Canasta and pickleball, it's not going to be the denouement you thought you were promised.

That's why we invented model years, of course; that's why we devote trillions of dollars to selling ourselves to ourselves, for without legions of young acolytes learning the evolving religion of marketing each year, we might run out of things with which to fool ourselves. When Americans look at things, they have learned not to see the thing, but their own hopes. Their own hopes; their own fears; their own highest and lowest aspirations: these things combine into the aura of the product, and the American--the Modern, perhaps--the Modern believes that this hope, this fear, is reality. You fill in the blank spaces around the product with what you need to see. There's the truck: you can see you inside, driving off-road to get around stuck Priuses, hauling supplies out of the blasted city. There's the hag: you can see her as a destroyer somehow more evil, more efficient, than her husband, and amazingly, she looks like she's even improved upon the worse-ness of Lyndon Johnson or Henry Kissinger. But is it really the evil vessels who've changed, or merely our collective desire to express through them?

The 2017 Lincolns, of course, actually are a little more gas efficient than the 2007s. The new 911s really do have more effective horsepower and PDK does work better. Whatever the silliness of addressing your problems with a better product, at least engineers are building upon old technology to provide significant, measurable results. How ironic that, as marketing commands all aspects of culture, its original purpose--selling tangible products--has become more honest, more realistic, than the now-more-powerful derivative purpose of selling lives and dreams.

Fine flesh-sculpting may make our future hopes pay off more in the visual department, and soon enough you won't be able to use physiognomy to identify bankers anymore, but personality-wise, character-wise, will we ever, or have we ever been, actually upgrading our political actors?

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