Wednesday, January 4, 2017

The Most Pitiful

Some malevolent vessel stuffed full of money decides to destroy something to make the world a little more dead, and so a project is formed.

The most pitiful?

Many machinistically artistic souls agree to whore themselves for money, and the project becomes a product, and thousands of people invest themselves in disseminating it. Its putrescence slides into a gallery, reeking of the stink of the freshly unearthed carcasses of rape victims both recent and generations departed, and its mere existence inspires tremors of excitement through a population of bloated gluttons eager for more. The gluttons take it upon themselves to stoke their own gluttony and encourage others to join them down the grumous path.

The most pitiful?

Averse to the stench, a band of glib rebels congratulates themselves for hating the product. They labor before it anyway, pay witness, and then retreat to share their tales of how horrible it was, and how superior they are for recognizing that horror. Atop a distant peak, leathern wings unfold and beings of pure malevolence cackle in the absence of pleasure as they are rewarded and augmented by their self-proclaimed worst enemies, furthering their ability to poison and ravage not only the gullible, but the hopeless non-resisting faux-resistance of those eager to proclaim resistance by the very act of critical surrender.

The most pitiful?

Some malevolent vessel stuffed full of money decides to destroy something to make the world a little more dead, and so a project is formed. Many machinistically artistic souls agree to whore themselves for money, and the project becomes a product, and thousands of people invest themselves in disseminating it. Its putrescence slides into a gallery, reeking of the stink of the freshly unearthed carcasses of rape victims both recent and generations departed, and its mere existence inspires tremors of excitement through a population of bloated gluttons eager for more. The gluttons take it upon themselves to stoke their own gluttony and encourage others to join them down the grumous path. Averse to the stench, a band of glib rebels congratulates themselves for hating the product. They labor before it anyway, pay witness, and then retreat to share their tales of how horrible it was, and how superior they are for recognizing that horror. Atop a distant peak, leathern wings unfold and beings of pure malevolence cackle in the absence of pleasure as they are rewarded and augmented by their self-proclaimed worst enemies, furthering their ability to poison and ravage not only the gullible, but the hopeless non-resisting faux-resistance of those eager to proclaim resistance by the very act of critical surrender...and then someone reads someone else's critique of Big Movie and goes on a blog to subsidiarily whine about how damn dumb it all is.

The most pitiful.

Indeed, buying tickets, receiving free tickets, or in any other way devoting a portion of your life to any given cultural abscess is about as heady an act of resistance as Trumping for 1488. Being that much more aware than the pitiful Gen-X cohort of desperate IV-fed Hollywood puppets, eager for another hit of Known Franchise no matter the inhumanable discontinuity, means that it's that much worse of you to participate. You're preaching to the choir when you complain: either to young people who will attach, and would have attached, themselves to different franchises anyway, or to older people becoming more selective in their entertainment, since growing up means choosing different soulless repetitive degenerate filth franchises, as though quirky takes on new technology or rereading old CIA cold war space travel novels is a rejection of the terminally declining failure of since whenever you were born.

What use the minority critic when it survives only on the majority wrong; when it is, ultimately, derived from it? So too me, the unwanted minority minority minority critic, who isn't yet in the fortified compound on the Snake River, but is still tragically, even willingly, aware of the things to critique. My sin is the greater for even noticing. This one's pointing out of the problems inherent in suckling Hollywood to have something to complain about is, when all the relevant insightfulness is taken into consideration, a definitively worse act than buying tickets and going to the theater, then detailing to everyone why I'm so brilliant for recognizing why it sucked. I've learned not to go to the theater, but I'm still metaphorically fapping to the verbal sub-porn of the internet critics, a poor substitution for a poor substitution of the real thing, and creating therefore an exponentially worse monster by mentioning it at all. Even if this one hadn't written this blog post, the sin was still there.

At what point is the act of noticing itself a contribution to the initial evil? If we all stopped going to their shows, we would accomplish something, yet without going, no one can analyze specifically what is wrong. Similarly, if we stopped reading the official reviews, it would be another strike against power; even more so, if we stopped reading the tertiary layer of socially-critical and critically-critical reviews, that too might starve, and those people might stop seeing movies to disparage them, and it would be an indirect strike against the total revenues.

Ergo this one sees how this one is part of that system, propping it up in my own tiny way. Anyone who witnesses, even solely in order to object, is complicit in the crime; indeed, knowing that the objectionable is there to be objected to, one who witnesses in order to object has committed the greater crime than one who witnesses innocently.

Another of reality's paradoxes, this. We are all necessarily sinners, because to attempt to do good, one must participate, even to the tiniest extent--but still to some extent--in evil, or one can never understand it or help others understand it. If I don't read some sad fool's complaints about the latest ugly distraction, how can I ever have hope of telling him that not going at all would have been better? And yet, if he doesn't experience it and try to share his experiences with those who don't see the problem, how can he hope to ultimately fix anything? Perhaps it is not our place to do right, but merely to try to do something; something which may, potentially, be right at some point, but which is, here, only a moronic wrong.

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