“The president is best understood not as a figure who harkens back to the distant past, evokes other lands, or foreshadows the future, but one who is representative of this very moment in America, where media overload is destroying the sense of a shared public reality.
In examining Trump as a product of our unique epoch, one of the sharpest analytical tools available is the theory of postmodernism, developed in the 1970s and 1980s by a host of theorists—perhaps most famously by Fredric Jameson, the polymathic Duke University literary scholar.
…For Jameson, postmodernism meant the birth of ‘a society of the image or the simulacrum and a transformation of the ‘real’ into so many pseudoevents.’ Befitting the ‘postliteracy of the late capitalist world,’ the culture of postmodernism would be characterized by ‘a new kind of flatness or depthlessness, a new kind of superficiality in the most literal sense’ where ‘depth is replaced by surface’
…For Baudrillard, ‘the perfect crime’ was the murder of reality, which has been covered up with decoys (‘virtual reality’ and ‘reality shows’) that are mistaken for what has been destroyed. ‘Our culture of meaning is collapsing beneath our excess of meaning, the culture of reality collapsing beneath the excess of reality, the information culture collapsing beneath the excess of information—the sign and reality sharing a single shroud,’ Baudrillard wrote in The Perfect Crime (1995).
The Trump era is rich in such unreality. The president is not only a former reality-show star, but one whose fame is based more on performance than reality”
If nothing penetrates these surfaces, this empty show of a view; a view of signs on the walls one and the same with the world that holds the sign up – I would be sorely remiss to not make myself the spade that begins to dig the start of an eras depths.
The gift is this; you waited for years – at times you were so thirsty that the sand actually went down nice and smooth; it even filled all the cracks in your skin to hold you together; you stayed in the sun long enough to forget it was hot; and you drank from an oasis or two in your delusions. Even though the clear cool water was actually more sand…You grew roots to every corner, and then pushed the boundaries of your vessel further. One morning without warning water washed weariness from the entire desert – of which you drank and drank your fill. With a burst of joy you sprang from within, bringing all the vivacious colors of bloom, bounty, and blessed to the surface.
You know better than anyone what’s in the phospholipid bilayer of each cell in your body… Is it something negligible? Or is it something you decide is more? I think you’ve got so much brimming within that you can’t afford not to let your magic flow with every motion. You could turn this entire valley green with just one lick of your tongue. This sky would bleed strawberry red if you laid down in the clouds. Turn the whole world purple if you close your eyes. You want colors, and you’ll have them.
Don’t worry baby, we’ll find a better field to gaze up at the stars from.
The morning was brash, so brash that it shown in white or black, no mid tones. It hit like the hard drumming of blood flow through the body the day after an awful dive. Awoken, a voice echoes out into the wild expanse. Torn between geographies and conscience; You can never stay, you can only go. Call it whatever you please, but they flash and grab, the city lights won’t let you forget!
But who am I?
A devilish twist on comedy; Divine they say.
When they dim it’s a relief
I’ve been patient for the other six
but Heavens they are the deadly virtues, I ought not to wait
So I’ll go on ahead and expect them for dinner,
Unless they choose to fast, then perhaps Brunch tomorrow.
Should I be kept due to their nap or a stuck zipper I’ll have to take temperance and give them a word of kindness: I swear they get lost and forget their respect, so full of their own shadows
These righteous ones have always been the bother.
Are we there yet! I’m not surprised to hear complaints.
You should watch the tongue, how it dances will say a lot.
And how you speak in the quiet is a subtle spell to yourself!
There you go, catch a tune in your ear and become throned
This isn’t the seat you want, but it is a big stepping stone.
Little fairy mornings and bright starry nights,
So sweet to the taste bud, so stark to the mark,
Madness you call me, madness you adept pain
So perfected are you, I say I hardly feel a thing
It’s up to you if you want to take the risk of being stoned
If you’re asking me, I’d say the reward is the correct one
I’d rather have a bottle in front of me
than a frontal lobotomy.
Without question she was an oenophile. So much so, that every time a bottle caught my eye or a taste awoke an appreciation for the things that went dim during the day, well she went trending in my thoughts – Viral. I imagined how she might like to swish it around her mind some before bathing her tongue with it. She always felt that this was best done, at least partially, nude. That way nothing was being held back; What was the point of all our skin if we let clothes keep it hidden – You open a bottle of red to let it breathe, so unbutton your shirt a tad; Really soften the flavors, release tertiary aromas; The anticipation budding on the senses is nice too.
Navigating the day towards the night, we find ourselves making landfall by evening – And it’s a particular minute; You know when the Sun has just begun to hide away over the horizon, and you’re not much interested in playing hide-n-go-seek this time, but you want to thank it for its’ good turn? That’s the one that greeted us – So we negotiated the evening for a rendezvous – Yes, our bare feet splashed upon the water and took a refreshing sip as our toes wriggled up the sands to meet the crashing branches of the ocean upon the bed. We were the ocean, the branches were us; We laid there, anything but quiet for quite some time since the only thing that calms an ocean is time, and a roaring ocean is as close a sound to silence can be.
As it drew to a close the dawn started striking up conversation, but at this point we just remained still taking in the motions. When everything settled down… well we didn’t. My current went one way and hers another. If you thought this was anything less than magic, then I don’t know what it is you expect me to tell you mate. Because after kissing her merely one breath, my entire being was filled with it. What I’m trying to figure, is if it was in me or her, or was there a reaction of the senses like a chemical one, did I dream this all up?
How many mouth fulls of ocean did I swallow before I made it to shore?
Let me tell you something about low hanging fruit and opportunity: There happens to be more than one type, and not all of them are as easy as turning your face up to the sky to drink.
Perhaps it was the intent of some to focus on those vile offenders who would reap the benefit of such ease, going on only to cause distress to others around them once they had plucked their golden opportunity – It’s not fair, that such a cruelty can persist and hurt a majority for long after; But these people have made their choices, and in time they will answer for it all – Yet some do not quite deserve this damning image.
There are low hanging treasures that sit much below the sky such that a mistaken twist of the neck up won’t reveal. These fruits hang low, but are hidden beneath, and behind deep foliage – They require foraging that works even the most diligent into a deep exhaustion. Although there to all for the picking, the person who seeks it must still have their eyes more than open and put in the effort to retrieve it. Call them geniuses, call them keen observers, it still doesn’t not come without effort.
We can only hope that the work required will humble them to the nature of life, and not harden them to the beauty of it.
“You know people change, and sometimes it is shit, but they have to do it, because at one time they weren’t that great to start – So it ends up working out.”
You’ll see things differently; And I don’t mean from other people. You’ll see things differently from how you see them now. People, yourself, crushes you’ve had, ideas, events, all of it. Things that once made you lose your temper, perhaps you’ll keep it now. The things that once made you sad, perhaps you’ll smile instead. The things that have made you feel – Let’s hope they make you feel more – When you begin to see through your eyes without any tint, if you can align everything reasonably, nothing will look the same, and you will still have new things to discover.
A long time was spent feeling immured in an unbearable lethargy. Passion was not enough to kick the pistons of his engine into speed, he had lost desire to dream, and felt rampant an emotional irregularity. Yet, It wasn’t all the worst; So much was taken from then, so much that made him thorough, that he could finally lay his head to rest at night, if he ever chose to these days. It can become a terrible thing when you can’t be bothered with sleep. He’s always playing that irony card, yeah he says the same old excuse that most of us do – I don’t have the time – It’s funny though because he has all the time. Which is silly, of course it isn’t his, but there’s so much he could borrow a few and what would it really change?
You see this kid from, well excuse me for not really explaining in detail; I think it was somewhere in Europe. He had a cleverness about him that was far too quick. If he was pinned down in a solo bank heist, here’s the kicker, he’d pin it on the guy next to him. Yes, he’d pin it on someone who he had only moments before convinced that they were the one who planned it from the start. Imagine that! He robbed banks just to help someone else rob a bank they never intended to take. How you get away with that is anything but transparent to the average observer. I know you’re wondering how this kid has anything to do with the time keeper. He has everything to do with him though, and that’s why it’s such a good listen.
When talking about time and the keeper, some words just stick a little longer or have a funny chime to them. And that’s because for him it always is happening, that damned chime, all the time. I mean it is hard to get away from a person who is always there, and of course I mean everywhere – but he only has to be present when you take a little risk – Most the time he doesn’t have to stop in; but you get to scratching, when you start thinking about hanging the moon where it shouldn’t be, even for a couple of seconds… well he has to intervene. It’s got to be done. Do you know what happens if someone gets away with one minute? No, that was a question I’m considering. I’m not all that certain what, if anything, happens. The way he keeps everything cut, I’d imagine it has got to be dire; All those suits couldn’t possibly be acting out of fear, the unknown couldn’t frighten them into form from all the way back in antiquity till eternity one.
It’s good, you’re not asking questions – Is my head still on straight at this point? What does it matter;
Although I am skeptical of a person who isn’t the least bit curious in veering off the highlighted route.
The only people that should be afraid of change are the people who benefit from things staying the same, which is only in the short run – Unless you have limited vision
On his arrangements, the time keeper wasn’t always so orderly. It comes out every now and then, a glimpse to what can’t be erased from the past. You wouldn’t know without spending a bit with him that, despite their immutability, he isn’t much into rules. Yes, he almost wants you to get away with some time, perhaps so it didn’t seem so in the right place always; But like everyone, he’s got a job to do. It doesn’t matter what you feel, or what you think might be possible – even if it is – He can’t keep them waiting, not if he wants to stay in good position.
There have been a few in the past that were called flukes in the records. Sometimes things elude you or someone a little more clever comes along and shows you what you didn’t know existed to lay your eyes on, of course everyone learns something. I guess this can’t really be told without touching on the others. Yes, I will have to speak on them because after all our stories, yours and mine are all woven together. It would be impractical to tell each of them separately when they all crisscross and lap!
It’s nice to finally meet you, the last face I’ll see, I’ll see that you don’t forget me.
“I felt very tired and vague in the head.” – Ernest Hemingway, from A Farewell To Arms
Have I been there? Of course, you know I’m well traveled for where I started out. Looking about, I began to wonder if all this hadn’t just been a long lasting dream in need of closure; In need of a stark grip on the rope of reality, you know that realization and acceptance that the ideals are far off, and all you can do is work to bring them closer to someone else. The end was never meant for me, I’m just a point along the map for the next day.
You see, I more often than not pour myself something strong. No, I don’t think I need it, I don’t feel like I need it – But I have this theory: As we go on we fill up, we fill up our infinite vessel, and experience it both as filling, filled, and not filled enough. Sometimes we are filled, and in order to really feel we require a lot more because quite honestly we are experiencing dilution; Overburdened perhaps, cloudy, in need of a great reflection and a massaging of our mental cosmos.
It is a great task to become
The problem was becoming for anything else! At times we feel the fabric of it all ready to break. You want to become for something else, but her selflessness taught me that my selfishness was necessary – To do away with it would do away with my own vessel. Yes, I said her selflessness, although we know better, it was the lack there of that taught me about my own short comings. I learned, it took me many lessons, but I did begin to break from the dirt and towards the fire.