RND/ To consider a satirical wedding portrait of Elon ‘self promotion’ Musk and ‘talentless minger’ Grimes.
2400 x 1400 .jpg
Question is, why aren’t millions more real humans taking the piss out of such bizarre invading space beings? What kind of ultra-privileged ‘They Live’ style zombies dolts names their brat ‘X Æ A-Xii’? Rich White Freaks of course! The notion that being Rich And White™ (‘white’ as in a state of mind, a capitalist worldview, a will-to-techno-dominance) really means your probably psychoevil has been around since Asshole Roman Emperor times. It’s a public secret that hardly ever dare speak its name, for fear of offending our unholy billionaire lizard overlords.
No real wonder of course, considering poor schmucks who buy into the idea of an ‘Elon Musk’, or who love hyper-generic electro-bleep hellevator muzak, have their tongues so far up these weirdo’s backsides they can barely articulate what’s cosmic-scale wrong about the very notion of such people in the first place. Elon Musk & Grimes represent a pair of artificial intelligences, arriving straight from the uncanny valley to haunt your waking synthetic media dreamscape; a sweatshop manufactured PS5 displays more believable humanity and genuine compassion. Rich White Freaks, back to Mars with you.
RND/ To consider a conceptual painting-fiction of The Birthday Party, which by all accounts was a success. There was even lemon cake. And yet his fucking soul was still deeep in social lockdown.
3148 x 2874 .jpg, from a photo by Robert What.
Ideal / Idealized price for such a concept: £220k – contact Rob for details
[..] she often wears plastic inflatable fairy wings on her birthday. This ensemble arrives complete with a blow up magic wand. Yet while he smiled endearingly upon witnessing this manifesting aesthetic, he said nothing, feeling a strong sense of ideology about The Scene. He suddenly wondered about the bizarre violence underlying the most innocent of our choices. It wasn’t the mere choice to wear plastic fairy wings, as the strange iron fact of their enactment within the Social Space – as if, in order for The Birthday Party to take place at all, there’s no way they could not have been worn.
All of a sudden, these wings were not the wings of breaking some protective wall and letting oneself go, expressing one’s spontaneity of feeling but rather theatrical, staged, egotistical – wings with which to regain correct social distance from those beings without with the ability to fly. Of course, nobody at the party remotely thought like this. It was by all accounts just another pleasant day in permanent social lockdown.
For a moment at least the wings appeared as a retroactive signifier of near future meaning, projected into some absurd Eternal Birthday present. The notion of all language as alien and communication as impossible began to fill his idiot mind. Despite the pleasant and convivial company, he sat there on his own with a warm beer in hand, idly wondering to what extent our very existences, the ground beneath our feet depends upon entire unacknowledged sets of dangerous and untested assumptions.
Just what is the particular plastic Reality Model we base our whole lives on, simply so we can breathe from moment to moment? On whose weary shoulders do we sit, fairy kings and princesses, merely so we can continue silently enforcing the notion that whatever we do is always perfectly Normalized – somehow universally acceptable, morally without shame or reflection – shiny chrome smiles in the dark inverted virtual light constantly projected from our own pure ontological backsides? A silent and casually cruel, wanton naivety often seems to inform every move we make as we flutter through this empty world – babes with knives and wands in the shallow digital woods.
Speaking of naive. He’d spend hours the previous day expertly curating a party playlist, adjusting the volume and bass on dozens of tracks. He imagined everyone would get busy dancing and would at some point compliment him on his amazing musical taste. But it everybody just sat there checking their evil hyper-corporate smart phone slabs. He suddenly felt like a total try-hard, a useless fifth wheel, jealous of their advanced Social Network which he couldn’t afford. He was planning to dance with Birthday Girl at some point, show off his own Cool Moves but in the end merely felt desperate and hungover. Sunburnt and alienated.
When he finally slunk off back indoors to nurse his empty skull, few noticed or mentioned the fact of his unremarkable disappearance. Good riddance, professional misery boy. Luckily a passing UFO saw his existential plight and temporarily rescued him from his pathetic suburban desires. How it’s quietly maddening, not to able to reach out and touch another lonely soul. Except he’s the only one that’s lonely. In fact he plans to stay that way.
La Femme D’Argent – Air
Birthday – The Sugarcubes
Feels Like Summer – Childish Gambino
Had To Hear – Real Estate
Stiff Upper Lip – ACDC
Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner – Black Uhuru
Ziggy Stardust – Bauhaus
Snoop Dogg ft. Pharrell – Beautiful
Blue Suede Shoes – Carl Perkins
Jammin – Bob Marley
Teaser – Brad Wilson
Wot – Captain Sensible – Wot
Express Yourself – Charles Wright
From Nowhere – Dan Croll
Let It Whip – Dazz Band
Need U (100%) – Duke Dumont
Girls on Film – Duran Duran
A Little Respect / Oh L’Amour – Erasure
Good Thing – Fine Young Cannibals
Inner City – Good Life
Good Thing Going – Sugar Minott
Altered Images – Happy Birthday
Nakamarra – Hiatus Kaiyote
Like To Get To Know You Well – Howard Jones
I Need A Roof – The Mighty Diamonds
Need You Tonight – INXS
Baby I Love You So – Jacob Miller
Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag – James Brown
Cavalier (Samuraii Remix) – James Vincent McMorrow
The Harder They Come – Jimmy Cliff
August 10 – Khruangbin
Fresh / Get Down On it – Kool & The Gang
Into The Groove – Madonna
Midnight Special – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Night’s Introlude – Nightmares On Wax
Nuthin’ But A ‘G’ Thang – Dr. Dre
Paid In Full – Eric B. & Rakim
Forget Me Nots – Patrice Rushen
Above The Clouds – Paul Weller
West End Girls – Pet Shop Boys
What’s The Frequency, Kenneth? – REM
La Bamba – Ritchie Valens
Miss You (Long Outtake) – Rolling Stones
Mandinga – Rubén González
Evil Ways – Santana
Soul Limbo – Booker T. & The MG’s
Rockin’ Me – Steve Miller Band
Tequila – The Champs
She Sells Sanctuary – The Cult
Let’s Go To Bed – The Cure
Bohemian Like You – The Dandy Warhols
Louie Louie – The Kingsmen
J’aurais Toujours Faim de Toi / The Bed’s Too Big Without You – The Police
Talking In Your Sleep / What I Like About You – The Romantics
The Way You Do The Things You Do – UB40
The Hardest Button to Button – The White Stripes
Under the Boardwalk – The Drifters
Money’s Too Tight (To Mention) – Valentine Brothers
RND/ To envisage a plastic parody figurine of the psychotic white serial killer character “Ellie”, from post-apocalypse simulator The Last Of Us I & II.
The Last Of Us Part II can be very disturbing. Enemies feel lifelike as you stab them in the throat, and watch the lights slowly drain from their eyes. Blood seeps from wounds as bodies lay on the ground, staring back at you. The people you fight often call each other by name, adding weight and meaning to each life you take.
– Easy Allies Review
How such an image might symbolize or open up important political discussions about White Violence in video games, especially given the people in The Last Of Us – like the self righteous psychopaths in The Walking Dead – act like ruthless right wing survivalist prepper wackjobs. (Almost as if they wouldn’t even really need the flimsy excuse of the world ending to act like they do, and simply love murdering people.) Where exactly are these ‘philosophical questions asked about the cycle of violence’ promised by developers Naughty Dog? What a joke. Mere batshit power fantasies R-US part II, more like.
I’m gonna find, and I’m gonna kill, every last one of them.
– Ellie, The Last Of US II
RND// To consider Slavoj Žižek’s Sex And The Failed Absolute (Bloomsbury Academic 2020) near the top of anyone’s shortlist for the biggest stinking load of old academic charlatan obscurantist bollocks ever pinched off by a major publisher.
While not entirely without merit – there are at least a couple of easily understandable, well thought out and clearly presented ideas and sentences hidden among too often patently batshit Lacanian waffle; Žižek appears to have outdone himself in terms of eye rolling obscurantism in the name of ego-inflating (strictly Academic) cleverness.
To paraphrase: “However, the true enemy of the present book is not new realist visions but what one is tempted to call the fine art of thinking-as-a-parody, an art which more and more pervades our public space: grand (yet embarrassing) academic theatrics in the guise of wisdom intended to fascinate us with their endless depth. They no longer function as synthetic articulated propositions but more like holographic images providing instant cognitive-spiritual satisfaction.”
And now a unedited quote from the book:
“Honoured to be included into Badiou’s list, I nonetheless consider my characterization – “positivism of drives” – inadequate: as it was abundantly developed by me (and, of course, Alenka Zupančič), “death drive” in our work does not refer to any kind of “positivity” but to the grounding gap or crack in positive reality (and that, consequently, also opens up the space for what Badiou calls Event and Truth-procedure). “Death drive” is in our reading Freud’s paradoxical name for its very opposite, for immortality, his name for what the German idealists like Hegel called radical (self-relating) negativity. It is not an (ontic or) ontological category but a category that points towards the fatal limitation of every ontological edifice, towards the impossibility that lies at its foundation, rendering it “non-all,” incomplete (without implying that there is an external limit to it, that something, some transcendent entity, eludes reality. In short, for our standpoint, it is Badiou himself who is, in some basic sense, all too “positivist” in his notion of Truth-Event: for him, the exception to the order of Being can only be a positive (affirmative) Truth, while for us, the space for such an exception is opened up by the void of radical negativity.”
– Slavoj Žižek, Sex And The Failed Absolute
What? Fuck right off with that shit, sunshine. Take your fancy European name dropping and your fellow bullshit academics and their shrinking collection of vain intellectual irrelevances and politely (yet firmly) stuff it. Was that some kind of private academic in-joke? But why does the reader have to be the butt of such obviously time wasting bullshit? Virtually nobody but Fucking Academics™* even talks like that. There’s a good reason for this. They’re under to much pressure from actual (non-academic based) reality to give two obscurantist shits about Bagel, or other radical self-relating negativities. Elvis, talk about a cliquey circle jerk in an ivory tower packed with stuffy, hyper-wordy assholes.
*Name of a forthcoming novel (mind you, sounds like a cheap paperback by that disgusting fascist pig turd Houellebecq.)
Now, don’t get me wrong; I’m writing this under a moral rule articulated by Žižek himself; that while one must be intellectually harsh and strict with one’s enemies, an even more stringent and uncompromising gaze must be applied to our friends and allies. This is to keep them honest. The failure to do so is collaboration with cosmically useless intellectual™ pontification masquerading as innovative knowledge.
Žižek my son, talking shit like that simply does not help anyone except yourself. You’ve got a big brain on you, sure – but you’re blatant, bloated academic ego betrays the shaky philosophical foundations of cognitive vanity. It doesn’t really help humanity get out of it’s own deep shit. It’s a very unsexy look. When it comes to common cultural objects and processes, you regularly bring something exciting to the table – a undoubted fresh take on otherwise invisible public subjects, made invisible through their transparent ubiquity. But this time you appear to have written yourself into a conceptual dead end, where useless old, dusty ideas parade themselves in a shameless public (Communist-era?) display of fancy terms everyone’s secretly both laughing at, and bored by.
Few give a shit about Hegel. Most people shouldn’t have to give a shit about Hegel. Hegel’s just another Dead White Guy. (You don’t want to be an Undead White Guy, do you Zizzy.) Is it important that *someone* (/lurking in the willfully obscure, shaded hinterlands of Academia) gives a flying shit about Hegel? Possibly.
One delicious irony is when Zizek says “The storyline is shamelessly summarized from the Wikipedia entry on The Dark Tower.” Which precisely means; it’s plain bollocks, and I didn’t watch it precisely because I’ve better, actually meaningful things in my life. Likewise, perhaps one need only read a summary of Sex and the Failed Absolute from Wikipedia – equally without shame.
When the snout itself retroactively gives birth to the mollusk of the Real
‘Eschew obfuscation, espouse elucidation’ arrives with a lot of unexamined ideological baggage; it’s easy to be a perfectly ludic dipshit. D-for-disingenuous Kermit impersonator and all round Your-Asshole-Dad(dy-Figure) Simulator Jordan B. Peterson writes and speaks perfectly clearly, except he willingly obfuscates his naked reactionary right wing hated with a lot of ‘plain speaking’. Except it’s overwhelmingly just plain wrong. Žižek on the other hand seems pathologically amused with huffing the academic stink of his own hopelessly, bizarrely convoluted Lacanian farts. Theory for him seems like a nervous tick you just can’t stop.