Poppa's got a brand new teabag or: Through a CRT screen darkly
The Wizards of Ooze
Why do Teabaggers not gag on their bags? Why aren't they in on the gag of their bags? Because they are the obedient servants of symbols and billionaires they do not understand. Murdoch's mouthpieces rearrange the symbols, and the hydrophobic Faux News audience rabidly salivates accordingly.
We humans seem intent on blotting out Mother Nature and replacing her with CRT screens. Clouds of pollutants, the effluents of the artificial matrix, block the very sun and stars. It's only on megapixaled screens that people think they can see clearly. No wonder authenticity grows scarce, as experience, process, or product..... People have contact with signifiers instead of the referents, the things referred to. It's a semiotic (what the fuck does that word MEAN?), symbolic, semaphoric, world. And the moneymen seize the high ground, which is, in this case, the power to interpret, or rather misinterpret, the symbols. It's way past mistaking the map for the territory. Where it's at is purposely MISinterpreting the map, the semaphores, for fun and profit. For the territory itself, the thing itself, is cruelly and/or casually blotted and forgot.
In a world where the citizenry is unplugged from.......the world.....and plugged into the virtual world, no wonder individuals lose the power to think for themselves and turn to the Wizard of Oozes, the video hucksters, on their screens to be told how to think, what to think. But when these obedient ditto-heads, these Teabaggers, gather in person, in the flesh, to Teabag each other, the gatherings are absurd and monstrous, like conventions of half-men half-beasts on the Island of Doctor Moreau. "Are we not men?" "Well, no, you don't quite look or sound like men. More like walking, half-kiltered, sound bites run amok. Walking talking krazy quilts of angry expostulations. Quoters and misquoters of tangled fulminations originally spouted by cynical hucksters like Billy O, Sean H, Rush L, Michelle M." Here, at the Teabag Parties, language comes to die, for it is no longer rooted in the world, and so must wither and starve. All that's real is the anger, confusion, hostility, frustration, of the tantruming Teabaggers themselves, their pouting mouths stuffed with Rupert Murdoch's old, greedy, balls.
As for me, I think I'll take a hike in the hills this morning, just to see if there still IS a world out there, an alternative world, an allegedly real world, beyond my screen.....
Why do Teabaggers not gag on their bags? Why aren't they in on the gag of their bags? Because they are the obedient servants of symbols and billionaires they do not understand. Murdoch's mouthpieces rearrange the symbols, and the hydrophobic Faux News audience rabidly salivates accordingly.
We humans seem intent on blotting out Mother Nature and replacing her with CRT screens. Clouds of pollutants, the effluents of the artificial matrix, block the very sun and stars. It's only on megapixaled screens that people think they can see clearly. No wonder authenticity grows scarce, as experience, process, or product..... People have contact with signifiers instead of the referents, the things referred to. It's a semiotic (what the fuck does that word MEAN?), symbolic, semaphoric, world. And the moneymen seize the high ground, which is, in this case, the power to interpret, or rather misinterpret, the symbols. It's way past mistaking the map for the territory. Where it's at is purposely MISinterpreting the map, the semaphores, for fun and profit. For the territory itself, the thing itself, is cruelly and/or casually blotted and forgot.
In a world where the citizenry is unplugged from.......the world.....and plugged into the virtual world, no wonder individuals lose the power to think for themselves and turn to the Wizard of Oozes, the video hucksters, on their screens to be told how to think, what to think. But when these obedient ditto-heads, these Teabaggers, gather in person, in the flesh, to Teabag each other, the gatherings are absurd and monstrous, like conventions of half-men half-beasts on the Island of Doctor Moreau. "Are we not men?" "Well, no, you don't quite look or sound like men. More like walking, half-kiltered, sound bites run amok. Walking talking krazy quilts of angry expostulations. Quoters and misquoters of tangled fulminations originally spouted by cynical hucksters like Billy O, Sean H, Rush L, Michelle M." Here, at the Teabag Parties, language comes to die, for it is no longer rooted in the world, and so must wither and starve. All that's real is the anger, confusion, hostility, frustration, of the tantruming Teabaggers themselves, their pouting mouths stuffed with Rupert Murdoch's old, greedy, balls.
As for me, I think I'll take a hike in the hills this morning, just to see if there still IS a world out there, an alternative world, an allegedly real world, beyond my screen.....
posted by mobydoug at 10:21 AM
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