One of the tropes of Hollywood propaganda (it is quoted by Oliver Stone) ascribed to Nietzsche is: that which does not destroy me makes me stronger. It is a trope of propaganda about tropes of propaganda and illustrates the need to address that which we prefer to avoid. Avoidance of falsehood increases in danger over time, because criminals and tyrants can identify when exposing their deceptions is at work by language and double down on the threats they use to make disagreement painful and deadly. Like the abuse of Gaza, the passage of time makes conditions for journalism worse when rooted in repression. Free speech is gone, but silence cannot be enforced either so the tyrants have made speaking a punishable offense. The medium isn’t due process, but rather cultural reprisals against which there is no dignified defense, initiated by statecraft. America betrayed perhaps, but not in the only way.
The prosperity and safety of the human race has always depended on the middle class of prosperous nations to deliver on good neighbor policies and preventing the transfer of public funds to wingnuts in arms lobby and revolutionary notions. For successful societies to be sustainable, priorities need to be reassuring to both the foreign powers with whom our relations are strained and to the less fortunate seeking developmental assistance. This allows not only effective charity, but diplomatic clarity. Posing where this went wrong in a shadowy, covert environment where the most sinister trope is silence about Gail Burstyn isn’t a creative anomaly, it is total surrender to abysmal genocide. Her script admits AIDS was an attack. That is basic as well as obvious.
April 2024 is a disastrous frame from which to address and redress the crimes and propaganda of the 80’s but the attempt is bookmarked by a signal character from that time’s trendsetters, the deliverance of Aung San Suu Kyi from prison back to house arrest is a foil against escapism. We are, a lot of us, still here. The grinding wheels of World War Three are being summoned into position in what seems almost a guerilla statement by the oligarch class, a leapfrog consortium somewhat typified by Toon, whose mendicant Michael Johnson alleviates stress by being an outlet for the silly. How, for example, could a hush money kiddo with heavy petting relations in the law firm representing Hair be whetting a scaling knife over infidelity? The standard of hypocrisy, the just don’t get caught style of Clinton, doesn’t apply, it is so brazen,
The importance that the Entities-That-Be attach to me is due to some revealing claims being made by abled-bodied muscle-builders including Arnold, Putin, RFK and Gore about how correspondence with Peter Gabriel during Reagan’s regime unfolded and what was meant by the riddles unsaid by the powers of Ringo Starr. Toon offered a revealing new phrase as catechism: establishing the narrative. The menu of victals being offered range from pathetic to insidious but appear to be bon appetit for left, right and center. Predictably, the cosmic wonderland of celebrities fall over each other representing what is awry as somehow about race. That I am deaf is good for a laugh because Gallaudet is in on the barbecue.
No one took a stand militarily to protect Gaza. The issue of AIDS was buried in the rubble by the Rolling Stones performance in Tel Aviv announcing the will of Lennon, as usual, and the curse of Ono arriving on the porn computer as a pickpocket from the Congo. Humbles a manjack. The agony of it however comes from a very violent attack on the mind authored by Seattle, Zappa and Hustler Magazine who allied themselves, as poison criminals, with the script as a franchise of property values which hotwired around public warning and safety, as though the killing in such enterprises as viaticals was a new spoil of Europe. It was alleged covertly by snivel and leer that sexual liberation, not oil wars, led to ecocide having enraged the sensibilities of the Holy Ogre behind the Book of Revelation, not easily remedied by secular scruples, which has gone into hock keeping up with the limited distribution of civil rights and lady liberty.
You will no doubt squirm remembering the slogans of touchy-blood wisdom such as if you wash I will be offended offered by the company Youssou N’dour keeps, legendary African warriors Ming Na Wen and Yoko Ono, which became 6 feet apart or 6 feet under when abashed mayors took their turn meekly announcing the Great Weird of Covid on the heels of Greta Thunberg’s climate trumpet of conscience. Ono was raring to go with North Korea peep periscopes at TikTok.
Belief control is now media’s mandate. Best case is just to rehearse some details of what Biden and Cyril Wecht accomplished in their portfolio of compromise concerning Kennedy’s killers in their unmasked brokerage, a trope of the burning barn that the gay community has in common with Gaza’s blighted children. They have nowhere to turn but their own destroyers, you don’t mean to hurt us, Bibi, we trust you, Geffen.