The Reality TV at the End of the World.

I don’t think I’ve ever really seen a reality show except for being in the room on occasion when one of the early prototypes came on MTV. It’s been years since I’ve seen MTV and decades since I’ve seen network TV so it is safe to say I don’t know what’s going on there. I can look at the general state of intelligence and the culture though and get an intuit into the effects. So… I went to a search engine and I searched for, “How many reality shows are on TV?” Right near the top I found this. I don’t think even the hard core Nimrods who watch this stuff would imagine (if they had that facility) there were so many. I realize this is probably a list of past and present shows and that some are no longer on the air but… unbelievable all the same.

When I check into the MSM each day to see what they are lying about, there are always these faces of people I never heard of and now I suspect this is where they come from. I try to imagine (having that facility) the hundreds of casting agency offices across the country that filter the desperate dreams of the rank and file whose ranks are now filing toward the windows of the unemployment offices and disappearing job interviews across the vast and benighted, obese landscape of their Krispy Kreme world.

Each day I read about people being tazered and beaten by police. I read about people being fired for inopportune words that could have meant this and could have meant that but wound up interpreted by agents of social control, which cost them their jobs and whatever else. Each day I read about random acts of violence and bimbos in suitcases. Every week someone shoots up a workplace. Every week some government agency sets up a handful of retards in a non-existent terror plot and meanwhile… these reality shows presuppose an existence that is scripted by people intentionally driving the culture toward ever further outbreaks of madness.

I remember being at Altamont when Mick Jagger was on stage and the Hell’s Angels were wailing into the crowd with their pool cues. Jagger was doing that song “Midnight Rambler” and “Street Fighting Man” was also in the lineup and as surges of violence spread out from pockets of bad acid freakers shoved into phalanxes of drunken thugs, Jagger would soothingly cry out… “Peace, brothers and sisters” and then he would whip the stage with his studded belt and pour it on for the next round. People tell me there was a Satanic circle painted on the stage for The Stones but I didn’t see it. I was pretty close to the stage but out of pool cue range. It might have been there… certainly the behavior was.

That event reminds me of the disconnect between these reality shows and life on the streets of the American Dream as it turns restlessly in its bed seeking a comfortable lie but something is in the bed and is biting the sleeper or… the mattress is wet with urine… or one corner of the bed has collapsed or something.

You go way back to the Bread and Circuses thing and you look through the lens of recall into the passing of history and at every turn you see the population distracted by cheap entertainments while something truly dreadful was going on in the wings. Is this moment in this time an exception to the rule? Should we expect that this time it will be different and everything will right itself and we will be back on course again? It seems we are on a course and it is most definitely the wrong one.

I’m indifferent to the changing permutations of the culture. I don’t watch TV and I don’t read the magazines. I don’t listen to the music. My one exception is movies. In any case, the only impact the present state of the culture has on me is a certain revulsion that rises now and again. I know there are others who are not manipulated by these things either but… there is some large body of the public that views all of it as being real. They are the sort that will argue that professional wrestling is not fixed and that watching cars go around and around the same circle, over and over again, is somehow fascinating; as fascinating as the human billboards that exit from the cars to a Toby Keith song called “Towelheads from Tulsa”

Across the water are tens of thousands of young Americans and even more hardened mercenaries who will be coming back to The Homeland at some point. They are learning what any man learns who is forced by bankers to kill for economic gain and they are all permanently damaged to some degree. Among them are that portion of psychopaths for whom this is an opportunity to torture and murder without penalty. Meanwhile the television puts forth vain and empty froth which is not unlike the froth inside of the heads of the people who are watching it.

Can it be assumed according to any yardstick or measuring device that… this is a mere phase from which some higher mind will suddenly spring like Venus from the forehead of Jupiter? Or is it rather one phase leading into another upon an ever deepening curve downward that is reflected in the increased acceleration of time as counterpoint?

Here I stand or sit, like yourself, surrounded by the cotton candy mist of torpor that veils the torments of those sacrificed upon the altar. Their blood is the grease that lubricates the gears and bearings of the Tilt a Whirl in the midnight amusement park of the nation that took too much and gave too little. I have been told we are all one but I cannot see the connection between them and me. I feel more kinship with the beasts of the field and less endangered by the beasts of the wild.

I know that I am supposed to love all with some kind of divine equanimity. I realize that I am required to move with an egalitarian awareness through the land of the Schmoos but some portion of me has not yet achieved to the liberation from passing judgment upon those who gave up their humanity for something that sticks in their teeth, tickles their privates and seeds their progeny as it devours their souls. Each day I hope that this state of being will descend upon me but so far it has not. Each day I watch the world move like a heavy drunk, leaning into the walls and shop windows for balance as it makes its way home.

If the world is a ship then the rudder is broken or the captain has gone overboard and now the course is determined by the impact of the things that hit it, or the tides, as it moves through space or across the tossing seas. I know this is an illusion and that everything is under control but it takes a lot of reminding under the circumstances.

Cultures and nations rise through the force of vision and industry toward an unreachable dream and descend rapidly into that failure unique to each… all the while the common mass never register the process, they merely play out their roles as canon fodder on the one hand and agents of desire and appetite on the other. You can see where the elite get the idea that they have no more value than cattle, even as they herd them toward their doom.

Now some woman in Tunisia is about to have twelve children at once which means the Octomom has to move over.

I’m a believer in the yin and yang of the thing. Hard science backs my hypothesis. I believe that whenever the darkness prevails across wide distances that the light must concentrate in certain locations. I believe that a signal goes out at these times and those attuned will hear the homing sound. Whenever large structures crash, there is some portion of the population that is beyond the kill zone.

Is there anywhere a leader of any country who is standing forth on the world’s stage and calling attention to the madness? Are they only being denied the coverage, bumped to Page 12 by some reality TV news? There are those small voices of reason and then there is a great wasteland of confusion moving toward irrevocable adjustment.

Seek out the concentrations of light. Move away from the centers of darkness. I can think of no other advice. That rough beast is on the move.

It Always Breaks Your Heart

The New Shangri-La


1 Comment

  1. introspeck said,

    October 1, 2009 at 9:52 pm

    Perhaps it was ever thus, Vis.

    Have you read the essay, “The Remnant”, by Albert Jay Nock?

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