Thank God for Spring. Sure, it forebodes summer’s heat but, at least for a little while, one can experience the lightness of just being. Ah, to just be all the time. Alas, to be is not to be, not in a society where every last drop of blood is commoditized.
My bad. That last line was winter-talk. Don’t get me wrong — I love Winter, with her long blond hair and ice-queen stare. But by March, her pessimism wears thin and thoughts of the May Queen return. The time of new beginnings.
Some folks enjoy drifting down the river of life. Some seem to prefer speedboats. No matter, the destination is always the same. Would sports exist without spectators, or music without a listener? Whatever the case, the plutocracy is monetizing your bliss by keeping the egalitarians distracted with social justice.
The equation that will break the cipher is always and forever right in front of us. If we don’t see it, it’s because we choose not to see it. Built into us at the DNA level is a resistance to look at our part in causations. Elevate this tendency to a group-think level and the consequences are war, poverty, the raping of the earth for resources — the usual stuff. It’s not us, it’s them.
The Polariod is dead, long live the selfie! If I were to devise a way to keep the proletariat distracted, the plan would include an appeal to The Ego. Convince everyone of their super awesomeness, experienced through the celebration of themselves in a way all can see. Toil in solitude? Not! Not for me, because I’m special! Self-reflection? Who needs it! Besides, I just got a dopamine hit out of the 30 likes on my most recent post, so bite me.
Back to the May Queen. Which reminds me of the Lou Reed-penned tune by Velvet Underground called “Pale Blue Eyes.” I wonder if he wrote it in March? The line “Down for you is up” has got to be the result of some transcendental moment (drug induced or not). Prescient, too, as it could be our surrogate National Anthem right now.
Speaking of downers, I seriously doubt the hippies could have predicted the co-opting of drug culture by The Man, although, in a capitalist society, it is the natural order of things. What your parents hate today will be selling Doritos tomorrow. Think … Rap. There will never be another Public Enemy circa Fear of a Black Planet because the white kids in the suburbs who bought that record are now white adults in the suburbs.
Will the next dangerous, radical music sound like The Carpenters? Don’t knock The Carpenters, either. They made pristine pop records that sound like springtime.