“He’s always like this on the thirteenth of the month.”
A couple of days ago, I ran a lengthy quote from Howard Beale – the Mad Prophet of the Airwaves in the movie Network, and rather reopened the debate on decentralization and disengagement from totalitarian corporate capitalism. One anonymous poster suggested, “we don't need to buy HDTV. Or cable. We can wear used clothes. And barter for books. And get food from a local farmer co-ops. We can keep everything within our own communities. Even if that means moving from cities to smaller towns where land is more plentiful.” For my part, I harbor grave misgivings about the whole business of rural retreat. I firmly believe that radical change cannot be achieved without mass confrontation of some kind, be it in the style of Gandhi, or armed-and-Bolshevik dangerous. I also worry that the power structure has been long schooled in how to deal with radical rural communes or communities all the way from the crushing of the Levelers and the Diggers in 17th century England, through to Jonestown and the Branch Davidians at Waco.
I also cannot subscribe to any revolution that cannot hold on to the technology. Science is not a luxury. It is humanity at its most noble. We stand on the threshold of wherever String Theory might lead, and the Singularity may only be a quarter-century away. Since I am not about to give that up (should I live so long) for digging carrots out of the dirt, can anyone educate me? How do the rebels seize an ISP? Classic Guevara-style guerrillas always seized the radio station early in the taking of the city. It’s the same tactic written more high-tech. This is the overcrowded 21st century and our solutions may not only have to be more drastic, but also far more complex.
And while I was still frowning over those conundrums, someone calling himself Man mounted something that felt close to a Stalinist blitzkrieg. Demanding to know “are these songs supposed to be ironic? They are all from the sixties and all more proof that pretty much whatever posture someone from that era assumed, they and their fans will do otherwise.” Fans? Does that mean you? Man then went on describe “artists and revolutionaries” as “grotesque reality of nightmares past” and I was grimly instructed to leave “the pics of dead blonds to the wanker caste and focus entirely on practical solutions.” And if that wasn’t enough, even my good pal HCB weighed in on the 1960s with “we've been picking over the bones of the golden age for an awfully long time.”
Initially I was furious and banged my curmudgeon fist on the keyboard, declaring angrily that it was my blog and I’d post what I damn well liked, motherfuckers, but, later, contrition set in. Yes, my friends, I now freely admit my moribund guilt. I found Elvis in the 1950s and made my anarchic bones in the 1960s, a wonderful time when stoned girls danced on my stage, semi-naked, until ushered off by the Hells Angels. (See above.) It was a lot if fun in that scant five minutes between the Pill and AIDS, and much of what goes up on Doc40 is intended as a history lesson, or just an old timer telling tales of the velvet trenches. But there’s also more to it than just geriatric nostalgia. The complained-of Marilyn Monroe is the perfect example.
An image of Marilyn has the resonance of a multi-faceted, 20th century fertility icon, and lends itself to a wide spectrum of symbolism and artistic exploitation. The reason I use her has nothing to do with wanker masturbation. It is because – even after more than half a century – there is nothing with equal cognitive impact. You simply do not achieve the same effect with Scarlett Johansson or Miley Cyrus. If you don’t believe me, just try it. It’s same with the music I post. Sure, a lot of it is from the 1950/60/70s, (and a lot isn’t) but that’s not only because it’s the music I know and love. Much of it simply hasn’t been superseded by any new and more powerful rock & roll malcontent anthems.
A couple of days ago, I ran a lengthy quote from Howard Beale – the Mad Prophet of the Airwaves in the movie Network, and rather reopened the debate on decentralization and disengagement from totalitarian corporate capitalism. One anonymous poster suggested, “we don't need to buy HDTV. Or cable. We can wear used clothes. And barter for books. And get food from a local farmer co-ops. We can keep everything within our own communities. Even if that means moving from cities to smaller towns where land is more plentiful.” For my part, I harbor grave misgivings about the whole business of rural retreat. I firmly believe that radical change cannot be achieved without mass confrontation of some kind, be it in the style of Gandhi, or armed-and-Bolshevik dangerous. I also worry that the power structure has been long schooled in how to deal with radical rural communes or communities all the way from the crushing of the Levelers and the Diggers in 17th century England, through to Jonestown and the Branch Davidians at Waco.
I also cannot subscribe to any revolution that cannot hold on to the technology. Science is not a luxury. It is humanity at its most noble. We stand on the threshold of wherever String Theory might lead, and the Singularity may only be a quarter-century away. Since I am not about to give that up (should I live so long) for digging carrots out of the dirt, can anyone educate me? How do the rebels seize an ISP? Classic Guevara-style guerrillas always seized the radio station early in the taking of the city. It’s the same tactic written more high-tech. This is the overcrowded 21st century and our solutions may not only have to be more drastic, but also far more complex.
And while I was still frowning over those conundrums, someone calling himself Man mounted something that felt close to a Stalinist blitzkrieg. Demanding to know “are these songs supposed to be ironic? They are all from the sixties and all more proof that pretty much whatever posture someone from that era assumed, they and their fans will do otherwise.” Fans? Does that mean you? Man then went on describe “artists and revolutionaries” as “grotesque reality of nightmares past” and I was grimly instructed to leave “the pics of dead blonds to the wanker caste and focus entirely on practical solutions.” And if that wasn’t enough, even my good pal HCB weighed in on the 1960s with “we've been picking over the bones of the golden age for an awfully long time.”
Initially I was furious and banged my curmudgeon fist on the keyboard, declaring angrily that it was my blog and I’d post what I damn well liked, motherfuckers, but, later, contrition set in. Yes, my friends, I now freely admit my moribund guilt. I found Elvis in the 1950s and made my anarchic bones in the 1960s, a wonderful time when stoned girls danced on my stage, semi-naked, until ushered off by the Hells Angels. (See above.) It was a lot if fun in that scant five minutes between the Pill and AIDS, and much of what goes up on Doc40 is intended as a history lesson, or just an old timer telling tales of the velvet trenches. But there’s also more to it than just geriatric nostalgia. The complained-of Marilyn Monroe is the perfect example.
An image of Marilyn has the resonance of a multi-faceted, 20th century fertility icon, and lends itself to a wide spectrum of symbolism and artistic exploitation. The reason I use her has nothing to do with wanker masturbation. It is because – even after more than half a century – there is nothing with equal cognitive impact. You simply do not achieve the same effect with Scarlett Johansson or Miley Cyrus. If you don’t believe me, just try it. It’s same with the music I post. Sure, a lot of it is from the 1950/60/70s, (and a lot isn’t) but that’s not only because it’s the music I know and love. Much of it simply hasn’t been superseded by any new and more powerful rock & roll malcontent anthems.
When Man demands that I “focus entirely on practical solutions” I can only responded why me? I’ve been walking point on my fraction of this adventure since Jack Kennedy was shot. Where are your plans, Man? Where are your practical solutions? Can I look them up on line, or do I need to buy the book? When are you young people going to put down your fancy phones for long enough to surprise the old man with something new and uniquely dangerous? I becoming a little bored with the waiting.
And, talking of anthems, click here for The (ironic) Ramones
The secret word is Venerable
And, talking of anthems, click here for The (ironic) Ramones
The secret word is Venerable
