Dear Alt-Right, More Pizzagates Please
If you are a fan of my work, you already know of my predisposition for conspiracy theories of all flavors. If you aren’t a fan of my work but are reading this, I love conspiracy theories. Something about the visceral need to escape reality, the desire to separate from the accepted, It’s in the base desire of all fiction writers. Our brains augment reality all the time to find ideas, and in conspiracy theorists, we find a similar ilk. A fraternal twin. Similarity shouldn’t be seen as acceptance, however. I’m more a fan than a researcher, an artist looking for a muse. Do I like conspiracy theories and read about them and dive deep into the bowels of YouTube for them? Yes. Do I believe them? Not really.
The Great American Butt Tumor
I suppose a fair warning is in order. This is an entirely true story, being told in its entirety, with the purpose of a sort of political catharsis. It involves a lot of swearing and talk about sweaty, hairy ass cracks.
I’ve been writing a lot the past two days. I promise to be original soon. While I compartmentalize, enjoy my hero’s writing on what is going on. Sorry America. Sorry Women. I love you all.
I don’t know what you text to a girlfriend this morning and I sure don’t want to find out through trial and error. Last night, she never came over because an hour into the election, at the sight of the first numbers, she stopped knowing how to interact with the world and couldn’t get out of bed. I share that deeply private fact without fear of embarrassing her, not because embarrassing women was legalized in last night’s referendum, but because she’s numb. If I texted her for permission to share her numbness, I’d get the same response as if I asked her to eat a submarine. “Okay,” she’d reply. “I’m going to try to sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Human beings have an instinctive draw to color, remnants from the days when life had to be earned and each plant and animal was a serious life or death situation. Our brains fire different chemical signals based solely upon the color pattern our eyes receive, hence fast food restaurants are coated in shiny reds and yellows which literally make you feel hungry. A college study has linked the color blue to more creative thinking patterns. So we, as a consciousness, have built-in responses to our perception of the color-coding of our world. It only makes sense, we need every signal we can get to help us sort out the fundamentals of living a human life. As we draw out away from the singular insanity that is one human, we have to look at how society has further used color to denote value and create symbols. The color purple was a sign of royalty in medieval and renaissance Europe, East Asian countries tend to wear vibrant whites to funerals, and the hippies discarded the crisp colors of their fathers and mothers in favor of vibrant swirls (which would become more indicative of their own hypocrisy than their melding of cultural ideas). Color has always been a method by which humans have sorted and made sense of the world, it is one of the sole universals (minus the disadvantaged males whose chromosomal makeup denies them this right) through which we can validate our existence and that of others. That idea is what gives those who manipulate it so much power.
This is me at my most… Masochistic. Wait, sorry that’s Kill Bill, this is me at my most honest. I’m sitting on the toilet, sweaty from working in a kitchen, contemplating the serious issue. The issue I thought too stupid to consider. What if Donald Trump does become president? What if, by simply being able to scream the loudest, the idiots win?
But this is only the tip of a far larger iceberg, a far more dangerous idea, the kind of crime that would launch one to the top of the thought police’s most wanted list. To continue reading is heresy. Let us take the tool most loved by modern society, the dichotomy, and categorize people by the most basic of assumptions. There is only two basic states of being, fear people and love people. I shall describe fear people only, and you can come to realize that love people simply means those who live without fear. To be a love person is an ideal, a challenge one must constantly strive for. Fear is a base emotion, it’s what the game of peek-a-boo runs on, it’s kept humanity going forever. So as I begin bashing on a sector people who have made fear define them, understand that having fear and belonging to fear are in fact different.
Fear people are driven by ignorance. Fear people think it actually is a small world. Fear people’s every action is prefaced with the thought “I don’t want to die”. The “I” is more important in that thought than the “die”. Fear people live in small towns and think themselves worthy targets of terrorist attacks. Fear people are solipsists, but incapable of recognizing that. Fear people are proud to replace intellectualism with barbarism. Fear people are simply those who cannot be faced with an unknown. They truly believe that that which they cannot comprehend must therefor be hostile. Their ideals are confirmed every time human life is lost, because death, being so against being able to feel fear, must be the worst possible thing. Their fear confirms each morning they are alive. Best of all, fear is easy to commercialize, and each morning fear people can wake up and confirm their fears with their morning spray-tanned botox anchorperson.
Being a fear person is not a crime. In fact, the fear people have essentially won. They exist in far greater numbers. But that doesn’t mean it is ever something to be proud of, and it certainly can’t be something a night terror is allowed to build a fucking political platform out of.
(This rant has had the misfortune of not being finished in one day, and much of the fire went out of my belly recently. I can only apologize. I will update the definition of fear person as I get into a more manic (and therefore angry) disposition.)
Inspired by a recent viewing of “Dear White People”, which is perhaps the best movie made in the past two years (Mad Max: Fury Road doesn’t count cause they started making that shit years ago), I’ve decided to post the smartest thing I have ever written. A essay covering the history of Hip-hop, the growth of the “thug Image” and the ability to “gay up” the most dogmatically heterosexual musical genre (after white trash) “Because of the Internet”.
Gambino Reference, off to a great start.
No Heaven for a Gangsta
The Feminization of Hip-Hop Culture in the Internet Age
The offspring of DJ Kool Herc, Afrika Bambaataa and the Ghetto Brothers, Hip-hop has done some growing up since the 1970’s. From it’s birthplace in the Bronx, the movement spread like wildfire across both the United States and the world, giving a creative outlet and voice to predominantly African-American suffering. Hip-hop found its target audience in the poverty-stricken ghetto’s of American cities, and like every other musical subculture before it felt the conforming hands of record companies taking hold. The disco/funk influences and light tone found in songs like “Rappers Delight” by The Sugarhill Gang were abandoned quickly by the 80’s as anger percolated into the genre. Ice-T and NWA rapped over heavy beats about killing cops, Run-DMC, Erik B & Rakim, and LL Cool J brought a level of technique to rapping unheard of prior. The Beastie Boys proved that white kids could participate in the emerging scene, albeit in a somewhat ironic and silly fashion. De La Soul provided the hippy-esque influence that would create alternative hip-hop, but the clear direction of hip-hop was toward hyper-masculine aggression. Gangsta rap and the image of “thugs” were forged during the Reagan era.