Hanging A Hammock Between Death And The Abyss:
A Götterdämmerung of Kitsch
by Phil Rockstroh
Given the level of cultural absurdity at large, both the
commercially tormented landscape and the mass media dominated mindscape of the United States seem a Gogol goof-take.
The Secret Emperor - George Grosz 1920
If
a person had traveled forward in time, arriving from even the recent
past, of say, twenty-five to thirty-years ago, and looked upon the
present day United States -- he would have thought he had entered some
alternative universe inhabited by deranged grotesques. Resembling a
dadist reality television program, a sizable portion of the populace of
the US (save our ugly, contemporary, sweatshop-assembled clothing) could
pass for George Grosz or Max Beckmann caricatures from Weimar Republic
Germany.
In the few public spaces remaining, the time traveler
would encounter an over-weight, ill-informed citizenry, staring,
compulsively, at hand-held electronic appliances, as if the actual
world, on the other side of the small, glowing screen, held no interest
for them. He would bear witness to an age when mass media imagery
has crowded out and colonized almost every area of life, both public
and private, and is peopled with caricatures of willful ignorance and
brainless self-regard such as Sarah Palin.
As is the case with
individuals, every era is endowed with a distinct character, something
near a personality, all its own. If that personality could, over time,
gain a sense of self-awareness, our own would blush in embarrassment
viewing Palin ... Preening, sputtering her word salad palaver,
resembling an aging prom queen turned infomercial spokesmodel and
speaking as though she acquired the english language from shredded
scraps of speeches by Ronald Reagan and random bits of Bazooka Joe
bubble gum comix, she is possessed of such an extreme degree of
incomprehensible self-regard it seems a form of derangement.
In
little danger of gaining self-awareness, Palin both characterizes and is
a caricature of the era: obsession with power and celebrity, mindless
memes, and the endless, contrived drama and meaningless denouement on
display in the short attention span theatre of corporate and social
media -- all its devices and collective derangement -- that are
reactionary in the shunning of substance and the determination to remain
devoid of the deepening implications of human interaction. Ergo, these
traits and characteristics are reflected in Palin and vice versa, then
back again, ad infinitum, like distortions in carnival funhouse mirrors.
Does
one get the feeling that the more powerless we feel, collectively,
about the rising levels of economic exploitation exacted upon us and the
accelerating rate of ecocide committed on the planet by corporate
oligarchs, the more celebrity "news" and other tropes of empty
distraction and denial will froth forth from the idiot imaginings of the
pop culture douche-scape?
In our time, the understanding of the
intrinsic value of almost every endeavor is reduced
to the crackpot realism of its commodified and practical worth. In the
popular imagination, manic commercial come-ons dominate the day, in
which, images of beauty, as well as the force and foibles of human
character, has been hijacked and appropriated for strictly commercial
exploitation. Naturally, those who long for beauty in human or divine
form turn away in mortification, and, more and more become possessed of
compensatory prayers for the destruction of this empire of commercial
vacuity. As the mind is ground to spittle in the gears of the corporate
wheelhouse, one may begin to dream of, even yearn for, apocalypse -- a
longing for a Götterdämmerung of kitsch.
For many years now, we
have been witness to cultural fantasies(both of the religious and
secular variety) of decline, decay, of even the end of civilization
itself ... that are, perhaps, a collective wish for the taut bindings
that modernity places on the psyche to be loosened. The
modernist towers must fall; then our insular, nature-denuded mode of
mind will be pulled down from its lofty precincts into the élan vital
of primal dirt ... There, the sterility of the collective, corporatized
mind will meet its end, and reborn passion and vital imaginings will
bloom like wild flowers in a post-apocalyptic strip mall parking lot ...
This is what, I suspect, lies beneath our fascination with apocalyptic
scenarios. In these contemporary deluge myths, the hyper-commercialized
and commodified psyche, befogged by its own convoluted libido, once
destroyed, is now free to start life anew.
Concurrently, in the
fundamentalist Christian imagination, narratives of consumerism and End
Time Mythology interweave and meld, becoming a gospel of instant
gratification and imminent destruction ... This is a religious cosmology
resonating from a junk food paradigm: The Gospels of The Drive Thru
Jesus; when The Rapture comes, our corporeal bodies
will be cast aside like fast food wrappers.
But be warned, by eating
of all that high caloric food, all of you Jesus-hungry Lard Asses of
The Lord: If your clothes were to fall from you (as your prophecies
claim) as you rise skyward, the sight of all your fat, sagging bodies,
floating in air, will resemble anything but the dawning of eternal
paradise; instead the event will more likely resemble an endless tape
loop of a porno video for fat fetishists shot in a zero gravity
chamber.
The narrative of fundamentalist Christianity has become so
encumbered with kitsch imagery that its followers hope for the
destruction of the planet itself so that they can escape the
soul-defying imprisonment of its creepy dogma.
Hence, the
modernist conundrum is: how does one retain the depth and resonance of
myth, without concretizing it into a pernicious, fundamentalist death
cult? Judaism, Christianity, Islam -- the myths of the jealous, desert
god
-- present a problem, because they place the answer in heaven i.e., far
away in a sterile paradise ... The gods of the earth have been cast-out
as sinful. Hence, those religions become so obsessed with a fantasy of
purity that earth-dwelling and subterranean drives and desires -- that
were symbolized, for example, by the Greeks as the gods Hermes, Pan, and
Hades -- appear to Christian believers as Satanic.
In other
words, Christians, Jews and Muslims, with their gaze fixed on heaven,
view their earthly, human half as demonic. Moreover, by becoming
split-off from their human half, followers of monotheistic belief
systems are prone to suffer all the ills they attribute to the devil.
Satan does have a "wide stance" after all.
This is a view of the
world devoid of nuance: it is a cosmology inhabited by angels of light
or musky demons of darkness ... In the fantasy, there exists no Orpheus
to fuse the two worlds in entrancing song ... no
Hermes to guide the hero into the realm of keening and kvetching shades
... no Persephone -- her lips lacquered in pomegranate juice --
metaphorically ending the stasis of collective human childhood with the
implications of all life's seasons.
In its monotheistic view of
the world, these fundamentalist fantasies are comparable to
logic-clutching, dry as dust, modernist narratives, because both
perspectives are so confining, so stultifying to the heart and mind of
an individual, that their adherents grow obsessed with fantasies of the
world's demise as a way of escaping the confining nature of the belief
system itself.
Accordingly, we, as a culture, may just get
our wish. Beauty and mortification are the language of the soul. If one
ignores beauty, then the mind will begin to dwell on beauty's hidden
half: horror. One will see it everywhere. Hamlet laments:
O God! God!
How weary,
stale, flat and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely.
--Hamlet: Act 1, Scene 2.
William Shakespeare
There
is an abiding bleakness present in the hidden half of the
hyper-commercialized psyche -- a darkness visible; therein, one must
gain a willingness to walk through, even pause, for a time in its stark
and repellent landscape ... In order not to crackup, one must crack-wise
... to hang a hammock there, between death and the abyss. Apropos: in
polar contrast to the froth, faux urgency, and con artist flattery of
mass media imagery, one must be willing to accept the deepening effect
of being powerless before the trajectory of history and the
proliferation of human folly. Most of the time, there are no solutions,
only revealing questions and
clear-headed responses. For example:
Upon hearing Larry Summers,
Obama's chief economic advisor, bray, "putting limits on growth
because of some natural limit is a profound error."
Bill
McKibben replied: "Summers is the perfect exemplar of that attitude: an
incredibly smart guy whose context is so narrow it ends up making him
very dumb indeed."
In my opinion, what caused Summer's level of
intelligence to plummet at a Niagara Falls' grade incline can be traced
to his unwavering fealty to the tenets of marketplace fundamentalism.
The crackpot realist's notion that nature has no value in and of
itself, and is only worth what it can be rendered down to as a
commodity. The trees of a rain forest can be pulped to paper cups. A
human being is only the content of his resume.
This amounts to
dharma for dimwits: A bio defines a human being in the same manner and
degree of veracity as a restaurant menu describes the various slabs
of meat offered ... commodified things that were once living beings.
What
Summers' view of existence refuses to acknowledge is: The unsettling
truth that what we inflict upon the world we will eventually inflict
upon ourselves. When we internalize a self-destructive notion such as a
rain forest is expendable - only fit for commercial exploitation --
then this is the demeaning manner in which we regard fellow human
beings. Moreover, it is an absurd and dangerous fantasy to believe our
species can have autonomy from nature, and we, for any extended length
of time, can have mastery over it.
Federico Garcia Lorca
imagined this delusion of psychological separation from and mechanistic
dominance over nature and fellow human beings as follows.
The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins
The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream,
and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will
meet on the
street corner
the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the
stars.
--Excerpt from: City That Does Not Sleep
Sadly,
from evidence extant, both elite and hoi polloi of our era labor under
this deranged perception. I reside on the island of Manhattan and I'm
baffled that so many of my fellow New Yorkers (once a feisty, even
belligerent breed) don't seem to care or even notice that they are being
gamed. Our billionaire mayor protects his class; we pay for their
follies, and they continue to grow richer. The game is so throughly
rigged, even when they contrive to immolate the global economy, we get
"austerity cuts," and they get on their Gulfstream jets and fly to
Dubai.
As things stand at present, for the corporate class, their
actions seem to yield no consequences. All this defies logic as well as
gravity ... the invisible hand of the marketplace (actually the
buckling backs of the middle and
laboring classes) can't hold up their swaying tower of hubris much
longer. But when it comes down, stand clear, there are no bystanders
when an empire crumbles. Despite Larry Summer's pronouncements to the
contrary.
Since poetic vision has no place in Summer's view of
the world nor offers a solution for its ills, he may never seek counsel
in what James Hillman has termed: the thought of the heart and the soul
of the world. Hillman's view of the world offers a shift in perspective
that could help restore our sense of beauty and tragedy, and, in doing
so, bestow us with respect for our own humanity and a greater reverence
for living things.
John Keats called earthly existence and the
suffering therein a "vale of soul-making." In other words, we must
descend into the human condition and into our own humanity in order to
grow humble enough to learn and adapt to change. For our winged spirits
must be forced out of their revelry of
self-regard -- the intoxication of their sky-shackled swoon of
impersonal flight (privileged passengers of corporate jets included) --
and be wounded by the conflicts and contretemps of this world and thus
become more human.
This development means the end of grandiosity
and the beginning of an appreciation of life’s grandeur. Sarah Palin,
Larry Summers, Mayor Bloomberg, and all the rest of the divas and
supernumeraries contributing to the opera-scale cognitive dissidence of
the age, will continue to belt out their crackpot realist arias, but,
backstage, The Second Law of Thermodynamics has just begun to clear its
throat.
I'll give the final word to Lorca:
No, I won't; I attack,
I attack the conspiring
of these empty offices
that will not broadcast the sufferings,
that rub out the plans of the forest,
and I offer myself to be eaten by the packed-up cattle
when their mooing fills the valley
where the Hudson
is getting drunk on its oil.
--Federico Garcia Lorca
Excerpt from: New York (Office and Attack)
Phil
Rockstroh is a poet, lyricist and philosopher bard
living in New York
City. He may be contacted at:
phil@philrockstroh.com
Visit Phil's
website http://philrockstroh.com/
And at
FaceBook: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000711907499
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