TEENAGED TERRORISTS AND CBS REPORTER LARA LOGAN ARE ALL ABOUT ME--REALLY
There have been times in recent years when I've wanted to blow up refrigerators just because I want to express my disdain for the corporatocracy that holds us all hostage. Mainly, all I really want to do is get laid. I mean, look at me: I don't want to be friends, I really think the idea of liking anybody has no utility, insofar as it tends to be about them and not about me, and I'm all about me, all the time. Yet I really just can't get over my confusion about what constitutes love and what constitutes lust. Connection is the operative word here: Since I don't have the faintest idea what a wholesome connection entails, I want to destroy the entire world. I want to see buildings crumple mainly because the builders never bothered to connect to what's all about me, which of course, is me--what I'm all about.
Doubtless the two driving forces in my life--wanting to destroy the worldwide foundations of capitalism and wanting to satisfy various and sundry animal dictates of self-perpetuation--are interconnected. But I'm so close to the damage they're both doing to my thinking that I don't seem to have gotten the news yet. I'm so far from conscious understanding of these harrying compulsions, and how they feed upon one another, in fact, that I'm a complete blank regarding them. I mean, I've got nothing here.
Look: Even the news of the world doesn't seem to clue me into what I'm doing to myself. Some nights, I'll sit in front of the CBS Evening News, of all things, and the obviousness of these determinations weighs in nightly, full force and free of charge, like a nude sumo smack-down in a muddy pen that somehow resembles my mind. In one corner stand any number of Islamist fundamentalist terrorists. I can't help but laugh at them. Those guys have all kinds of zealous proscriptions against sexual licentiousness suppressing their normal instincts that it's no wonder they're out to kill people all the time. They can't sleep with women at will. They can't even look at a woman. The religious machinery under-girding everything they know is so tyrannical the more powerful ones even force women to wear full body suits that conceal all vestiges of femininity--and it's all because of a facade: They've been conditioned since childhood to believe that being open about their sexual needs and behavior is blasphemy against Allah. Worse, their ability to reason has been so atrophied by constant bombardments of religious propaganda they can't even see that the whole thing is social control relegated into the hands of mullahs--who themselves are more interested in power than in the happiness of others. The women who step out of bounds are usually kidnapped, raped and killed. The upshot is that these guys are so sexually frustrated they'll do just about anything to get their hands on those 70 virgins the mullahs promise them if they'll martyr themselves for the cause. This is a major strategy behind the tactics of world terrorism. You'll have do die before you'll get laid.
But there's a strange set of connections between the terrorists and I that I don't usually like to look into here. Like me, the terrorists I see on television want to destroy the foundations of world capitalism. Like me, like I just said, they're walking tangles of sexual frustration. Like me, they don't like what's happening to the world. Like me, they have a distinctly theological understanding of the world--even if their understanding, like mine, tends toward the superficial and half-baked. Like me, they generally see the superciliousness of capitalistic existence eroding what is sacred in the world. And I want things the way they were when I was a child, when I didn't have any responsibility; they want things the way they were in the 8th Century. We're a match made in Allah's Heaven. But since I've market profiled myself as a "pacifist," the only way terrorism can help me is in helping me to view myself as superior to those who kill people. If you don't like that, or embarrass me with any of these contradictions when I'm trying to score over at the club, I'll kick your fucking little ass.
In the other corner of this giant mud wrestling free-for-all of the hell-bent and half-baked inside my head, stands, well, Lara Logan, CBS Mideast correspondent. I'm smacking my lips just thinking of her. She looks pert in a Kevlar vest. I'd like to do her while she's wearing one. Why? Walking down the proverbial Arab Street, Lara Logan is literally a walking advertisement for sex. I've never seen hips that just cry out to be stroked as do those of Lara Logan. Even the Iraqi teenagers curiously following Logan and her camera crew take note of it: Watch them and notice where their eyes go. Of course, CBS News' executive producer, Leslie Moonves, is quite aware of this: If it bleeds, it leads, but sex sells just as well. And since the CBS News Division has been in a ratings trough for several years, especially in that all-important, 18-25-year-old male age grouping, it's only logical that one good way to get the attention of testosterone-driven males who haven't yet learned to take the reins of their own sexuality is to relish news clips with sexy mamas like Lara Logan. All the female correspondents for CBS are hotties. Those girls wading in the waters of hurricane-ravaged New Orleans, rubber boots up to their crotches, compete glowingly with online porno photos of leather-clad dominatrices straddling motorcycles in viscious-looking boots, the obligatory police caps cocked flirtatively on their frizzy blond hairdos. But all Lara Logan really needs is a pair of tan, brushed corduroy jeans. She could destroy the world with the slightest roll of the tongue out the corner of those pink lips. Oh, man!
"Man" definitely is the operative word here: The violence on CBS Evening News pumps up my adrenaline, then Lara Logan fulfils me as the testosterone rush rewards my viewing. Sex and violence. I feel so tough when I watch the CBS Evening News. I could just crush skulls. It's a wonder the U.S. Army hasn't picked up on what's happening on CBS. A recruitment commercial right after a Lara Logan report could work miracles. I'd join up in a second just to get close to her. You know: be her bodyguard.
It's not that I don't see CBS Evening News is manipulating me. But, just as I'm completely privy to what Islamist mullahs are doing the the brains of impressionable 13-yeaar-olds, I'm above all that subliminal seduction crap that's gotten so popular on network television. Naturally, because I'm a debonair intellectual who likes to slum in bars frequented by lower-class college students and blue-collar workers, I feel quite superior to both CBS tactics to get me to watch and to Islamist fundamentalist zealots who are blowing up villages, water pipelines and even children. They're all just so below me: CBS Evening News, the college students, the blue collars and the zealots. See how this works? If I really push myself, I can make myself feel superior to anything on earth! Which is the point when everything on earth is all about you. But it's not all about you at all. It's all about me.
I even might have remarked on the spur of the moment that those 13-year-old dudes--every single one of them--are sexually frustrated. It doesn't matter to me that their lives are hand-to-mouth existences. Or that they're simply young boys who are feeling all sorts of bad chemicals coursing through their pre-adult bodies. They must be desperate. I'm not nearly as desperate as they are, but it's convenient to paint myself as a victim--mainly because it gets female sympathy. There's no better way on earth to get an air-headed woman's attention than to cry and whine in public. And I like air-headed women the best. The ones who can think for themselves are too dangerous for narcissists like me to handle. That's why I go places where the dumb ones congregate.
But what's unusual here about the superiority I'm copping whenever I see the zealots in action (the ones on television) is that I just can't see my own perceptions of the world mirrored in their actions. I don't quite know why this is. I might jabber this about "we're all one" on one little ball of dirt in the middle of vast space, I might yammer about my feelings, but I don't make the connection between myself and 13-year-old terrorists. This lens of self-superiority directed at 13-year-old boys who strap bombs to their waists and turn Israeli discotheques into disco infernos hides the facts surrounding my own, similar "disdain" of the greater world around me. It's nothing more than an unconscious means of repressing my own passive experience of aggression. That's right. I'll admit it. You saw it first here: I'm passive-aggressive. Keep quiet and passive about it or I'll kick your ass.
Passive-aggressive? You see, I've got a lot of stuff in my life that makes me feel powerless. I don't feel nearly as important as the image I want people to see. Most of the time I don't even know myself how unimportant I feel. If my head was nothing but a ball of skin, there'd be this huge callous wrapped tightly around my self-image, a kind of armor designed to keep out any messages to the contrary of what I want to project to others: mainly those dumb-head bitches I want to screw me. In other words, I'm running on ego. Narcissists can't run on anything else.
And because of that repressed sense of powerlessness I work so hard to hide, I get angry when CBS Evening News manipulates me. I don't like the fact a television image of a war correspondent like Lara Logan has the ability to give me a "woody." Apparently, despite my knowledge of this whole machine of manipulation, my animal instincts just...don't...care. And that gets me hot and bothered. After all, my reason is supposed to have made me impervious to that kind of stuff. But it hasn't, I feel powerless against the instincts I haven't learned to live with, and want to bash heads when it's really my instincts I'd like to bang. Strangely, because of that, I'm also a victim: this buildup of aggression tends to manifest itself in out-of-control sexual urges. Kind of like a Nazi soldier who gets aroused when he's bayoneting an innocent bystander to the blitzkrieg. And that also pisses me off.
Consequently, whenever I watch the news, I get pretty angry. I do take note that 13-year-old Islamist martyrs have been unjustifiably exploited by powerful people interested in their lost lives only so far as death tends to score points for the cause, and I don't like it. But I really don't like being exploited by CBS Evening News for the sake of ratings. How on earth am I supposed to get to Lara Logan anyway? She's got a ring the size of Rikers Island on her left hand. Probably married to one of the men who know how to make realistic connection to the world, one of the guys who exploit people who can't make that kind of connection. Why are the people running the networks being so callow towards my inability to control my animal instincts? Oh, it's all about money. And I don't have much of that. Which, of course, pisses me off.
Sometimes I wonder if I couldn't be taught to make wholesome connections with the world--with human beings instead of objects of self-satisfaction or self-inflation, with human beings instead of projections of my repressed aggression, with human beings instead of this fantasy of a worldwide conspiracy to make mutts like me buy things. But to do that, I'd have to let go of my massive ego. Right now, that ego is about the size of the Astrodome in Houston. I hate to admit it, but my ego's bigger than my wiener. Besides, if I was to let go of that ego, I'd have to admit defeats in my immediate life: All the stuff I avoid through the distraction of conspiracy theories and continual whining about justice--a concept absolutely beyond my comprehension.
The other night, I was watching Lara Logan report from Baghdad. Her hair wisped into her face, she brushed it gently from her green eyes, and then she unconsciously smiled. Unconsciously. Sitting there, watching the television, I myself felt a deep connection to Lara Logan. Something happened. Maybe it was "a moment." I caught myself smiling back at her.
We all know that the corporatocracy designs to rob the human individual of mental telepathy. Lara Logan would be ashamed to admit she felt something herself. Perhaps she pictured me in her mind when I smiled: This huge, goofy guy sitting there in his mom's house eating a fast-food burrito (Monterrey jack cheese), smiling at what, from here on out, will be termed "his latest bitch."
Lara Logan: You smiled. It was all about me. Everything is all about me. And since your smile, about me, indicated that you indeed saw my telepathically-projected image in your mind as you broad-casted live from Baghdad, I am once again a hero. That's right. I'm heroic. So you've been tagged: You're my bitch, Lara Logan.
And that's the way it is.
Doubtless the two driving forces in my life--wanting to destroy the worldwide foundations of capitalism and wanting to satisfy various and sundry animal dictates of self-perpetuation--are interconnected. But I'm so close to the damage they're both doing to my thinking that I don't seem to have gotten the news yet. I'm so far from conscious understanding of these harrying compulsions, and how they feed upon one another, in fact, that I'm a complete blank regarding them. I mean, I've got nothing here.
Look: Even the news of the world doesn't seem to clue me into what I'm doing to myself. Some nights, I'll sit in front of the CBS Evening News, of all things, and the obviousness of these determinations weighs in nightly, full force and free of charge, like a nude sumo smack-down in a muddy pen that somehow resembles my mind. In one corner stand any number of Islamist fundamentalist terrorists. I can't help but laugh at them. Those guys have all kinds of zealous proscriptions against sexual licentiousness suppressing their normal instincts that it's no wonder they're out to kill people all the time. They can't sleep with women at will. They can't even look at a woman. The religious machinery under-girding everything they know is so tyrannical the more powerful ones even force women to wear full body suits that conceal all vestiges of femininity--and it's all because of a facade: They've been conditioned since childhood to believe that being open about their sexual needs and behavior is blasphemy against Allah. Worse, their ability to reason has been so atrophied by constant bombardments of religious propaganda they can't even see that the whole thing is social control relegated into the hands of mullahs--who themselves are more interested in power than in the happiness of others. The women who step out of bounds are usually kidnapped, raped and killed. The upshot is that these guys are so sexually frustrated they'll do just about anything to get their hands on those 70 virgins the mullahs promise them if they'll martyr themselves for the cause. This is a major strategy behind the tactics of world terrorism. You'll have do die before you'll get laid.
But there's a strange set of connections between the terrorists and I that I don't usually like to look into here. Like me, the terrorists I see on television want to destroy the foundations of world capitalism. Like me, like I just said, they're walking tangles of sexual frustration. Like me, they don't like what's happening to the world. Like me, they have a distinctly theological understanding of the world--even if their understanding, like mine, tends toward the superficial and half-baked. Like me, they generally see the superciliousness of capitalistic existence eroding what is sacred in the world. And I want things the way they were when I was a child, when I didn't have any responsibility; they want things the way they were in the 8th Century. We're a match made in Allah's Heaven. But since I've market profiled myself as a "pacifist," the only way terrorism can help me is in helping me to view myself as superior to those who kill people. If you don't like that, or embarrass me with any of these contradictions when I'm trying to score over at the club, I'll kick your fucking little ass.
In the other corner of this giant mud wrestling free-for-all of the hell-bent and half-baked inside my head, stands, well, Lara Logan, CBS Mideast correspondent. I'm smacking my lips just thinking of her. She looks pert in a Kevlar vest. I'd like to do her while she's wearing one. Why? Walking down the proverbial Arab Street, Lara Logan is literally a walking advertisement for sex. I've never seen hips that just cry out to be stroked as do those of Lara Logan. Even the Iraqi teenagers curiously following Logan and her camera crew take note of it: Watch them and notice where their eyes go. Of course, CBS News' executive producer, Leslie Moonves, is quite aware of this: If it bleeds, it leads, but sex sells just as well. And since the CBS News Division has been in a ratings trough for several years, especially in that all-important, 18-25-year-old male age grouping, it's only logical that one good way to get the attention of testosterone-driven males who haven't yet learned to take the reins of their own sexuality is to relish news clips with sexy mamas like Lara Logan. All the female correspondents for CBS are hotties. Those girls wading in the waters of hurricane-ravaged New Orleans, rubber boots up to their crotches, compete glowingly with online porno photos of leather-clad dominatrices straddling motorcycles in viscious-looking boots, the obligatory police caps cocked flirtatively on their frizzy blond hairdos. But all Lara Logan really needs is a pair of tan, brushed corduroy jeans. She could destroy the world with the slightest roll of the tongue out the corner of those pink lips. Oh, man!
"Man" definitely is the operative word here: The violence on CBS Evening News pumps up my adrenaline, then Lara Logan fulfils me as the testosterone rush rewards my viewing. Sex and violence. I feel so tough when I watch the CBS Evening News. I could just crush skulls. It's a wonder the U.S. Army hasn't picked up on what's happening on CBS. A recruitment commercial right after a Lara Logan report could work miracles. I'd join up in a second just to get close to her. You know: be her bodyguard.
It's not that I don't see CBS Evening News is manipulating me. But, just as I'm completely privy to what Islamist mullahs are doing the the brains of impressionable 13-yeaar-olds, I'm above all that subliminal seduction crap that's gotten so popular on network television. Naturally, because I'm a debonair intellectual who likes to slum in bars frequented by lower-class college students and blue-collar workers, I feel quite superior to both CBS tactics to get me to watch and to Islamist fundamentalist zealots who are blowing up villages, water pipelines and even children. They're all just so below me: CBS Evening News, the college students, the blue collars and the zealots. See how this works? If I really push myself, I can make myself feel superior to anything on earth! Which is the point when everything on earth is all about you. But it's not all about you at all. It's all about me.
I even might have remarked on the spur of the moment that those 13-year-old dudes--every single one of them--are sexually frustrated. It doesn't matter to me that their lives are hand-to-mouth existences. Or that they're simply young boys who are feeling all sorts of bad chemicals coursing through their pre-adult bodies. They must be desperate. I'm not nearly as desperate as they are, but it's convenient to paint myself as a victim--mainly because it gets female sympathy. There's no better way on earth to get an air-headed woman's attention than to cry and whine in public. And I like air-headed women the best. The ones who can think for themselves are too dangerous for narcissists like me to handle. That's why I go places where the dumb ones congregate.
But what's unusual here about the superiority I'm copping whenever I see the zealots in action (the ones on television) is that I just can't see my own perceptions of the world mirrored in their actions. I don't quite know why this is. I might jabber this about "we're all one" on one little ball of dirt in the middle of vast space, I might yammer about my feelings, but I don't make the connection between myself and 13-year-old terrorists. This lens of self-superiority directed at 13-year-old boys who strap bombs to their waists and turn Israeli discotheques into disco infernos hides the facts surrounding my own, similar "disdain" of the greater world around me. It's nothing more than an unconscious means of repressing my own passive experience of aggression. That's right. I'll admit it. You saw it first here: I'm passive-aggressive. Keep quiet and passive about it or I'll kick your ass.
Passive-aggressive? You see, I've got a lot of stuff in my life that makes me feel powerless. I don't feel nearly as important as the image I want people to see. Most of the time I don't even know myself how unimportant I feel. If my head was nothing but a ball of skin, there'd be this huge callous wrapped tightly around my self-image, a kind of armor designed to keep out any messages to the contrary of what I want to project to others: mainly those dumb-head bitches I want to screw me. In other words, I'm running on ego. Narcissists can't run on anything else.
And because of that repressed sense of powerlessness I work so hard to hide, I get angry when CBS Evening News manipulates me. I don't like the fact a television image of a war correspondent like Lara Logan has the ability to give me a "woody." Apparently, despite my knowledge of this whole machine of manipulation, my animal instincts just...don't...care. And that gets me hot and bothered. After all, my reason is supposed to have made me impervious to that kind of stuff. But it hasn't, I feel powerless against the instincts I haven't learned to live with, and want to bash heads when it's really my instincts I'd like to bang. Strangely, because of that, I'm also a victim: this buildup of aggression tends to manifest itself in out-of-control sexual urges. Kind of like a Nazi soldier who gets aroused when he's bayoneting an innocent bystander to the blitzkrieg. And that also pisses me off.
Consequently, whenever I watch the news, I get pretty angry. I do take note that 13-year-old Islamist martyrs have been unjustifiably exploited by powerful people interested in their lost lives only so far as death tends to score points for the cause, and I don't like it. But I really don't like being exploited by CBS Evening News for the sake of ratings. How on earth am I supposed to get to Lara Logan anyway? She's got a ring the size of Rikers Island on her left hand. Probably married to one of the men who know how to make realistic connection to the world, one of the guys who exploit people who can't make that kind of connection. Why are the people running the networks being so callow towards my inability to control my animal instincts? Oh, it's all about money. And I don't have much of that. Which, of course, pisses me off.
Sometimes I wonder if I couldn't be taught to make wholesome connections with the world--with human beings instead of objects of self-satisfaction or self-inflation, with human beings instead of projections of my repressed aggression, with human beings instead of this fantasy of a worldwide conspiracy to make mutts like me buy things. But to do that, I'd have to let go of my massive ego. Right now, that ego is about the size of the Astrodome in Houston. I hate to admit it, but my ego's bigger than my wiener. Besides, if I was to let go of that ego, I'd have to admit defeats in my immediate life: All the stuff I avoid through the distraction of conspiracy theories and continual whining about justice--a concept absolutely beyond my comprehension.
The other night, I was watching Lara Logan report from Baghdad. Her hair wisped into her face, she brushed it gently from her green eyes, and then she unconsciously smiled. Unconsciously. Sitting there, watching the television, I myself felt a deep connection to Lara Logan. Something happened. Maybe it was "a moment." I caught myself smiling back at her.
We all know that the corporatocracy designs to rob the human individual of mental telepathy. Lara Logan would be ashamed to admit she felt something herself. Perhaps she pictured me in her mind when I smiled: This huge, goofy guy sitting there in his mom's house eating a fast-food burrito (Monterrey jack cheese), smiling at what, from here on out, will be termed "his latest bitch."
Lara Logan: You smiled. It was all about me. Everything is all about me. And since your smile, about me, indicated that you indeed saw my telepathically-projected image in your mind as you broad-casted live from Baghdad, I am once again a hero. That's right. I'm heroic. So you've been tagged: You're my bitch, Lara Logan.
And that's the way it is.
posted by Faceshaker at 5:15 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home