Which brings me to "Sah

saturday the 1st of July
Blatant
is hollywood as selfdestructuve as to advertise it's own crapness in the tidal wave of crapness currently washing over the neon plastic cinema houses, in crap areas of the world where the people are supposedly sub-optimal and thus receptive to cinematic representations of themselves as disposable sidewatchers, invisable, unwarranted until they are patronised.
Blatant
the abscess of a hero (what, you thought i was going to say absence?) coupled to anthemic music to which the lyrics "Make Way for the Idiot" are too easily fitted might actually be by design.
The storytellers-elect are embarked on increasingly bloody and violent creation myths. Bang an empty oildrum 'why don't you?' for all the hollow resonance they provide. If you are accustomed to recognising the stirrings of a redemptive heart at the existential cavity of human endeavours, the redundant premise of soulless mirth (yes i think i bled that phrase from somewhere else) is faintly disturbung and highly destructive and as insulting as it is possible to be - as the bigot castigates the seagull.
Repulsive crapulous crapsousity, crapscular extrapolations from a mind unsatisfied by it's inability to relate to the social space in which it's physical body receives information on which meanings are ascribed to it. And so whole fake epics are knocked up whose only message is to herald the haggard ego of somebody's child who cannot fathom his relationship to his penis. Skin-numbingly arrogant aggressive spiels of all things under the sun as manipulated by a one-eyed belief in them as functions of an appendage. And fanaticata, ad nauseum, a scary appendage.
I have never met an American who didn't seem normal, but yet there seems to be an institutional obstacle so that the experience of empathy eludes them. Maybe, in addition to not hearing the voices of those in the conversation with them, their own voices and words are deafened by the din of their ideology. They do seem to have a ideology that blocks out the actual living realities and subtleties and delights and sensitivities and the possibilities of diverse and responsive proclivities to keenness. One that kind of pfluffs like a fat yellow cushion inside their minds and callously invalidates independant expression and meta-systemic organisation.
Yes, it is true that I never want to go to America for this reason; that from the pallor of their skin and the quality of their eyes (dull, it seems to me and that is a cause for concern), and from the arrangement of their skeletons (the girth of their bones perceptibly augmented), their food sources are acting upon the population an experiment, or several ill-thought-through experiments on biodiversity, on behaviour. A commercially readjusted pseudo-controlled reality.
It makes my skin numb with the aggressive arrogance of it all, and I am disconcerted by the obtuseness of Americans that I know.
Ponder the attempts some people make to respect and give respect to those who do not respect them.