Occasionally an incident occurs that lays bare how truly absurd postmodern society is. Such incidents are notable not for their grand scope and sweeping narrative, but for their drab pettiness. Disasters, tragedies, mass casualty terror attacks and wars do not reveal any fundamental truths about our society We are too far removed from those sorts of things for them to be real. No, it is rather in events that are shabby and frivolous that we see our culture reflected.
The recent media controversy that has been labeled “The PyCon Incident” or even “Donglegate” (see what I mean about frivolity) is one such event. To summarize: a woman attending a male dominated software conference overheard some remarks that she claims she found offensive, took a picture of the male offenders, posted it online along with an accusation, got one of them fired from his job and then was herself fired in the ensuing backlash. This whole scenario is absurd and contemptible, yet such things are inevitable given the toxic nature of the postmodern social environment.
Ron Paul, our generation’s William Jennings Bryan, has largely run his course. The man who for decades bravely griefed Congress and disrupted Republican Primaries, now talks shit about dead people on twitter. He who lives by the troll dies by the troll, I suppose.
Following his not-so-stellar progress in 2010-11, these actions certainly don’t surprise me; here was a man ultimately less interested in cultivating a meaningful counter-narrative, and more interested in pissing people off before collecting his Congressional pension.
Drive through most any town in the United States, and you will notice a recurrent theme, our societal leitmotif: at least one street (usually several) blighted by, sacrificed to, consumptive postmodernism.
Large and gaudy signs, unimaginative architecture, mass-produced imagery, welfare disguised as diversionary hourly make-work (Now hiring 4th assistant manager!). All of this designed for the singular, mechanical, amoral purpose of pandering already obsolescent shit to an ever lower common denominator.
There was man, and there was woman. Two different beings, separate and unequal. From their differences arose conflict, and born from that conflict: passion.
In time, their passions intermingled, and the two beings found that this combination was to both of their advantages. Society blossomed from there.
A greater, prior age would have called this process “dialectical,” but most today would use the term “love.” This derivation of meaning is an unfortunate reflection of an era without reflection. We will get to that shortly.
If there is one thing you ever take from my writings, let it be this: creation can only be birthed from passion, and passion can only ever exist through conflict.
Truly the postmodernist intellectual movement has become a postmodern joke unto itself. I came to this revelation during a recent viewing of this hysterical youtube video entitled “Butter Dance”. For those of you who cannot or choose not to view it, the video is a six minute dance routine in which a fat Asian woman in a tight dress and heels “dances” on/in several sticks of butter accompanied by the sound of Indonesian shamanistic drumming. As you would expect, occasionally she slips and falls into the mess of saturated fats. This is intentional. But she rises again, she perseveres. The falls are actually quite brutal and uncontrolled resulting in resounding wet slapping noises as she strikes the stage. At times I actually worried she would do herself harm, but no doubt this element of danger only adds to the gravity of the piece. The routine ends with her kneeling on the stage, thoroughly covered in butter, gazing out into the audience with an accusatory stare.
I don’t think I need to go into any deep analysis here to point out the “oppressive” social norms that this dance routine is deconstructing. The whole thing hits you over the head with it like a sledgehammer. She’s fat. She dances in butter. She falls. She gets up. She glares at us with an accusing expression. Obviously this is a jab at socially constructed, patriarchal norms of beauty and the oppression of fat women. Derp. Not too hard to grasp.