The motivation behind being larger-than-life is also an undertaking into overdetermination.
The trade-off of taking it slow is that you get to go to both, sodom AND gomorrah, you get to eat both wokism and wahabism from either side of the faustian bargain that has come to be each second. The worst of both worlds isnât simply chaos but byeond.
Incredulously the dookie drowns ultimately into love, but not without momentary drama aka myth aka history. So how the ball goes into the hole differs in each iteration, this delta is the essence of the end.
Nevermind the layers of the sandwich, but observe the quality of hell it fashions after itself. If history is ever hyper or meta, then that is already an establishment.
If there is ever a subtext then it is already a presence that lasts as long as the text lasts, let the novelty not betray the promise of the indignity of death. The finality of end is not a matter open to interpretation.
Pick a layer, any layer. In post-history/post-truth environments, any intermediate representation will do. The point behind generalising thus and yelling jâaccuse at a whole country is precisely this. Just as one can reconstruct an entire DNA from half-of it, not only the sample-size of experiences of the world in being at the receiving end of their arm-twisting and hand-wringing if not hole-drilling large enough to generalize by now, but also one could generalize on a much smaller-sample size.
All empires are born and die in misery, folded by cruelty, moulded by irrationality, before eventually being packed and dispatched by irony. This one was no different.
The patterns of history are not bespoke but common, whether a sandwich or gulab jamun.
There is a factor in the driving seat acting as a coefficient of greed, rendering each kind of greed in its own colors. And although all empires are evil, not all hide behind the feminine nature imbued into all human behaviour.
One rather extreme definition of a âgood guyâ is someone who wishes neither son nor employment for another, nor for self.
What this country only ever excelled at is packaging. From slaves to video games, to myers-briggs type indicator, lots of style but not nearly enough substance. Sweet. A lack of substance can make you question your gender, forgetting the cardinal rule of following desire - avoiding extremes.
Nothing packs like narrative, and it was fun while it lasted.
The reason why liberalism was hoisted by its own petard, is you cannot create from criticism alone. They spend their time thinking more about the âunknown unknownsâ than the knowns, because to them it appears as forever prison. A situation so hopelessly infinite as to bring us back.
Meanwhile, back at the barn jimmy dreams of a better world, but that too is just a pretence. No matter how deep the sleep, if nature calls, it calls. But the liberals are too close to the trees to see the forest to the extent of being perverted enough to enjoy bedwetting, if not identify with it to the point of changing their pronouns. If capitalism is a game of extreme one-upmanship, then one rather extreme definition of a âgood guyâ is someone who wishes neither son nor employment for another, nor for self. Entropy however, has different designs each time.
One could not care less for such permissive attitudes, without rules there is no freedom, but the structure shall dissolve into the function it seems. In god we trust, but verify.
With Hollywood dead and wall street tied, Washington is but a limbless frump looking embarassed and perpetually mocked by monsters. The decay of narrative spreads orthogonally. A social darwinism turned to social dwarfism. The last pandemic wasnât simply the result of racism, but a literal stay-in-your-place-ism which adds the claustrophobic colors of prison to the humble racism of their forefathers.
The subaltern sandwich is increasingly Brechtian, Beckett-esque. The Montagues and Capulets this time played by people one could only label as âspace creatorsâ and âtime creatorsâ and not in that order. If this is too âspace forceây to the reader then we have well and truly begun.
It was no longer about means nor ends, in the endlessness of forever only the means are ever important, the ends are always more or less limited to a logrithmically smaller sample-space. Not to say that long-term thinking is less important, but the only long term is the shortest while imaginable such as the usurous now or the now that is war or the tightly packed wall-street scandal.
One entity precarious by its absence so far in the discussion has been silicon valley, where, like twitter, not only those who cannot do teach, but also those who cannot teach, do. At least in the gold rush the output was simply a metal, now we chase literal foolâs gold with more pretend-dignity than the old folk but the valley escapes the blame somewhat without escaping the consequences.
There are those who believe this effeminate valuelessness masquerading as freedom has its roots in the valley, but again the more you localize the problem the more it is difficult to generalize. After all, every event is local, it is easy to call out the bluntness of the western edge but only if youâre using it to cut. Not that the east coast is any sharper these days but the original gradient compares favorably till the end.
If it looks like zenoâs paradox, then it likely is one, but even in the slow march to nowhere they keep scores. If the rot is as massive as it appears, then entire geographic regions need be generalized about. It would not be a stretch to say the show goes on on a stretcher made in China and assembled in India the noise from which creates new flashpoints rekindling old fires where it goes creating for all and sundry opportunities to twiddle thumbs for this cannot well be called a tragedy yet, only a farce.