it's 3:24 pm, on February 06, 2002 - being eaten.
~
I find myself patently unable to read for any length of time without wanting to write something in response. In some form of retaliation, almost.
Don DeLillo wrote a book with the first line, "fame requires every form of excess," and I'm thinking about the four little walls that have become my existence and the consumerism I take joy in, and remembering how much I hated consumerism not five years ago, remembering how much I hated excess.
See, there's this story I want to tell, about the day I realized what kind of Victorian ideals are held by society in regards to sex. It was the day that I mentioned that my friend and I played sex games, pretending to make sex movies, and stuff, to someone else. The reply I got from my older, more aware friend was, "that's gross."
Immediate recognition of something that wasn't to be discussed. I had always assumed that adults did not speak of the playtime of children; now I had confirmation that children didn't as well. I hastily back-tracked, saying no, no, it was just a joke, yes, gross. I don't think I ever mentioned it again to anyone.
See, that anecdote, I want to put in a book some where. But I don't know what should go around it -- I think, the explanation of modern day's ideology, the consumerism we throw ourselves into and the bleak picture of things we know, we know to be true but cannot accept, regardless. The mythos that is the 21st century: real life stories folding in upon each other, stalkers for the media, stalkers for the stalkers, and the whole gaping maw of the culture staring blankly at their TV screens. And far from me to judge this -- rather, I count myself as one of those joyless skeletons fascinated with people who are real one minute and glossy, fake the next, and fake because they are being stared at, rather than despite.
Imagine not having wanted to be eaten yesterday, and wanting it today.
These are the things that we devour daily, on the news, on Access Hollywood, even as children playing. We try and immerse ourselves in something to feel real, until everything is just a copy of a copy of a copy.
Is this post-modernism, perhaps? bobble.
~*~
So, you guys all know that one of my main wants in life is to be devoured. So there's this thing, that happened on livejournal, and I feel cheap and nasty to have seen it. It was a-- okay. There was this thing, about Justin, and someone mentioned Justin and stalking. Okay. And then I felt nauseous. But anyway.
And then I wondered where I put my phone charger, because having people text-message me on my phone straight from livejournal is pretty fucking cool.
I think that's why I like Bobby-- he has that being-watched persona of slight amusement, he knows his audience, and not only that, I think he enjoys it. It's not that I agree with people going through other people's trash, or giving them no time alone, but I think that, when you go out into the public eye, and you become scared of being there, that's when you know you are a successful piece of fiction.
Whether you wanted to be a piece of fiction is the problem, not what got you there. Maybe not.
Bobby just had his wisdom teeth out, and he took a digicam picture of his pill bottle. See, we immerse ourselves in someone else, become the watcher in the art gallery.
I sent Al this book, called "The anatomy lesson", because it's all about, watching the people watching the picture. The painting, the Anatomy Lesson by Rembrant, has this picture of a corpse, and the truth is, you stare at it and you want to take it apart, you want to know how it works. And it's just like that for other people -- we stare at whoever becomes our, icons, and we want to take them apart and know how they work. We want to know how everyone works.
Maybe it's just me.
So, but, there's this whole culture built up around wanting to take people apart. Those reality shows. I hate them, because they're corporations fucking capitalizing on people's cannibalism, but I understand why they're so popular-- people can't decide whether they want to watch the outcome, or be a part of it. Media is becoming more and more interactive.
The best media icons are ones that can slot themselves into these roles, and become a part of these things, seamlessly.
There's something about being able to look at the fourth wall, in drama and media, as well. There was this Little Golden Book, called Oscar's Book, right? And in it, Oscar talks to you, the reader. It was one of my favorite books. The most successful pieces of meat in media, the most successful plots and actors, are the ones that can take that and remind you that yes, you are watching them. Aristophanes did it. You like to be reminded that you are audience, because it gives an otherwise multi-million dollar, completely anonymous industry, a personal touch.
Why would I call up Justin's answering machine? it's not to invade his privacy. It's to remind myself that I watch him, and *I* am the one doing the watching. --I didn't call his answering machine, but just because I couldn't reach the phone.
~*~
So this story I want to tell. Perhaps should include that book. Perhaps it should go something along the lines of;
People spend a lot more time surrounded by four little walls than they like to admit.
The color of paint of these four walls can distinctly change the outcome of the story. Say, your room as a kid was painted blue. Or orange. Who knows what difference that would make.
I used to pretend to have sex as a little kid. Maybe it was because I always had white walls. How many of you grew up in the same four white walls, forever? Thought so.
~
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