“The status of celebrity offers the promise of being showered with ‘all good things’ that capitalism has to offer. The grotesque display of celebrity lives (and deaths) is the contemporary form of the cult of personality; those ‘famous for being famous’ hold out the spectacular promise of the complete erosion of a autonomously lived life in return for an apotheosis as an image. The ideological function of celebrity (and lottery systems) is clear – like a modern ‘wheel of fortune’ the message is ‘all is luck; some are rich, some are poor, that is the way the world is…it could be you!”
The manicured mutant ‘model’ (sub-hu)man-servants of the Order
And they keep coming. The off-spring demon seeds, the genetic gut-rot, the parasitic progeny of the plebiscite system-serving, crown curtsying class, the middle management toads, craven in their cravings, foisting their scrotal-sack-sludge vacuous vacuum dead-eyed detritus onto a society already depleted and devoid of dazzle and decorum. The trudge of the every-day grows greater as these waste-worms waltz and schmaltz their way into culture-consciousness. Collectively these culture cancers drag the shards and embers of history down deep where light is scarce.
Mixing and cross-pollinating with each other, this new bloodline blending of talentless, brainless, witless, thoughtless molecules and matter tugs despairingly at the forelock of their monarched masters, hob-nobbing with the nabobs, ever supporting the structures and stratum that confine and contain the masses. Grotesque polluters of the fame game, ushering their spawn into the fray, affirmation seeking avatars of artlessness and avarice.
The dynastic elite regal and royal overlords fratenise with their subjects at PR soirees, award ceremonies, galas and parlors, covertly legitimising their status and superiority as the sub-lings endorse their every move and act. They effect to be like the ‘normal’ citizen as they use their media machines to take our eyes of the reality, skewering our perception via tech-straction, diverting our gaze towards the haze of fabrication.
Ill-Wills: ‘Look, Ginge, you and your kind are down here, get it? I have enough of this shite with that ‘brother’ of mine. Brother?! What larks’
Ginge: ‘Ok, my Masser. Can I go now?’
These disciples blindly follow their forebears, the purveyors of plasticity, the retro-renovators ripping off the innovators atop their moneyed-mansions and gated gardens, reaping the benefits of Downing Street deals, inching their tiny frames up the ladder, one rung at a time, their obsequious behaviour perpetually acknowledged by their slumming slum-overlords via realm-reign-rewards from the revolting.
N.G: ‘So what you’re saying is that in years to come I and my enema-excretions will be assimilated into ‘high society’ and they won’t have to do anything to get there? Modelling, acting, journalising, photographing, whatever they choose?’
T.B(colosis): ‘That’s right, Neil, just follow the rules and obey the orders’
Fuck’em all Palace Memo 14th January 2017: Head Liz-ard overheard saying ‘OB-hayve, Dimbulb Dave, your time will arrive, but, first we need more scum-sucking and pointless posing, you are still at Emissary Stage Two. Your bony skag-skeletal bird is at Stage One, too much pouting not enough shouting. END
Dimbo: ‘Er …erm … is it 5?’
All gains made have been unmade, the counter-cultural anti-establishment edicts erased and extinguished. Be vigilant, this is just the beginning. These cultural sites are the new (inter)breeding grounds. There will be more of these (e.g. Moses and Apple Martin *shudder*).
Wake up those who can’t see, refuse to see, resist or are scared to see. Fear got us into this mess, THEY fear us.
Guy Debored (C) 2017
Down the banks 