Wait a sec. . . .. . was "Kristi" or whoever the lady
who wrote the December, 1990 "Esquire" issue on "young computer
hackers"?
Alright, military war-games footage "to see how
resourceful El Fascisto" is HERE.
I consider myself to be a quasi-anthropologist
of the near-recent HISTORICAL RECORD--
trying to map out "who I am" and "where I came from". . . . . . like
mapping together the black "flight recorder box" and making sense of
flashes of an otherwise sensuous, "mystical, magical journey"
THAT WOULD OTHERWISE NOT MAKE ANY SENSE--
not unless you retraced "the path" and came up with a reasonable, decent
explanation so you're not running around like a home-brewed
terrorist or radical in search of some mystical, nostaligic "golden age"
MADE REAL only because
HE BELIEVES IN IT with some sort "of
promised bliss" from WAY BACK that can inevitably
NOT COME TRUE, whatever our feral sub-reality of world-denial.
Folks talk about "the simuulacrum" in postmodern
theory, or basically consumers dithering through a world of abstracts
like ironic, removed "surfers of the unreal"-- agreeing upon
certain sets of fictitious "quanities-as-value"
LIKE A GAME in "this modern theme park of
life". Only thing is, that there are many gung-ho folks out there
WHO TAKE IT FAR MORE SERIOUSLY THAN THEY SHOULD.
However bogus that is, the air of finickey disaffection "comes with its
own self-seriousness" that can't "see the trap it's in"--
while at least the gung-ho enthusiasts are far more "REAL"
& "HONEST" with a vigorous connection to life, "or an attempted
one", at least.
The cold void of the outer universe, the earth
revolving AROUND THE SUN--is
eternally indifferent to the mutually-shared hallucination folks
share inside a social environment; however it may change over time with
the evolution of the mass media "for better or for worse" and whatever
THE CRIES of those choking inside, or
without "like a poisonous atmosphere" and stunted, miserable starvation
"of unhardy human-lichens". . . . . . like stronger slime devouring
WEAKER SLIME; when reality bleeds in
"around the edges" whatever our attempted escape from the howl of the
sub-zero steller darkness and glitter of frosty stars.
So it was "of curiosity" to pick up a big stack of
old "Esquire" magazines covering the prime of my childhood. . . . . .
1989-1992 when the media "was a bit more
MEATY" and overseen by more responsbile elders in a print-culture
model.
My first exposure was to a particularly chock-full,
fortutious, February '92 issue "On Whiteness in America" that covered
"Gampy" Bush from Richard Ben Cramer's "What it Takes". . . . . and
something of interest: "5 out of 5 Kids who Kill LOVE SLAYER" (Roll over
& dieeee Behetovhen). Thrashing abandon and dark moth/flame esctasy down
by beige/cream colored mini-mall expansion "and devil may-care"
Bart Simpson "Big Gulp" low culture concerns, but for juvenile devil
occult fantasy and video store dreams with comic books n' "an arcade in
back".
Why, in a perfect
world you would have a girl like Winona Ryder posing in a silk, slinky
dress with her palm on her cheek as if to say, "oh,
the GLAMOUR" in some early '90s issue of "Rolling Stone"
magazine; the summer HOT ISSUE in fact.
Carefree, brain/dead consumption n' victory for Bill & Ted partying on
some San Dimas mesa over the blue-purple shadows of southern
California "and all that may be" over this televisied "party-house"
of ungraceful nationalized disregard, "nibbling on the cheese of life"
IN CHITTERING VICTORY".
--
"Righteous, dude!!"
Alas, it was to turn "tragically unhip" as
meticulous, fussy, PISSY hipsters and grungy, whiney, offish
EARNEST furrowed cretins "hackey-sacked"
AGAINST RAPE IN BOSNIA "and shut down the
party" like leftist-toting SCREED-pushers.
Even Winona become some moping, pouting
CONSCIENTIOUS SHITHEAD as the corporations they allegedly
PROTESTED offered their buffet "of indie
products" in stick-legged tuti-fruti quasi-irony "in
solidarity for THE JAINISTS. . . . . some freakish Indian
subculture that worshipped rats, the low standing up on their hind-paws
"in mystery"-- yet you wondered
"how this was gonna get you a girlfriend as they wailed into microphones
with downward, churning guitars of Gonzo, bonkoid, freakish, bug-eyed
"dissolution of forms" into one sludgy, inferior melting pot of mud-slopped,
stinking Lollapalooza values as Oliver Stone nervously quibbled like a
bullshit artist.
--"You have no choice". . . . . yes, as an
ironically done-up 1950's waitress holds down a platter of burgers
and fries and Courtney Love Kinder-Whore values. . . . . . the
drama of who is "chaste" and lurking,
clawing backstage intrigue among witch-like harpies; "neither male
nor female" but hopping n' clawing n' screeching
like toothless rats.
"Oftentimes, there is a misconception. . . . . .
between "a struggling soul" reclaiming THE GOLDEN
UNITY that once existed, somewhere back in his childhood before
the personality "split" and the black "gook" of corruption began "to
worm its way" between the cracks n' fissures of ugly, materialistic
corruption found in adolescence's CRUSHING LIES. Then you have young, whimsical "flippant types" who never
TERRIBLY SPLIT OFF "in the first place",
and may be akin "to overgrown children" in
many ways who have neither the maturity "nor immune system"
TO TAKE THE SHOCKS "of life's cruel
punches". Either "incapable" or perhaps "infantile", our society
obviously DOES NOT DISCOURAGE their launch into the consumer "niche
culture" that but caters n' gratifies to ignorant, bulge-eyed "fantasy"
that avoids the ultimate truth of when the
howling winds of WINTER knocks on death's
door, jingling the keys "with a macabre grin"
WITH HOODED RIDERS OF THE
SLAYTANIC NORTHERN SOLITICE OF THE ARYAN PHOENIX. . . . . or at least
old "Skrewdriver" records "to fix yor wagon
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD". Make a pass at me,
faggot-- and I'LL KILL YOU. Leave the ole' "Bear-Cat" alone. . . . .
(You're O.K. in my Book)
"Oftentimes, there is a misconception. . . . . .
between "a struggling soul" reclaiming THE GOLDEN
UNITY that once existed, somewhere back in his childhood before
the personality "split" and the black "gook" of corruption began "to
worm its way" between the cracks n' fissures of ugly, materialistic
corruption found in adolescence's CRUSHING LIES. Then you have young, whimsical "flippant types" who never
TERRIBLY SPLIT OFF "in the first place",
and may be akin "to overgrown children" in
many ways who have neither the maturity "nor immune system"
TO TAKE THE SHOCKS "of life's cruel
punches". Either "incapable" or perhaps "infantile", our society
obviously DOES NOT DISCOURAGE their launch into the consumer "niche
culture" that but caters n' gratifies to ignorant, bulge-eyed "fantasy"
that avoids the ultimate truth of when the
howling winds of WINTER knocks on death's
door, jingling the keys "with a macabre grin"
WITH HOODED RIDERS OF THE
SLAYTANIC NORTHERN SOLITICE OF THE ARYAN PHOENIX. . . . . or at least
old "Skrewdriver" records "to fix yor wagon
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD". Make a pass at me,
faggot-- and I'LL KILL YOU. Leave the ole' "Bear-Cat" alone. . . . .