A Postmodernist Interpretation of Blasphemy
The seven deadly sins. Or, put more succinctly, acts, seen in the eyes of an all-knowing deity, which, if performed, will ultimately result in eternal damnation set within the idyllic backdrop of sweltering pits full of demonic pitchfork-yielding behemothic monuments to Terror and Evil.
Or at least that is what they were perceived to be, many years ago, in the doom-filled times of the medieval Dark Ages. Original Sin: Fucked from the Outset. The ritualistic burning of Witches. Superstition and deathly-paranoia. And all of this nourished and sustained by the world-famous Roman Catholic Guilt Machine; “more Fear for your Gear”. It’s not a great social model. And so it’s been largely dropped by all but the most criminally indoctrinated.
I had thought of spearing into this thing like a thoroughbred whippet blasted out a Desert Storm missile launcher; straight into an attack on the hypocrisies of religion and the blatant “fear equals control“ methods exhorted by the Church and all its commercial embodiments.
Then, thankfully, I remembered that organised religion has minimal relevance in today’s world. There is no point in dragging this one out. Dead dogs don’t bite back.
Consequently, and almost unbelievably given my complete lack of literary imagination, the paint brush has thus been left in my hands; the task set to paint a vivid and hyper-glossy image of the modern day equivalent of these paranoia-harboring Viruses of Faith.
TV. The trance-inducing, impulse-buying, mind-controlling opiate of the masses. With blackened veins, the user injects a poisonous cocktail of marketing messages and idealistic ambitions; all wholly unattainable in the extreme. The ultimate digital drug; infinitely more potent than a cubic pound of purified dimethyltryptamine wrapped in a tennis ball sized blend of LSD blotting papers.
Indeed, that fucking wild.
The vast array of channels, and information, and suggestions of greener grass than on your own bank of the river, ensures that at least some viewers remain diligent and hard-working in their quest to attain whatever it is that we’re told we need so very desperately during this particular Advertising Quarter. But even those otherwise unquestioning people are subject to occasional lapses in protocol if their clear-minded inner voice is ever stumbled upon in some sort of introspective bungee jump.
DON’T DO DRUGS. Ah, the self-appointed motto of our times. Thank you Mary Mother of God for this especially helpful information: The one epically proportioned reason for the previously mentioned elasticized breakthrough hardly ever occurring in modern-day society. Or at least not on the sort of popularized scale which would be required to create, tame, and then ride a sun-blocking white-capped tsunami of free-thinking empowerment around the land masses of our once green globe.
So anyway, JUST SAY NO. And after years of such terminal creative drought, we are left with the banal scrubland mine-fields of Britney Spears, Paris Hilton and other such lowest-common-denominator cunts. A whole horde of vultures and scavengers, bankers and marketing men, all ripping at the meaty pink-red temporal lobes of an increasingly stupid world. Extracting as much as they can for as little effort as possible.
DRINK BUD/SMOKE MARLBORO. I know that my government and its countless tentacles must really love me to want to keep me safe from the horrific end-game scenario of drugs use. And to numb the pain of existence, of lying back in the gutter staring at the Fabricated Stars and the Conquered Moon, they even allow me to drink something which has substantially more positive effects when used to disinfect maggot-riddled wounds. And in-between these fashionable gulps, I can smoke on a highly-taxed, commercially-rolled stick of ground/dried tobacco leaf (plus the staple base-soil of aluminum, chloroform, arsenic, formaldehyde, cadmium, and everybody’s favourite chemical compound: cyanide).
This seemingly nihilistic view of the world must now be summarized in order that it imparts some form of lasting image or suggestion. And thus, in what I would offer as the single Great Sin of modern mankind:
BELIEVE THE HYPE. For if you fail to believe the hype, the wheels simply stop turning. But only after the heat is turned up a few notches, in a last desperate attempt to rein your soul back from the brink of flight: 24 Hour News Channels broadcasting up-to-the-minute updates on The Progress in Afghanistan, The War On Drugs, The Sudden Rise in Skin Cancer Figures, The Amassing of Nuclear Stockpiles, Chaos, Flu, Famine, and a creamy hell-broth of other Apocalyptic Conclusions blasted out like fireworks in the night sky by CNN International.
By ensuring your absolute cooperation, through fear, illusion, and the self-suggested surrender of human rights, we can help to rid the world of individuality, free-thought, insight, creativity, progression, and ultimately, evolution… The revolution is televised. And sponsored by Coca Cola Inc.
Let me leave you with a prayer, as penned by the Evangelical Saint Chuck D, which you would do well to remember on these grey-skied days and moonless mist-laden nights of international recessions, endless wars in foreign lands, and the ever-present threat of disease, instantaneous death, and unprecedented international terrorism against the most powerful nation in all the land; and the filthy wave of billion-dollar tax-fuelled defense budgets that such a sickly notion demands:
“Used, abused without clues
I refused to blow a fuse
They even had it on the news
Don’t believe the hype”
Track No. 3 – “It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back” (1988)