AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND

We love them
We mourn for them
Unlucky boys of Red

I wish I'd gone down
Gone down with them
To where Mother Nature makes their bed

We miss them
Every night we kiss them
Their faces fixed in our heads

I wish I'd gone down
Gone down with them
To where Mother Nature makes their bed

They can't hurt you
Their style will never desert you
Because they're all safely dead

I wish I'd gone down
Gone down with them

No, it's not a scene from Sokurov's re-boot of Rollerball, it was the fantastic, phantasmic, memorial to the "tragic" Lokomotiv Yaroslavl: The living players shooting on the empty goal, the dead transmuted into sandwich boards, or hygienic pyramids, the crowds looking on the ghosts with a wistful envy -- truly we live in a golden era of permanent funerary mobilisation! The civic religion is in great health. We are so frantic in our grief we can hardly recall what it was we lost. A minor point. What Warhol ought to have said was...
in the future everyone will be dead, and therefore, politically useful, for 15 minutes!

Time's up.

FALLEN ANGELS

 SPECTACULAR GRIEF; 

Can there be any doubt that terrorists -- celebrants -- must engage periodically in A Black Mass of/and for state power? 

They lead the celebrations that people no longer have the heart for. 

 

THE TRAUMA SHOW

That's what I believe, in part because that's what a child like Christina Taylor Green believed.  Imagine: here was a young girl who was just becoming aware of our democracy; just beginning to understand the obligations of citizenship; just starting to glimpse the fact that someday she too might play a part in shaping her nation's future.  She had been elected to her student council; she saw public service as something exciting, something hopeful.  She was off to meet her congresswoman, someone she was sure was good and important and might be a role model.  She saw all this through the eyes of a child, undimmed by the cynicism or vitriol that we adults all too often just take for granted.

I want us to live up to her expectations.  I want our democracy to be as good as she imagined it.  All of us - we should do everything we can to make sure this country lives up to our children's expectations. 

– President Obama, January 12^th, 2011.

The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.

The little child, in this case, being a useful symbol for the repressed trauma of 9/11.

The idea of 9/11 as some kind of vague, karmic punishment for cracked, varnished sins has a beautiful mirror-like symmetry in the popular culture of the Gringos.  According to the “Religious Right”, the punishment comes from God for tolerating sodomy, Viagra, abortion, Dr. Phil, etc.  For the equally puritannical Hairshirt Left, the gringos are being punished for years of nasty imperial adventures that have forever tainted the supposed “purity of their democratic ideals™”.  Amusingly, the gringos’ master psychologist, Osama Bin Laden, synthesizes both POV’s in the critiques of America found in his post-colonial communiques.  America is being punished for being an arrogant infidel state that has displeased and enraged Allah (the compassionate, the merciful, PBUH, etc.), and for being the humiliating replacement for the colonial powers whose sadomasochistic whips and kisses figure so prominently in the deeply wounded and narcissistic Pan-Arab mindset. 

Conveniently for the gringos, both ideas are also narcissistic defenses against a spiritual wound, and magically restore America’s place (despite much justified anxiety to the contrary) as the center of the newly globalized cosmos. And The War on Terror™ echoes yet inverts FDR’s famous motto: the only thing we have to fear is fear itself. If one must declare war on fear, then one can also guess that the battle is already lost. Ten years into it – exhausted by endless media exposure to propaganda -- people are more under the thumb of “terror” than ever, and Al-Qaeda is an old-time bogeyman who people have effectively forgotten. They have no choice.

Ellul, Propaganda: “We must also bear in mind that the individual is at the mercy of events. Hardly has an event taken place before it is outdated; even if its significance is still considerable, it is no longer of interest and if man experiences the feeling of having escaped it, he is no longer concerned. In addition, he obviously has a very limited capacity for attention and awareness; one event pushes the preceding one into oblivion.  And as man's memory is short, the event that has been supplanted by another is forgotten; it no longer exists; nobody is interested in it any more….[ ] Actually, the public is prodigiously sensitive to current news. Its attention is focused immediately on any spectacular event that fits in with its myths.  At the same time, the public will fix its interest and its passion on one point, to the exclusion of all the rest. Besides, people have already become accustomed to, and have accommodated themselves to "the rest" (yesterday's news or that of the day before yesterday). We are dealing here not just with forgetfulness, but also with plain loss of interest…[ ] Moreover, there is a spontaneous defensive reaction in the individual against an excess of information and -- to the extent that he clings (unconsciously) to the unity of his own person -- against inconsistencies. The best defense here is to forget the preceding event. In so doing, man denies his own continuity; to the same extent that he lives on the surface of events and makes today's events his life by obliterating yesterday's news, he refuses to see the contradictions in his own life and condemns himself to a life of successive moments, discontinuous and fragmented.” 

The beautiful challenge here (for the State, for culture workers at large) is to constantly relive the useful trauma of 9/11 without actually addressing it. So it’s the return of the repressed for Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner. More heaping helpings of irony: Both the gringos and Al-Qaeda are suffering from profound anxiety about Globalization. This globalization psychosis – the fear/reality of subcultures being dissolved into homogeneous and global mass techno-culture, drives on the War on Terror™.

And perhaps more interesting still is the power of the mythic idea that the wound is, in reality -- in truth, self inflicted:  things have gone so far astray from democratic ideals, that the State, in its’ neo-fascist arrogance and corporate lust for power, itself has orchestrated (or merely allowed to happen) these televised calamities. This is nothing less than a projection of fantasy power – the powerless explaining away their powerlessness and passivity before the screen (ultimately their lack of faith in democracy and the shirking of their democratic responsibility) through a fantasy of a sinisterly powerful yet secret cabal practicing secret violence (private, civil, economic, military) without limitation. A violence that can always be observed and mediated, glimpsed through the shadow, or in the "gap" of narrative. The perpetual representation of this mythic violence is more effective than its actual practice would be.

Living in the grip of remembered trauma is the necessary condition to certain aspects of tribal life. Because our memories are located in the technological, in the visible edge of the spectacle, like a patient with Alzheimer’s, we must always be reminded of what we would forget. We therefore live, gratefully, in the twilit space of myth.

The more simple and sinister truth: Nobody is riding the dragon of globalization…it is world-historical epochal chaos. Every man for herself. And Salafist Islam, so effectively characterized as an alien excrescence, is quite useful to calm globalization anxiety and thus to unite the world under the common banner of pluralistic progress and the sweet balm of techno-civilization – ideas which are the REAL SCARY stuff.

NOT ALL THE FACTS ARE IN, BUT...

(How dull. Another one on spectacular grief:)

Attractive Representative of the People's Regime is shot.

Mass Grief Event ensues, naturally, spontaneously! Like is customary and usual with any state martyrdom.

Miracle Bullet -- the very one that missed us all, enshrined in bed of velvet.

Kronos Quartet commissioned to perform The Gabby Giffords Requiem for strings and auto-tune, despite the poor woman being inconveniently alive. And in a long distance relationship with an Astronaut.

Chastened Media Demagogues Of All Stripes Recognize Themselves Mirrored in Angry, Low Status Schizophrenic Language Obsessive. 

Try hard to stutter moral tales out from the bowels of the unhappy event, with little success. Invent new grammars of ever-muted outrage.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

CIELO DRIVE

(another one on spectacular grief, and its uses)

A publicist is murdered. First thought...it must be Oscar season in the City of Nets.

When it becomes clear that this is no ordinary publicist, but the St. Bernadette of publicists -- the anti-Sidney Falco -- the "community", such as any polity of thieves
and sex-soul-murderers can be, is struck with a rare, unfamiliar emotion: Awe.

Because these are the people who usually think that driving a Prius (and wearing ribbons and uttering protective slogans, making spectacular good works, and mostly just having money,) can protect them from the systemic violence that their, uh, creative labors work so hard to hide. And a genuine tragedy in the hollywood (multiple gunshots, like they say on CSI, and in BEVERLY HILLS, dear God...) is more than the usual bourgeois rupture that rocks a small town when bad news hits the evening news. It's the twilight of the gods. For just a moment.

But it is only right that the fearmongers should feel fear once in a while.

In fact one should ask if the perpetual manufactured sunshine, the fine ideological project of a dazzling cinematic Potemkin Culture, of "good examples" and "happy endings", that these Woodlanders specialize in, actually gives rise in perpetuity to the suppressed shadow (THAT WHICH CANNOT BE SHOWN, ONLY LIVED) and sticks them perpetually on the bloody other side of the coin, which is the mechanism that feeds the primal fear that is the true currency of show business.

The Quaids will certainly NOT be refused lunacy asylum in Canada now.

STATE TRAUMAS

(one of a continuing series on spectacular grief)

Did you hear the one about the aircraft full of famous Polish marytrs that crashed on the border between commemoration and oblivion...? No? Well...

Here's how Rod Serling would write it...

The dignitaries are on the plane, flying to commemorate the tragic and fatal event. The plane lands safely. But it's 1940, and they are rounded up by the NKVD to join the rest of the Polish officer corps. The dignitaries, mostly wheezing old men, try to warn the others about what's coming, about the history of soviet treachery, 1980, etc...They are accused of senility, naturally. One young officer believes them, and leads an escape of the oldsters, back to the guarded presidential plane. They seize the plane, but the engine is riddled with 1940 vintage bullets, and the plane crashes, back in the present. Investigators find the body of the young officer, whose name is on the death lists in the official accounts of Katyn, along with the mystery of his pre-war uniform. The anomaly is hushed up. Koniec.

Back in "real" Poland, mad grieving crowds, surround the memorial cross in front of the presidential palace.

"First they finished Kaczynski off and now they want to hide the truth about it," said Katarzyna Zaluska, a 35-year old office worker, giving vent to a suspicion among some supporters of the late president that the Polish government shares responsibility for the crash.

Terror is best experienced in crowds, of course. It's best that the crowd sees its terror, humiliation and grief amplified by the screens.

Demurred one illustrious & sober public intellectual:

"In any case, when tragedy struck, the human attitude prevailed. Everyone is terrified to see human bodies torn to pieces. Everyone travels by air. Everyone is terrified."

By accident, he's hit on another beautiful hegemonic linkage. This is how systems become mental environments -- and then, scaling down, set the dimensions of mild inner gulags.

Someone tried to ride the dragon of the nation's grief, but the thing was too wild. A heightened, exalted state.

The production of Grief in perpetuity. Direct "access" to trauma-events. At odds with the usual way of transforming trauma into myth.

Nothing can be settled. The meaning can always be dragged back into the court of mediation. And it will be. The aircraft perpetually flying in the limbo airspace between 1940-2010.

Nightmares fed by the restless, paranoid feeling of a secret life beyond the merely visible.