Meta-Despair

We (most middle to upper-class Americans - which just so happens to be the largest demographic of internet users globally 76.2 % of the population) are all meat puppets. We live the lives of Heath Ledger and Michael Jackson. The only difference between the "celebrities" and us is that we don't take in the gaze of the millions through the unblinking lens of the, what has now become Hal-esqe, video-camera lens. We live out Technicolor movies, in which the cupboards have food, the TV has new Seasons and the local theater has new movies, or better yet, the mail delivers new NetFlix within two days. The best illustration of the fact that we all live movies are the plethora of albums on facebook, flikr and photobucket, as everyone shares their travels to all sorts of different places to share with "the folks back home." I can't help but obsess over the expensive sandals and outfits these tourists wear into poverty stricken nations. Now this is a very pessimistic view, but I think that these albums are slide show movies of the Heath Ledger and Michael Jackson lives we lead as we slide toward an inevitable death, except free from the gaze of the millions and instead armed with a Canon camera to capture in hi-def images of our "interesting" lives.

Most of us gaze into our pixel monitors with great comfort and joy as we are hypnotized by the illusion of empowerment and community (see Facebook and Twitter). But the truth is that we all live inauthentic lives void of despair which should be chocking us to death. I enjoy Post-Moderner's view of the modern world being built on the safety of objects and personal possessions and therefore the authentic life is unobtainable, but it seems too "Hollywood" for me (which was the point of my counter post on the true solitary existentialist). I am sincerely afraid that this post might come down to the fact that I cannot take the death of the existential death. Our neo-culture of tabloid doctored actors making "film" after "film" hummz and buzzes with what seems some sort of pseudo-meta-stability. If Hollywood's still running and making new movies for my iPhone, then all is going "according to plan." However, to take a step back and recognize this neo-culture and it impact on a global scale is very terrifying. In the past 5 years we have made extreme jumps in image quality for home entrainment going from HD to even more sophisticated classes to 720p to 1080i and now into the realms of 3D entrainment. And, very importantly, internet piracy of these higher mediums keeps up with the amphetic speed the industry brings, missing nothing and often getting releases on the "intarwebs" before store shelves because of the reliance of offshore manufacturing of the media.

Now I have thought long and hard about this neo-culture's impact on the world at large and it makes my brain kind of implode and it instantly makes me reach for an iPod to fill the void of silence of despair in my head. The image that brings it home hard for me is the roughly 100 page book size boxes that these magical HD hypnotizing item's come in. Boxes with perfect actor profiles, balanced face overlays and varying strength of font, depending on the title of the movie, and all with an impeccable color scheme.

Now comes the theory of madness: These thin book box cases serve as little shelf e-mirror items that stimulate (or should I say over stimulate) the American populous. As I walk into BestBuy or Wal-Mart or any big box store, I am in awe of the maze of little box mirrors we have made for ourselves. We walk in, and very doubtfully, have any idea what direction to head first, and trod on past various sections of consumer items we might need. But the true coup-de-grace is the HD movie section. Hermetically sealed boxes, glossy new with syran wrap, (even sometimes protected by the stores glass security casing) that go on for rows and rows. One could gaze into the covers of these items for hours, and often shoppers do. But ok ok, that is fine for the bovine populous of the United States, but what's happening all around the world as these precious jewel boxes get released on the intarwebs with (and I am not joking) 6 different dialects of Chinese subtitles and every other language imaginable. You see, with a home entrainment system you need all sorts of hardware and wires hooked up to your television to view these HD gems, but off the intarwebs, no such upgrade is needed, maybe a software codec, but with the advancement in open source video players such as VLC, even that has become a way of the past.

While the United States humms on its off shore oil, Wall-Street Stock market, and Hollywood releases, an unnoticed flood of this neo-culture we all live in day to day is being feed to the rest of the world either for free, or very little. To quote a passage from the essay Constant Conflict (now over ten years old), "Hollywood goes where Harvard never penetrated, and the foreigner, unable to touch the reality of America, is touched by America’s irresponsible fantasies of itself; he sees a devilishly enchanting, bluntly sexual, terrifying world from which he is excluded, a world of wealth he can judge only in terms of his own poverty." In the slums of Cambodia, gangsters are watching "illegal" copies of "Public Enemies" (with subtitles) on their television or computer screens. Similarly, while Chinese businessmen are doing billion dollar deals with totally fucking corrupt American Corporations, they are watching episodes of "Baywatch." This flood of American culture around the world is hollow and toxic and unstoppable.

Now this perspective, or rant, can and maybe should be seen as a existential crisis. However, I feel it penetrates deeper than any existential philosopher I have studied could have ever dreamed. It is, for me, bone deep, and late at night for some reason, crippling. I go about my e-crop rotation daily, checking WikiNews, e-mail, Facebook newsfeed, message-boards, twitter and even a blog made with some college friends. But that is only one sliver. I might be gazing passively into an AMC full theatrical length premier of Pearl Harbor (which just so happens to be one of my favorite illustrations of the devilishly enchanting Hollywood mirror) or watching an HBO showing of an Adam Sandler movie. And this doesn't even include the number of ON-DEMAND HD spiraling gaze programs at my finger tips, or pocket devices to busy my finger-tips. After this gets old (either surfing the web or looking into the HD box or pocket device) I might move on to my middle-class gaming console system for e-crop rotation comfort, that is if I have the latest release, or some old "classic" I don't seem to get tired of playing. Maybe I throw on some MP3's I downloaded as I read a book (or e-book) or maybe just put on the old faithful friend the iPod and fade away in a familiar songscape. Better yet I can look up trailers for upcoming movies (LoLz) like the new Harry Potter or some HuLu viewing to catch up on missed episodes of last Season's TrueBlood.

Either way, though I see this e-crop rotation and its usefulness (or do i mean effectiveness) I can only deal with it up to a point, my mind interjects in despair. I can't help but recognize that these actions are what it takes to comply with the images in magazines and the social structure we accommodate. But what really gets me into a meta-despair is that these "things" are not everything, they hide, with great genius, what is really going on behind these e-walls of pretense and false e-peace of mind. It seems to me that the e-barriers between us are forever maintained by our acceptance of the roles other people choose to define. It is a true paradox of existential freedom. I freely choose to embrace this fantastic technological e-freedom, yet when faced with the realities of what it so skillfully hides(the demonic transmission of neo-American culture), I reject this freedom and choose to be in despair: wallowing in a sense of being alone and isolated in the world under a new e-plague. What is most frustrating about this despair, is it's nature to be in bouts, or spells. Late at night with time alone to think with eyes on a TV or PC screen. However, morning come and I can go on a walk in my suburb and wave with genuine joy at passer-bys and even happily wield my bag of dog crap, illustrating my responsible dog ownership. Only in fits of fury with the keyboard and sweet sounds of silence can my despair be brought to words for communication. Maybe, I am revisiting some fucked idea, and post-moderner is right to say that the existential death is dead, and my personal possessions make a cycle of living where thoughts of despair are replaced by upkeep up my suburban sanctuary, but there seems to be (at least for me) more at play.