Friday, May 07, 2010

Ceci n'est pas une maison*

This is a PICTURE of Donna's home

The following paragraph is what I was typing when the ensuing paragraphs ensued, er, ah, events occurred (gotta keep the reality and its story distinguishable from one another or I’ll be back in the invisible prison).

Guy DeBord’s spectacle is what I call the tautology of the invisible prison. “When analyzing the spectacle one speaks, to some extent, the language of the spectacular itself in the sense that one moves through the methodological terrain of the very society which expresses itself in the spectacle.”

Oh, the irony of it all. In the midst of discovering Guy DeBord, often referred to by Troutsky, and reading his Society of the Spectacle, the Dawgranch dawgs break my concentration with their raucous greeting at the gate of perhaps forty members of a TV entourage here to scope out an upcoming scene for an episode of Friday Night Lights in my neighbor’s uniquely styled home evolved as an outgrowth of her life in the bus she parked under a giant pecan eleven years ago.

Ack. The very tentacle of the spectacle has come to annex my everyday direct experience of nature here in my retreat from the grid to integrate it into the spectacle lived by the never-left-the-couch dolts plugged into “Reality TV” 24/7 even when they believe they are out in the “world” discussing the latest episode of Office at the office around the old water cooler bottled water machine.

And wouldn’t you know it, if I sign their disturbance agreement paper, my premeditated tolerance of whatever the hell they decide to do in the course of their production for the spectacle will earn me a hundred dollar share of the big bucks lavished on the preservation of the invisible prison. If they don’t run off or over the hens or tromp through my gardens it’ll be a breeze to do my share, with the first hand direct experience of witnessing the creation of the latest spectacle to be decoupaged onto the ever denser walls of the invisible prison thrown in as education. Yahoo.

*After Magritte's "Ceci n'est pas une pipe" he lettered beneath a realistic painting of a pipe just to keep the invisible prison visible, and not a prison when one is conscious of tne myth.


Anonymous said...

so did you sign the disturbance agreement form?

Tom said...

will a hundred dollars buy you peace and quiet? may as well sign, they'll do as they please anyhow.

Leslie said...

The wonderful thing about being a writer - you can rant. And if it's well written someone may actually listen.


Pisces Iscariot said...

Hope you shoved their waiver.
Britain enjoyed the spectacle of the elections this week - what a fucking corporate joke!

Yodood said...

I remain richer for affording to live without their hundred bucks, so I think I'll take it and celebrate the fact. It's all in the mind, ya know!
Drinks are on me and Mabe!

Yodood said...

Leslie, that wonderful thing you mentioned is the central motivation for this blog. I am learning about the well written part at my usual pace, that of an earnest snail — but I am learning — isn't that what thinking one was naiver yesterday is?

Thanks for listening.

She Writes said...

Good luck to you!