Broadcasting Illusions

The wealthy elite are richer today than they have ever been in all history; their vast fortunes have made them secure enough to aim beyond the mere accumulation of financial profits. No longer can consumers use their shopping lists to impose their will upon the upper class. And it seems that a disgraced network like NBC can stay on the air indefinitely even without its sponsors. I believe that this is because our money is less important to capitalists today than our love. When I first learned about how establishing brand loyalty has become more important than increasing sales to modern advertisers I did not think about it very deeply. On the surface it looks like a more roundabout, less detectable way to increase sales, but it really isn't. A man's brand loyalty does not require any support from his wallet, only from his heart. Super rich corporate advertisers don't need your money anymore, they'd rather just hear you whistling their jingle. While we all like money, those who have the most of it would most keenly feel its limitations. They would see it less as a source of power than as a means to it. Power is the aim of any ruling body, with vast sums being spent along the way if necessary. And what greater power exists in the world than that which rules over the human heart? This is far more desirable to the upper class than their otherwise inert piles of money. How do they win your hearts? With powerful illusions broadcasted as music or comedy or pleasing imagery. The bands who stole my songs were loved. The comedians who stole my blogs were loved. Later, the reporters who exposed the fraud were loved. All of this love was passed on to corporate supporters. As long as your love is desirable to our corporate overlords, the broadcast illusions which deliver this love to them will be sustained regardless of financial losses. As such, TV and radio will make imposing barriers for me to overcome in my quest to secure my due recognition as my work's true author in the years ahead. 11:19pm: In my poem the Lover I recount personal experience to show how love is seldom true: my anomalous talent caused a gap to my father's love, which centred on the perception of his son as an extension of his ordinary self; women tend to fall for riches; and stars are more loved for their appearance than their substance. I end the poem by stating that being deprived of true (sacrificial) love along these lines made me closer to God. Along the way, however, I showed how God's style of selfless love is far from being the only love. This may cause problematic distractions for those in power. In George Orwell's novel, 1984, the ruling class has done away with all love but love of their party, known as Big Brother. They made it illegal to enjoy sex, with children enlisted to spy on parents and report any suspicious activity to the police. We call romantic partners lovers, though their love is strictly contained and reflected within their relationship. From within their cozy cocoon they feel safe in sharing their dislikes, especially those of authority. In the novel's totalitarian state there is no room for such outside love interests. Orwell took his inspiration from the fascists and the communists of his World War Two period. He wanted to make sure that nothing like their brutal totalitarianism ever rose up again. Perhaps he was successful, but his contemporary, Aldous Huxley, alluded to a more insidious power grab in the novel, Brave New World, one in which the slave unwittingly chooses his slavery. This seems to be closer to what is going on at this moment. Orwell spoke of television sets that would be illegal to turn off. Instead, more attuned to Huxley's vision, we have people today freely choosing to leave their TV's on. People may read my words today and think their hearts are safe from corporations, but the corporate logos on their clothes, the soundbites they choose for their ringtones, and even the bulletins they share from news broadcasts tell me otherwise. If they had to shun all commercial media - broadcast and print - as I've done, they would be at a painful loss for how to fill the gaping void that would emerge in their world. 1:08pm: After hearing again of some woman who is in possession of a hit, I am reminded of another aspect of this love you may unwittingly have for corporations: it brings me hate. I've never known such intense hate in my life as that which has been heaped on me by fraud committed with my music, poetry, and comedy on the TV and radio. You think you cause me no harm by tuning in their broadcasts when in fact I consider myself lucky to still be alive in spite of it. I almost jumped off a bridge from you all watching a Dateline broadcast behind my back. It's a good thing I survived to defend my honor and the honor of my parents, whose graves would be getting urinated on right now if corporate stars like Tom Hanks had had their way with my intellectual property. If corporate overlords want you to exclusively love them for my work, it is quite clear to me now that you would all end up hating my guts for it. 5:00pm: In keeping with this post's title, let's close by smashing a few of the wicked illusions which have been cast by the misuse of my work in the last ten years: The Crystalids' Dean is not Jesus: Songs from the Truck. Tom Hanks is not a war hero: Fighting Stance. Telus is unfriendly: Unfinished Business. Taylor Swift is a poor role model: Taylor Daft. Jon Stewart is not sweet: When FOX News and Jon Stewart Unite. The corporate media are not trustworthy: You Can Trust Us. Jay Leno is not funny: Jay Ego. Dateline NBC is not knowledgeable: Thanks for Nothing. FOX News is unfair and unbalanced: FOX News Hates. The Shards were not virtuous: They're My Disability. Bill Maher is not rebellious: Real Slime. MAD Magazine is unsafe for children: MAD Magazine Commits Fraud. And to the gang of crew people that tried to intimidate me on the street outside this library branch on my way here this morning: I AM NOT WEAK! 7:46pm: Boy, we really have some stinkers around here. I wonder when I'll ever get to meet these nice fans I keep hearing in my head. Let's start with this latest violation of my music. I'm sure that most of you reading this find new violations of my music insulting to your intelligence since you are well aware of my songs from following me online for the last eight years. To anyone else, do you enjoy being lied to with music? If so, why don't you get your idols to lie to you with your own music and leave me out of it? I want nothing to do with the commercial trends around which you structure your life. And do you want us all to be stupid? Do you want us to confuse ten years with twenty years and Joe Blow with Jack Frost? That's the kind of wish that might get answered with an ambulance ride. Next, I should ask my readers if I reached any of them with the above breakdown of my poem, the Lover. Did students sense any truth in my referral to the 'confinement' of parental love? Did women laugh at my mention of their materialism? (They're usually pretty cool about it.) Above all, did music and comedy fans agree that they love a star more for appearance than for substance? That last point is important to me because it explains why I might be less impressive right now than all those creeps who stood on a big stage with my songs. Please, I'm not just writing all these things for style. And speaking of stadiums, stadium rock is loud and I have a loud voice. That disturbance from last week that some people complained about in the wee hours of the morning - though I've fallen silent since - is the sound of an artist, one whose music they paid others to sing and play in stadiums, surviving overwhelming pressure to commit suicide. It ruptured roughly the same hour of the morning that TV stars like Jimmy Kimmel once occupied with stolen portions of my blogs. And lastly, to those joggers, one of whom thought her mate was 'funny' as they jogged past me in the street: the reason why the stars you think you love need limousines is to escape your cruelty. And I bet that joke you were laughing at was stolen out of my blogs: probably one of my rejects.
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