Fantasy.


Addiction confession. A kind of love story for our times. I’m hooked. Though I’m not sure I can convey exactly how extreme the pleasure of this summer transgression has been. Like blue bubbles of joy popping underwater but inside your brain. Embarrassing perhaps to admit the forbidden as guilty pleasure. The scandal that will face me after this. My very own first confession (Foucault shall be deployed). But there is something wholly addictive in the affirmation of the spirit – its so cheesy – but it is still worth more than the unavoidable feelings of despair – murderdeathkill – that confront us in the present state of the world (Lebanon etc.). A crazed fantasy at the end of the day, an escape from the real is always worth the compromise – when tomorrow’s guilt trip is the only possible plausible path – and frankly the innocent or not so innocent pleasures of capitulation to planned and artificial joys can be a kind of life affirmation. And that is always more now than avoiding or abstaining. Whoa! Celebration. There is no reason not to take it to the extreme and to celebrate life, love, performance and a degree of madness – wanker – that is not otherwise freely available today.

Whatever alternative or parallel lifestyle might be implied. Indulgence plus decadent abandon. The possibility of a life where the crap of terror-war can no longer dash my head: Afghanistan, Iraq, Labour Party, lying bastard piggy pollies, bureaucracy and a loveless commercialism – anything that offers the possibility that all that is evil might be ignored is worth the cost. I know it’s an abdication from the facts, I know it is a alibi, I know it is pseudo fabricated artificial phantasmagoria. But it is so much better than the waking world. I cannot always be here, coherent, serious (the struggle is grim). Gimme a break. Gimme indulgence. Why not make it compulsory – keep us all attached to the matrix feeder tube. Mainline – the only freedom we can achieve on TV.

What is it – without thinking I am happy to offer myself over to the extreme, extravagance, the excess, and the exuberance of a flaming madness… let me indulge… there is no recall, no backing out, once admitted one is a lifer, no remission, no rehab, no recovery, no remorse – in it to the grim bitter (sweet) finale. It is not as naïve as the West Wing (a fake democracy substituting for the real fake democracy) – no, a radical rethink, an observed decadence, scrupulous in the acute sense. Hot topic Hot topic. Vote now.

“he must be an angel” – of course I want Pete to win. Its been priceless – I am hooked on BB.

Oh brother: “I’m cooking an egg for the very forst time, ah humm”.

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Comments

  • Anonymous  On 13/08/2006 at 10:16 pm

    so is that am unavoidable obsession for you – some kind of objective anthropological interest (perhaps the last kind of anthropology, for the last times)?
    Kx

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  • P S  On 14/08/2006 at 11:13 am

    And don’t you just love what The People had to say?

    My favourite line is ‘He was like a sex-crazed rabbit on rocket fuel.’
    Good for him.

    http://www.people.co.uk/news/news/tm_objectid=17554001%26method=full%26siteid=93463-name_page.html

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  • CBC  On 14/08/2006 at 12:54 pm

    Thanks for expressing my feelings on this better than I myself ever could, John.

    That People story was a ripper: Pete’s the best sort of angel there’s even been, hands down.

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  • By Celebrity Hijack « trinketization on 20/03/2008 at 6:11 am

    [...] obviousness finally absolves even the most perverted of us from ever watching the show again [yes, finally I give it up, sad day] – I mean, just look at the NAME of this new format. Celebrity Hijack – [...]

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