Day by Day

Thursday, May 25, 2006


So I was over at Cold Fury, reading Al's rant on "art".

Wanna dunk a huge crucifix upside down in dung & urine? Sorry, it’s been done. How ’bout you make an image of the Virgin Mary out of shit? That’ll scare the rubes. That’s been done too? Hmmmm… Okay. How ’bout pictures of people with whips up their asses. (NSFW). Sorry, that’s been done too? Hmmm… this is getting hard.

Okay, I got it. We’ll have a film of some gay guy getting slammed by his buddy, and while that’s going on, the wide receiver in this little game of catch will sing the Star Spangled Banner as a brilliant, artistic slam on President Bush. Oh, sorry, forgot. That’s been done too. Um, okay, how ’bout we have sex with holy communion, pay prostitutes to stamp on the rosary beads, and dare God to strike us down? Now that will be a work of art, right? Sadly, it’s been done. A long time ago. It’s not new.

The idea that art is only worthy if it transgresses some perceived social norm is something the elites have foisted on us for a long time.
Would you like to know more?

Leftist critical theory - specifically Marcuse and Gramsci - tells us we need to champion the outlaw over the cop, the prostitute over the priest, the profane over the reverent. In this way the existing social order may be destroyed, and some new Rousseauian Natural Man utopia created. Thing is, this wasn’t new to leftism, leftism was instead the embodiment of a lot of older bad thinking by half bright drunks and malcontents. Prior levelers are often called crypto-marxists, but if you really dig around, you discover that these early communists - dating back to around the 12th century AD or earlier - were basically either lunatics, malcontents, con-men, or crazed millenarians. Modern Marxism just put an industrial age glow on the whole anti-civilizational philosophy of the diggers and levellers and others of their ilk.

As a result, the triumph of leftism in our schools and other social institutions has resulted in an attempt to undermine what have long been believed to be objective standards of beauty and truth in representation, in the mimetic process by which art describes something in the real world. The turning of art’s purposes to the destruction of civilization, first by destroying the standards that governed art, then by attacking social norms and the fabric of society itself, has coincided with a sharp decline in interest in fine art.

It's a well done piece. But then I got to the bottom, and saw a link to the Rottweiler (which you know I love reading) and clicked on over.


So we hear that “Madonna”’s latest “brave” and “provocative” act in defiance of established religion involves, yawn, stretching herself out on a cross.

How innovative. How positively shocking. How brave. How “speaking truth to powery.”

How utterly, fucking, predictable.

Listen, Madonna, your shtick is as tired, flabby and old as your vulcanized labia. The same labia that are affectionately known as “7-11? on account of the fact that they, too, are open 24/7.

You want to really impress us with your “bravery?”

Take a hint from LC & IB Bill Quick.

Stretch your naked, skanky, aging body out on a crescent. Urinate on a prayer rug. Make a picture of yourself performing cunnilingus on a replica of the vagina of the black rock in Mecca.

You want to really turn yourself into an icon against established religion? You want to hear your name whispered in awe of your bravery? You want to become a crusader against dogma and the establishment? Go ahead, because there’s your chance. Stand up, just for once in your miserable, useless life, to something and somebody likely to actually strike back rather than shake their heads in pity.

But of course you won’t do such a thing. That would require actual bravery and, as we all know, the only “bravery” exhibited among the feckless, “progressive” cowards is the kind that doesn’t involve any actual, you know, risk.

I think that right now, Madonna is rubbing her scorched buttcheeks and wondering just what the hell caused her spandex pants to catch on fire.

I think of the rag tag band of farmers that grabbed their muskets in 1776, who risked their lives and every single thing they’d struggled to build with their blood, sweat and tears to throw off the yoke of Imperialism, to be allowed to live and breathe freely when accepting the status quo would have cost them nothing but an ideal.

I think of the hundreds of thousands who died on the bloody battlefields of the Civil War to end slavery.

I think of the young men who stormed the beaches in Normandy to defeat Naziism and liberate people they didn’t even know, much less had a reason to care about. My family happens to be one of the beneficiaries of that entirely selfless sacrifice so yes, I’m a little biased there, as anybody who had a total stranger risk his life for him should be.

I think of the young men who did the same in the Pacific.

Then I look at you. You sorry, cowardly, pathetic Band of Losers who never saw a risk you wouldn’t run screaming from. I look at your self-righteous, condescending, self-worshipping carcasses and I wonder why the Hell those fine men even bothered.

They bothered because of people like you, Misha.

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