Bread and games - and he ****** your granddaughter, too!

There is a terrible scandal(et) rocking BBC-bound Britain (and merry onlookers worldwide).
Its highest paid star said - yelled - a jocular comment about another radio star doing ungodly things to a beloved elderly actor's kin.

He said it - very ***** explicitly - on the phone.
And he said it on the air, for all to hear.

Just to be clear (because one is inevitably and unjustly judged on the basis of one's personal feelings towards those involved, rather than one's thoughts, however coherent or valid they may be), I hereby state that I actually like the person who uttered the offending blurp - very much so.

His offending blurp(s), however, I dislike - very much so.

But what I dislike most of all is the hypocritical outcry of those who decry the "hypocrisy" of the BBC (and of those members of the public who wrote in to complain about the incident), because said institution decided to punish the offender by suspending him. (The other offender, the radio star, resigned himself.)

What surprisingly many people don't seem to realise is that, if you let the standard of what is acceptable and what not slip, one day we will, once again, think that gladiator games are FUN.

As a matter of fact, we DO think they are fun - only, today they are not called "gladiator games".
They are called "reality TV".

It just shows how fragile human beings – most especially their »morals«, whatever its level or definition of the moment may be - are.

We all know – or should know – how much the society has changed since, say, the Roman empire or the so-called »Middle ages«.

We all know – or should know – how »entertainment« looked in the times of Nero, to pick just one example. People found it entertaining to see people kill each other, or fight wild animals with their bare hands and, most often, being devoured by them. (And these are just some of the more sedate »numbers« that were on offer.)

In the 20th century – and long before that (although not as long as you might think) – such behaviour came to be seen as ghastly, the absolute low point of human behaviour.
(Of course this was the same world that forbade the use of "explicit" terms, such as "menstruation", "sex", even "pregnant" - oh yes! - to be uttered in public media, such as TV.)

So, what happened?
What caused the change?

Do you think the human psyche really changes through the ages?
And if not, what do you think drives »history«?

Nothing in the human psyche itself has changed.
It's just that the imitative streak (»monkey does as monkey sees«) is – was, until recently - no longer fed blood and gore.

It was fed different moral standards, much more restrained - constrained - in matters of public conduct, especially regarding sexuality.

But hypocritical and often ridiculously prudish as it may have been, at least the ban against public obscenity gave some air, some breathing space to those who do not want to revel in the blood (literally or figuratively) of others.
(Voyeurism is not confined to sex, as I am sure you know; it feeds on everything that offers a glimpse of the terrifying face of life - Death, the frightening prospect of obliteration, the fragility of life - and that includes sex.)

The ancient Roman "games" came to an end suddenly – on January 1, 404.
By imperial decree, they were to be shown no more.

I can imagine how angry, even revolted people were, when their favourite show was taken »off the air«.
(I can practically hear them: »By Jove, it's not bad enough that we go hungry, toiling day after day - well, our slaves do, at any rate... now we are left without entertainment, the one thing that made our hearts glad?! Oh, how I wish somebody invented a little box that we could keep at home and would show us every little nasty thing other people do!«
OK, OK - the latter was a flight of fancy too far... -;))

As a matter of fact, we do know more or less exactly how revolted they were.
When a man - a monk called Telemachus - descended into the arena to plead with people to stop it, and admonish them for their lust for blood, they stoned him to death.

But the »show« was shown no more.
(In fact, it was precisely this event what prompted the abrupt end of the games.)

And in time – the new philosophy of humanity coming from the East undoubtedly had more than its fair share of influence in sensitising the masses – people forgot how to be »entertained« by such spectacles. In time – through long centuries – they became to be seen as gruesome as we see them today.

It is ironic that those long centuries, the times that came before us, that brought us here, are now widely regarded as »uptight«, oppressive and, in general, not a nice era to live in. For its lack of »freedom«, you know.

Which is true in many aspects.
But see where the »freedom« has brought us.

Yes, after all the false - or partial - dawns of the centuries past, it looks like a bright day of civil liberties, education and freedom for all (?), and all that.

The problem is, man obviously simply cannot handle too much »freedom«. He lacks the basic knowledge – of his own existential status: the purpose, if there is any, of his being here – to be the master of himself.

And exxistential ignorance breeds existential fear – and existential fear breeds greed, cruelty, selfishness.

Would you really want to trust LIFE, and everything that works towards preserving it, into the hands of someone who doesn't know its purpose and is only driven by his fear that he might lose his own?

We are still the same masses that screamed for bread and games – that screamed even louder when those games were taken away from them.

Those tender souls who are bleeding over the injustice perpetrated against the merry foulmouthed pranksters in the name of fighting »hypocrisy« are only decrying the games being taken away from them.
And it is certainly no coincidence that it all comes at a time when »bread« is being taken from many, much too many.

Let it pass; let the ante slip, tiny millimeter by tiny millimeter at a time.
(And public outrage IS the most reliable indicator of where the ante is, and whether the slip has been swift, whether it is »too much«, or not.)

And then one day, very soon, we'll have sexual intercourse on public TV.
(Oh right: it already happened, I am told. In one - or two - of them "reality shows".)

Next stop, the gladiator games.
(You don't think so? Just drive by any accident scene and count the masses gathering to observe the blood and gore.)

Human psychology does NOT change through the ages. Only the common standards of acceptability change.

Which is why reading the deluge of comments by all those self-complacent "tolerant" souls, bashing the BBC for its (far too mild!) decision, terrifies me far, FAR more than anything unfortunate Jonathan Ross might have said.

***

BONUS: Here is a tangentially relevant piece of writing (about the games in ancient Romes) that you might find interesting: Blood, Sweat, and Cheers.

The fading sky over Europe

A historic airport closes.
The greatest shopping centre in Europe opens.


Do you see a correlation between these two events?
I do.
(But that may be because I am particularly angry at the shortsightedness of the world today.)

For many commentators, the Tempelhof airport in Berlin symbolises the Cold War.
(Although I suspect it wouldn't if they hadn't read it in some clever-sounding editorial or something.)

I don't think very many people really associate it with the Cold War or anything like that.
But presumably all of us do associate, naturally so, airports with the open sky of the world – because there IS just one sky over the world.
With the mystery of the unknown- called »future« - awaiting us.
With »freedom«, perhaps (because such an elusive concept is bound to have many »symbols«, all imperfect and not-quite-there).

And it certainly does more than symbolise the outward MOVEMENT of openness, of the will to transgress frontiers, to go further (and now we're wading into the morass of symbolism again ;))

Closing an airport means closing a gate, a door, an escape – symbolically, yes, but then again, man IS a creature who lives and dies by symbols.


What does a shopping centre – or »mall«, as the Americans call it – symbolise?
Convenience. Consumption (not, not tuberculosis). 
Contentment - of sorts.

All of the above, of course, may translate into the ninth circle of Dante's hell, or a nightmare at the very least. (As it does for me.)

Or it may represent the gates of heaven. (As it does for an aunt of mine.)

You don't have to go far to unearth the gist of shopping centres' function - it is served to you on every step, often implicit or explicit in the advertisements – or even in their names - that beckon you to come and enjoy parting with your money.
Every self-respecting shopping centre aspires to be, and presents itself as, a »mini town«. A »town within a town«. A »city within a city«. (See what I mean? This implicit concentric movement really is eerily reminiscent of the circles of hell... :)

The ideal implicit in shopping centres is that you don't have to go anywhere else to get whatever you »want«.
Self-enclosure.
Forget the »world«: all you »need« is right here.
Except that, in opposition to Maeterlinck's Blue Bird, the »here« does not signify your home sweet home – it signifies the place where you can spend the money for which you work and purchase a semblance of happiness. Not even that: a simulacrum of contentment. No, not even that: a precious lapse of time of not-thinking.

Is that good enough for us?

I remember when I first visited the desert and climbed out of a tent, at night (I had fallen asleep during the day, my first day there), I gasped so loudly that somebody thought I had been bitten by a cobra or something.
I had looked at the sky above me – and I had seen the desert stars. They were so HUGE, and there were so many of them, that – I swear to you, this is true – they looked like a large fleet of extraterrestrial UFO hovering overhead.

That's because I had never seen stars like that: so many, so bright.
And yet, there are out there, all the time.
It's just that I don't see them.

I don't even know why I remembered this incident; but it may have something to do with the pale neon lights that are so characteristic of urban life and, especially, of shopping malls – so far removed from nature, from genuine, God-given beauty.

The skies are closing above our heads.

That's how it feels. It's irrational – in opposition to everything that contemporary technology and the apparent brotherhood of man via the internet indicates – but that's how it feels.



How will the angels find us?

(You don't believe in them?
I don't, either.
Which is all the more reason why we need to be found by them.)

I'll have to rewrite this.
Just not today.

Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to think more clearly.
Or maybe I'll wake up content. Un-thinking.
Un-happy.

Where the hell are YOU going?

I don't like Halloween.
(Nor do most of my friends and "associates".)

It's probably the least interesting of the American cultural exports.
Personally, I find it boring and trite, especially in its "darker" incarnations.

Because there's nothing funnier - or more boring - than innocent nitwits trying to appear "powerful" and "dangerous", hence "exciting".
Stray lambs trying to appear as wolves.

What's not so funny (but still boring) is that they equate "power" and "excitement" with destructive behaviour and inflicting pain.

What they are really transgressing is only their own (abandoned?) hopes of a bright and happy life, a life of love, light, and, yes, innocence.

But, true to my promise of steadfast triviality, here is a »Halloween« offering for you - although you might find it slightly different than its usual pumpkin incarnations.

First, test your level of impurity, sin, and damnation:

Are you going to Hell?

(Ha – you think I am joking...?)

If you are not bad enough to qualify, you might still want to visit and see what you are missing:

A Virtual Tour of (Dante's) Hell

And if you are as little interested in this subject as I am, you may want to visit this space a little later, when other - no less hellish - things will be discussed.


Meanwhile... have fun.

RED-HOT MAMA!

Ready for red?
You better be.

This just in:

Dress RED for success (among men, that is)

(It doesn't seem to work on females.
I am assuming turkeys are all male, then...?)

So, ready or not, here they come: legions of redly dressed women, invading our cities and countryside like the Huns of yore, to ravage our retinas.

Until the next groundbreaking (shouldn't that be groin-breaking?) "scientific study", that is...




(Borrowed from Lynx.)

See Jane go mad. See Dick chop head.

Being somewhat familiar with human psychology - and with the inner works of the media - I always found it profoundly irritating when I heard self-important "pundits"and "media experts" (even some "psychology experts") deny any lasting impact of behaviours - particularly recurring patterns* of violence and/or graphic gratuitous sex - depicted on TV and in cinema (and now the internet) on the viewers, especially those in the formative stages of their development.

I found them either disingenuous - which would inevitably lead to rather sinister conclusions regarding their intentions - or... well, stupid. There is no other word for it.

In either case, such "experts" had no business lecturing the public - even overtly mocking those who were concerned.

But, interestingly enough, I have noticed such opinions becoming more and more muted, less and less prominent in the past few years - in the first years of this not-so-brave new millenium. (BTW, do you know anyone who loves the new millenium so far?)

What made them pause?

Was it the many school shootings, in the USA and other places of the globe?

Or would those "experts" still insist and perhaps attribute the swift spread of this cultural phenomenon (yes, we are at a point when we actually have to call school shootings a "cultural phenomenon") to some sort of virus?
A contagious insanity? 
What spreads it? Rats? Pigeons? What?
And I wonder how would those same people respond to the same question today.

Because this is today's news:

Skinheads plan killing 88 people and beheading 14 African-Americans


Beheading?
My, it's becoming quite a fashion, isn't it?

I haven't been really counting, but it strikes me there has been a remarkable increase in the popularity of this practice, which was once upon a time, not so long ago, considered (and often misinterpreted) in modern Western societies as an especially gruesome, culturally alien - "barbaric" in the true meaning of the word - way of terminating someone's life.

I am not going to count them even now, but I can think of at least three or four cases of people parading someone else's detached head - in public - in the past few months alone.

But, interestingly, no such cases occurred prior to the early 2000's, which brought to our TV screens the infamous, gut-rending sight of kidnapped individuals in orange jumpers, with their abductors wielding sables in the proximity of their necks - and more than that, FAR more than that, on internet sites that feed on morbid curiosity.

(Not that it matters - not one bit - but yours truly has never watched such a video, nor do I intend to.)


This is not the place to discuss the reasons for and against airing such videos. Some other time, perhaps.
But I would like one - just one! - of those anything-goes apologists of yore to come and tell us that the media does nothing to desensitise the viewing public, that people do not imitate what they see on their screens; that the media does not influence people's view of what is acceptable - and what is shocking.

Would they still have the dubious guts of looking people in the eye and claiming that there is no such influence?

I am not sure they would. And, frankly, I don't care.

The damage has been done. Thresholds of tolerance have been breached - long ago - and there is no going back.

"Shock value" is more than a term. In a society that craves notoriety at all price, even "shock value" really is a - value. We see that every day, in seedy pictures everywhere. Only, starlets publicly displaying their very private parts and other such cultural "icons" is just the tip of an iceberg. And tastelessness is the least dangerous of the shocking "values" currently in use.

Now, confronted with an increasingly global culture of violence, we have to find a way of radically healing the minds, of young people especially (and I don't know how this could be done) - or else, the world as we once knew it will sink in its own violence.

Who needs "terrorists" to bring down the "Western civilisation"?

This civilisation will behead itself.With its own sword, by its own hand.

***

For a somewhat more sedate - and coherent - expose on the same subject, go here:

The media doesn't influence us... except when it does

(and related articles)


NOTE (*)
When there are no recurring, systematically observed - i.e. memorable and thus easily mimicked - patterns, when gratuitous violence (and other excessive behaviours) is dispersed in a variety of "random" manifestations, any excesses are much more likely to remain outside the frame of the common cultural code of expression (In every group or society there are thresholds, progressively transgressed, of behaviour - i.e. of what "we DO" and what "we do NOT do". Even destructive, "negative" behaviour has its code of general acceptability.)

They are still potentially damaging, but at least they don't spread as easily - and they are far less alluring to would-be "copycats".

RELATED CONTENT:
The Right to Violence and Cynicism

Hugged by a tree

I was embraced by a tree last night.
The night before last night, actually.

I have been battling a cosmic battle for the past year and a half.
(I know this sounds pompous, even ridiculous. Most transcendent personal truths do.)

And I have been - still am - battling it alone.
(That is the only way to fight cosmic battles. If you do get allies, they are unlikely to be obvious. Or even people, for that matter.)

But being a fighter can be lonely.
It's the loneliness what makes it so exhausting.
It's the loneliness what makes you. Or breaks you.

The night before last night I really needed a hug.
Not just any hug.
I wanted to be hugged by the one person whose hug means EVERYTHING to me - or else, by something greater than myself. By the Cosmos, my battle companion and adversary. (Well, not really: my ignorance and fears are my adversary. The Cosmos is just a mirror.)

I went for a walk.
I ended up in a little park - just a lawn with a few trees, really; and the dark night sky above me.

I've always loved trees.
Always: even as a baby, a newborn.
And they have always inspired a certain awe in me. They still do.
It's a natural kind of awe: an affectionate respect for them, for their mighty silence, for their benevolent power.
(I know it sounds like animistic adoration, but it isn't. And even if it were... well, that's a way of "loving God", too. It certainly beats adoring shoes and stuff.)

And so, badly needing a hug, I decided I should give one.
I walked to a tree that was standing near a bench, and I put my left arm around it, as I would put an arm around a beloved shoulder.

I had never "hugged" a tree like that before - never like I would hug a person. Un-selfconsciously.

As I did that, as I leaned with my arm around it, with its bark against my side, I felt being hugged back. That rugged bark, in the proximity of my heart, was warm with life. And my own hug, the hug I gave, felt like a hug received.
Still with my arm firmly around it, I leaned my head against the tree, as I would lean on a beloved shoulder.
And I felt supported.
I felt hugged like I was never hugged before.
I felt comforted to the core of my being.

It was an unexpected experience. Unexpected in its force.
Unexpected in the responsiveness of all that is to my silent yearning.

It is sad, really.
For a year and a half, I have been asking the Cosmos to listen to me, extorting an answer, singing broken-hearted songs to coax mercy, to soften the ever-soft, water-soft heart of the Universe, fencing my way through a hall of mirrors and mirages...
Why, then, was I surprised by this very simple and profoundly real experience?
How am I supposed to "manage" the Universe to my will, if I am surprised even by the simple fact - intuitively and intellectually acknowledged for years! - that you can feel connected to a non-human being?

As you can tell, I am still thinking about that tree and the profoundly comforting "hug" I received from it.
I am still feeling it, to the core of my being.

I can see that tree from one of my windows.
In fact, I could see it - even now, when its dark branches are indistinguishable from the deep darkness that precedes dawn - if I just turned my head to the left.

Yes, I am still feeling that warm embrace; and I am still shocked by the unexpected comfort it brought me when I was looking for just that: comfort.

I feel it standing there, like a sentry in the night, looking for me - looking after me.

Which is why I do not turn my head.
Which is why I am avoiding even the sight of it.

I know it is not "looking" for me.
I know it is a mirror - nothing more (and nothing less).
But something is there, in that dark, bewildered river that runs from my heart to the memory of that hug, of that tree, standing out there right now, overseeing my windows from inside the night. There is a shared heart beating through the darkness, as if echoing the heartbeat of my former self, of myself as I would like to be again, of myself as I exist in the mirror that I only saw once, I think.
Or maybe I just dreamt about it.

I am avoiding the sight of that tree because I felt embraced by it.
I am avoiding it, as I always avoid anyone who has really embraced me.
Because I don't feel I can ever return their sentiment.
I am a mirage. You can't love mirages for long.
They desert you.
(Which is why they are so common in deserts, I suppose - haha)


I wanted to write something else - something completely different.
But now I can't. The birds are starting to chirp, and the sleeping pills are starting to take hold of my mind. And life is too short for ramblings.

Trees deserve better than that.

And so do you. ;)

(I'll be adding the name of the author as soon as I find it.)

Here are trees that need your love and attention:

A forest in Sweden and An oak in France

Here is man who once scoffed at "tree huggers",
like you are scoffing at me now
(no, not you - the other you):

Come hug a tree with me

Here is one of the most inspiring stories you'll ever read:

And here is a primer in trees and natural magic,
should you need one:

If you find the philosophy behind it befuddling or unfamiliar, visit the link withing The Silent Light. Once you are befuddled no more, your real life will have started.
(And no, it has nothing whatsoever to with Madonna or any other celebrity.)

I am a ficus, hear me roar

OK, she is not really a ficus: in reality, she's a Hoya, AKA wax plant (AKA waxvine).
And while she may be roaring, we're unlikely to ever hear her.
But we can read her.
And she's greener than you'll ever be.


In fact, her very name is - Green.
Midori-san: the Honourable Green One.


Ms. Green.

The Blogging Plant

But there is a reason why I chose "ficus" for my oh-so-innovative title about our newest fellow blogger. Years (and years, and years) ago, I read that plants from the Ficus genus are the most sensitive among all the plants. (And plants being far more sensitive than humans, that's saying A LOT).

And I have a story or two that would corroborate that impression.


But more on them some other time.


Meanwhile, and assuming you're as unable to read Japanese as I am, you can read a book - an old classic - that might change your outlook on life: