Art? More Like Fart

I’m getting pretty tired of this push to call everything some sort of art form.  You see it the most with people online talking about video games, or at least, that’s where the rhetoric is at its most obnoxious.  Categorize video games in their proper place and preclude any possibility that they could be works of art and suddenly the pretentious YouTube reviewer fan squads start crawling out of the woodwork enraged as if you’ve leveled an insult directly at them.

I’ve been meaning to do a Friday longpost on the topic of art and video games for a while, but other topics have been taking priority.  The details and actual argumentation for what I’m saying will be ironed out in that, if I ever get around to writing it.  Maybe it’ll be this week!

In the meantime, sit back and think about what art is and means and whether leveling the accusation “This thing here is a work of art!” is in any way a compliment.  The term itself has become so degraded over the last century that it’s no surprise that there’s so much confusion surrounding it, but at the same time, given all the awful, ugly, emotionally- and intellectually-stunted pieces of garbage that have been churned out by the contemporary art world over the last couple of generations, it makes one wonder how exactly the word “art” can still be viewed in a favorable light.  I guess that goes to show the resiliency of some words in their ability to retain meaning, since most people hopefully still think of Rembrandt or Michelangelo rather than whatever can be found in the Hirschhorn this weekend.

Either that, or somehow, the contemporary art world still carries a fair bit of prestige despite the obviousness of its nepotistic self-indulgence and its shameless lack of talent.  I find it hard to believe anyone would be that gullible that isn’t already born in that circle, though.

 

Goodbye, Intellectual Dork Web

Haven’t posted for the last couple days. Sorry about that! Been working on this piece in the mean time. Strap in, because it’s a bit on the longer side.

qnuw

This piece was prompted by one of this blogger’s favorite whipping posts: Jordan B. Peterson’s credibility and incomprehensibility.  Those of us waiting for the other shoe to drop have been vindicated, at least until the other-other shoe drops and the entire network of these clowns, Peterson included, are revealed to be part of the very machine they were organized to stand in opposition to.  I don’t think that has happened yet, but rest assured, it will soon enough.

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I’m Pretty Sure Jordan Peterson is Tom Hiddleston

You have never seen these two men in the same place at the same time.  By all accounts, their lives and lifestyles are such that they would have no reason to be seen together.  What better way to hide a psyop on the disenfranchised young white men of the West than to use a man who is, by all accounts, a mediocre actor, and contract him into the role of a Canadian father-in-absentia?

Drag up images of these two guys.  It’s right out in the open.  Aging make-up and prosthetics account for the subtle differences in skin tone and face structure.  They’re about the same height.  But the really damning thing?  Peterson’s ad-hoc manner of speaking reveals a general comfort with improvisation—and not simply the improvisation necessary to lecture, but the improvisation necessary to act opposite of people.  What he’s saying might be complete word salad (in fact, most of the time, it’s exactly that), but that’s because, of course, Hiddleston isn’t a psychologist or a philosopher.  He just plays one on stage.

Hiddleston doesn’t need to be well-versed in psychology to fool anyone.  He just needs to have read the quick run-downs of Jung and Nietzsche; anything he improvises that clashes with those can be chocked up to personal license.  And he can have his books ghost-written by the same crew that ghost-writes all of the memoirs of US Presidents and senators.

But you might be saying, “Merri, what the hell?  Wouldn’t it be easier to just find a gullible and guilt-laden professor from some Canadian university to push a globalist agenda while ostensibly attempting to stave off the inevitable radicalization of the youth?”

I guess.


In other news, QNUW’s podcast has its third episode up.  Give it a listen, though if you’ve been following the main blog then you’ve already read it.  I’m not that big into this podcasting gig yet, but I’m learning the ropes and I feel like I’m getting a little better.  This recent ep should be up on youtube by tomorrow night.

How the Hell do I Organize this Crap

I do not have too many books.  I don’t.  In fact, by my estimation, I’m probably a few hundred short.  For now.

That said, however, I haven’t figured out how to organize them.  Last year, I thought I’d found the answer: alphabetical order by the author’s last name.  Seems reasonable enough for an amateur’s library, right?

Wrong.

The problem is that most of my books are nonfiction.  A great many of them are works by famous writers—the Greeks, the classics, etc.—but a great many more are of more contemporary writers whose names can sometimes be hard to remember.  A couple of years ago, I didn’t have enough of these things to matter.  Now, apparently I do.  In fact, it’s gotten chronic enough that at some point, while I was reshuffling the stacks to the right when I had to add into the shelves a newly arrived order of books, I somehow took a whole stack of the “H” section and dropped it a full shelf down without even realizing it.  I had to check something from Hegel and found it, along with five other Hs, in the middle of the Ks.

My wife suggested using the Dewey Decimal System, or maybe the system used by the Library of Congress.  She worked as a librarian’s assistant when she was in high school, so I should probably listen to her.  I don’t think I have quite enough volume for that yet, but it’s a good goal.  She also suggested just separating them up by genre—philosophy, history, theology, whatever—which was how I’d had it before.  I forget why I changed it up.  It probably had to do with some works blurring genres and my retarded self not willing to pick a category.

If any of you have any advice, please send it my way.

The Tyranny of Morality by Consent

The Friday Essay:

qnuw

Stop.  You’re in your mid-twenties, bored, somewhat educated, and free on a Friday night.  Your friends invite you to go out and barhop for a few hours.  Maybe you’ll get drunk and just go home a few dollars poorer, dragging yourself back to the apartment you rent with five other people after a night of dancing, boozing, and casual light drug use.  Or maybe you’ll hit it lucky this Friday evening and hook up with somebody who’s got cute eyes, good legs, and just the right amount of alcohol tolerance. 

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A Fat Christian Bale, aka “Dick Cheney”

Oh look, another movie about things that didn’t really happen that way by the guys that made that other movie about things that didn’t really happen that way.  Yes, it’s about what you think it is, and yes, it will be spun exactly the way you think it will be.  What more could our contemporary political climate need if not poorly-disguised social engineering to pad out a comfortable, fifteen-year-old narrative?

The worst part of this trailer isn’t even the story or necessarily its content.  Political thrillers and comedies based on real events are a staple of popular culture and have been since medieval times, though the contemporary obsession with false depictions of real events and the confusion of fantasy for reality might make this sort of Saturday Night Live-style dramedy a little more obnoxious than it needs to be.

The worst part of this trailer is how absurdly tryhard it looks.

You can tell from the expressions of the actors that their impressions are driven out of malice.  Good impressions of people carry both the good and the bad of the person being impersonated; it requires the actor to have enough insight and finesse to pay a tribute to them, even if the tribute is poking fun at some aspect of their demeanor or highlighting some aspect of their character.  But the Bush Administration’s real life players have been so hated by the sub-90 IQ entertainers in the industry that I don’t think you could find anyone willing to do an honest, even if negative, portrayal of Number 43, much less anyone in his cabinet.

So what you’ll get instead is a series of performances of comparable caliber to your drunk friends pretending it’s 2004 again.  Watch Sam Rockwell’s expressions—it’s like he’s not even aware of how stupid he looks.  Oh, but isn’t that the point, right, since Good’ole Dubya was stupid too?  Maybe if you’re doing a 3 minute sketch on SNL, Sam, but this is a two-hour movie.  What the hell are you doing, man?

And of course, Christian Serious-Actor Bale, so dedicated to his craft that he’s willing, even though he doesn’t want to, to put away a good fifty pounds for an overlong cold open sketch, will be the biggest draw of the film.  Movies today are not stories and spectacles made to distract us from the daily drudgery, they’re performances of ego made to glorify the vanity of the personalities that occupy Hollywood.

Is anyone going to this movie to watch a story, however stupidly-written, about the Bush Administration?  Or are they going to watch Christian Bale and Sam Rockwell and Amy Adams pretend to be members of a political group?  The movie wouldn’t exist without the specific actors they got.  The cult of personality is the whole point.  What a joke!

Find This Guy.

https://twitter.com/DevinSenaUI/status/1047478113544888321

“I meant to kick her phone.”  Of course he did.  It was just supposed to be a silly, quirky thing, right?  Hey, I have a super-cool idea: I’ll roundhouse kick her phone out of her hands after she accuses the people I’m running with of the destruction of private property! 

Oh shit. W-well, I meant to kick her phone!

You can see it written on his face.  He carries every mark of the smug, self-satisfied sort of delusion that these young Antifa-style protesters have nowadays.  It’s a stare that doesn’t even reach you, because his sense of identifying with the world is so poisoned that he can’t even see beyond his own ego.

These people, and I use the word people loosely here, deserve far more shit flung at them than they’re getting.  It’s not enough to simply say, “this sort of behavior is unacceptable.”  We’ve known it’s unacceptable.  That’s part of the reason it happens—its one of the few forms of rebellion left.  But it can’t be tolerated: start taking names, start getting people like this thrown out.  The left has been doing it for decades.  Fight back.

Fitting that this happened at a pro-life rally, given last night’s post.  These people are defending outright butchery under the guise of humanitarianism.  But you already know that.  Take a good look at them.  A good look.  These people are not simply lost.  They have surrendered to evil.  Until they are willing or capable of repentance, they are your enemy.  Love them, as Christ commands us to, but do not forget that they are your enemy.

I mean, this guy even carries a pentagram around his neck.  How much more obvious does this have to be?