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April 22, 2005
Two scenarios both horrifying and true
Light Heart of the Theoretical Vomitorium
If those wedding photos of a certain leering, bloated decadent ž-list celebrity theorist didn't have you heaving copiously (in which case you have a stronger stomach than I) then there's always this as a mild supplementary emetic (via hoonology central).
At times like this, dé-liaison seems like a mighty wise idea.
White Magic Mountain
And then...Nietzsche's vigil at Sils-Maria updated as a neverending philosophical cocktail party for the global élite. The furnishings are plush. The 'language of instruction' is ethico-textualist academic English (an only-apparently-opposed weird twin to venture-capitalist marketing-speak) -" but the wire transfers flooding in from well-off american families and wisdom-seeking burnt-out professionals are routed to swiss bank accounts. Apparently recondite philosophical theses appended by labyrinthine copyright notices and global exploitation clauses in tiny type. An old-world opulence, and yet everything is contemporary, by order of the management: It's something of a watchword, this place is 'of our time' or it is nothing; it captures the epoch comprehensively and exclusively, to the envy of all. Just like the décor, every one of the star turns is unimpeachably contemporary (and, of course, european -" this latter a declaration of political intent rather than natality). The list is in perfect taste, and complete -" none refuse (perhaps none dare), they are disgorged from bullet-proof limousine-electrovehicles (the canton operates a strict no-car policy in the heights) -" old, tired men feigning fusty bedazzlement in order to obscure from themselves their true predicament, occasionally a glamorous young wife in tow (all expenses paid) -" into the entrance hall, over which presides a twenty-foot wide fine wrought-iron coat of arms designed by the Presidential Board. Clutching their papers which will address the contemporary situation, they head for the bar. Meanwhile, at the top of a tower in the east wing, a figure sits, watching from his window the mists pouring down the mountain. Tubes and wires affix him to multiform devices that pump blood, breathe for him, shoot hormones, stimulants and sedatives into his worn-out veins. His yellowing, decaying hand, studded with gold sovereign rings, strokes a purring white cat named sophia. He growls to himself: ..."And if you think education is expensive, try ignorance."
Posted by robin at April 22, 2005 05:17 PM