I had originally envisioned this post going to my art blog, but after getting the play-by-play of the season finale (Yes, Virginia, there is a God, and we have been granted a respite.) of Ah-mur-kan Idle, this post definitely needed to find its way to my "angst blog." Definitely.
If you don't know about Plazm, you should.
Check it out. http://plazm.com/
It's going to get a permalink too, I'm thinking...
I do not watch television for a reason. And, as I was getting the scoop on that wretched show referenced above, I am thankful to a merciful God that I do not waste precious and finite fossil fuel resources on television viewing.
At this point, I am tempted to find myself a little villa in Sicily where television and internet access are rare, drink some local wine, and work on my tan. That or go expatriate myself in Los Angeles.
The recount of the TV show has made me feel decidedly unclean. I feel I must watch my illicitly obtained copy of "Broken" in order to restore my sensibilities.
The following is from the inaugural issue of Plazm Magazine.
Declaration of Scene Dependence
Originally published in Plazm #1, page #1, circa 1991
When in the course of the endless stream of eclectic weekend soirees, and grunge rock networking frenzies, it becomes necessary to dissolve the socio politico bands which have connected what we define as scene with what those of other cities, you know the ones, have haphazardly defined as scenes, but in doing so placed constraints on their creativity and manners of self-expression (usually motivated by the hint of the big carrot), and to assume, among the powers of the Earth, the separate and equal stations to which the laws of social interaction, party hopping, and Walt Curtis, entitle them.
We hold these truths to be self evident, that all nihilistic-hippy-entrepreneurial-ararcho-disaffected-forlorn youth spent listening to the fringe of industrial "Baudelaire" music-Kerowackian-just a day job-tartaric espresso drinkers- 3 a.m. the Smiths are playing-your lover's left-it's all too real-sink back into the comfort of sporty mixed drink-mind blasting-too many drug taking-potential rock star-first persons to make millions from Beat Poetry-conspiracy understanders-where does Mondo 2000 get all that money, anyway-Williamette Week thirty second flippers-glorious new age harbingers are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator(s) ((Warhol, Burroughs, and some unheard of French philosopher who has been tapping your dreams, and will soon publish your stream of consciousness to rave reviews)) with certain inalienable rights; life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness (and maybe a good taco, every once in a while).
That the oppression of contemporary mass manipulation has reached such a level as to demand the actions we are taking. Through the realization that this is the moment, and that its integrity is defined by our acceptance of each other, and not by a section in Pulse, a blurb in Spin. That through our endeavors to promote harmonious, well lit, social interaction we will be the catalyst for true global change. The community should be bonded by the common goals of preserving "the ultimate party," and the freedoms that enhance and enable, even bands without talent, to thrive and prosper. The processes of democracy have been assailed long enough, and it is imperative that we, as citizens of the United States, commit every aspect of our lives to assuming the means of production of our own scene, and all the catering, decoration, and guest list responsibilities that are our God given rights. Thus, on this day July, Seventh, Nineteen Hundred and Ninety One, the good citizens of Portland do hereby declare their Scenedependence, and establish the structures of self-government, and open bars, necessary for the operation of a free society.
How forward-sighted was that?
Well, given the lame-assed status quo of 2007, at any rate.
As one who has always done the scene but wasn't necessarily into being seen, I can seriously appreciate the spirit with which that piece was inspired.
Popular culture is the enemy of thought, freedom, and expression.
There have always been many pretentions and poseurs and pseudo-angst as suitable sideshow fodder to any scene.... Oh, I really don't want to go there now, do I. Perhaps another time.
Adobe Magazine has been reborn in an online format. I mention this due to its current-issue connection with Plazm. (You'll just have to find out for yourself). Also because it is a worthwhile publication, and I am glad to see the phoenix rise from the ashes.
I'm off to go a-knitting now. Rest assured, this isn't your grandma's idea of knitting....
