7.25.2011
7.24.2011
7.13.2011
The Culture of Death Has it's Muse
This is the muse for the culture of death; the fashion of eugenics, sterility, non-individualism, anti-humanity, disease, and resource depletion. Washed out, antiseptic, outfitted with rubbery gloves, and replacement face (grown on the ass of a pig no doubt) and a neck bound in ace bandage to hide the sutures of Dr. Frankenstein. A plug, like 300 million others to be inserted into a Lagerfeld designed socket. The clinical appearance is like the angel of death -no, the administer-er of death, John Holdren's frozen hearted minion; a walking hypodermic needle filled with poison but labeled as progress. Not post-modern. Not post-Gaga. More like post-pestilence.
I can just see this as Agenda 21's propaganda poster: "We fracked your farms and strip-mined your mountains. Why worry? Move to the Habitation Zone. All your needs will be met. Compliance will get you designer outerwear and a VIP ticket to the Kevorkian Club, the happenenest nightspot in the new industrial wasteland!"
Our Lady of Bio-hazard. or, TSA stasi: "next in line!" Restrained and hobbled in fashion. Straight-jackety burkaesque bullshit.
What is this? Xenu's condom? If you kill me, clean up will be a snap. An outfit to mimic dead filmy skin or discarded crustacean shells rotting on a corpse. What the hell did they put on her arms? Doll parts, eh Courtney? Whatever was real will be replaced with a hologram of what once was. Have you heard all this bullshit about merging with machines and longevity? Google Kurzweil.
At last we arrive at self destruction. The choke pose with uncle Ernie's Pedophiliac dream gloves. Fiddle about! Radiation head gear and goggles for the sulfuric skies. Google the Tilda Swinton W spread and read all the gushing tributes to the "sexy androgynous alien". You know what? Id never put those three words together. The art reflects the culture. There is great acclaim for the photographer and I have no quarrel with the quality of the photographs. Or even the arty styling -for a death culture spread its right on the money. But what it says about us is terrifying, and that the watchers are gushing alarms me.
Labels: death culture, horror, Tilda Swinton, ugliness, W magazine