On Mass Culture

To hell with mass culture, the term itself has no relevance in an age of niche markets and consumer controlled entertainment. Moreover, psychologically it (along with consumer electronics) encourage us to consume more, when we need to be consuming right.

Why don't we need mass culture? Why is it bad for our cultural health? It, like a massive battleship, is too burdened with itself to move quickly enough to address dire local issues. It crushes the beating heart of New York that needs to find expression.

It overlooks the dangers--and the beauty that stands outside our souls. Mass Culture does not serves us. It serves a nebulous bottom line of internationally held media conglomerates.

Analog Stoicism #1

Analog Culture puts people back in touch with the good things in life the digital age has clouded. It's inherent physicality keeps us grounded in reality in a world polluted by artificiality. The crackling scratch of vinyl against needle, the creak of light impressing upon film, and the snap of a typekey against paper--these seemingly mundane actions are anchors telling our brain that what we are doing is undeniably real.

Given the barrage of messages and visual stimuli we are confronted with daily, the distinction between falsification and truth (which is at the heart of any philosophical discourse) becomes dire.

- The Commodore

9/29/08

I stay up 'til Seven
Go to Sleep at One
Struggle to keep my eyes open,
and feel like a bum.

I drink bristol creme
and It tastes too sugary sweet,
but its all I can afford
to give solace a treat.

Apathetic Lesbians

A few more swigs of Jim Beam and a PBR later I notice two women enter who resemble Tegan and Sara. A short Italian man and his Indian companion attempt to make small talk but the duo dismiss them. The two men are commonly dressed and stand out amongst the deep v-neck tee shirts and pointy leather boots the other patrons wear. I wait a few moments to give the illusion that I'm uninterested in the dismissive women before trying my hand at penetrating their sapphic wall.

I approach the bar to order another drink and stand beside the two women that I believe to be a couple. They sip their cocktails without emotion and this perturbs me. Why so serious, my darlings?

“You guys look excited.” I observe, with a sheepish smile.

One simply turns her head to stare out the window and the other wordlessly stares at the apex of my flat top. They tacitly acknowledge one another's exasperation. Disgusted, the lesbians move to gather their belongings and leave having been hit on by three different men within 10 minutes of entering the bar.

I'm not bothered, but the distinct memory of having sex with a girl in Boston who now exclusively dates women flashes in my mind.

What a breed.

From the Diary of an Analog Bachelor by The Commodore

Bad Influence

We sat on my cold marble floor, stoned, staring at a computer simulation of two atoms colliding on my laptop. As a rule, I hated smoking weed but when I came across a girl who made me want to voluntarily undermine my philosophical precepts, I indulged the bad habit.

“So cool.” she whispered, the reflection of the computer screen against her glasses hiding her brown eyes.

“Watch.” I replied in a hushed voice.

An explosion of turquoise and magenta lines created a theoretical representation of the big bang. We felt apart of the cosmic birth, humbled to experience the process of creation.

“So this is what you do for a living?” she asked.

“I don't do the calculations, I just program the simulations.” I paused, “That rhymed.”

We collapsed against one another in silence as hilarity seized the air from our lungs. The wave of the orgasmic laughing fit subsided and we returned to our stupefied state, now sitting slightly closer to one another.

“And then you get stoned and watch them?” she said, eyes drilling into mine.

“No. You're just a bad influence.”

- The Commodore

Imperfect

"Our parents are in Libya, or Dubai, or some other foreign paradise."

The corn fields of society sprawled out in front of me in a neon blue pulsating grid. The simplicity of faint LED read outs from imperfect FM radio waves gave me a sense of comfort only whiskey and a heap of a trashy brunette 90s girl hair in my face could augment. Society intelligent and clean. Equalized against over indulgence and patronizing glares.

- The Commodore

Civilizations Inferno

A man burns in civilizations inferno, flailing about for an exit.

It starts in the pit of his cerebral cortex and spreads as unfulfilled neurons turn upon one another.

The doe faced stare of satiated masses give a programmed smirk and Stay Tuned for These Messages.

He glowers underneath cape and cowl and skitters away, too incredulous to give reason to his words.

He coughs up chunks of logic that pool from his mouth in a kaleidoscope of premonitions that people should know--

But are too repulsed to notice.

- The Commodore