Nocturnal emissions

I confess, I have been holding back.

The good stuff remains in my analogue journal, written with my Waterwoman pen.

Forth! she sobs.

Many moons ago, with the Great Recession still waxing on the horizon, poetically, say, a pale crescent to today’s nigh three-quarter full, yet, note, still rising, having not yet reached its full effulgence, I noticed a friend of mine had omitted his written blog from the blogosphere, although his photo album remained.

Because he had been laid off, he explained. After I queried. And was looking for work. Words, opinions, speech might be too dangerous, might hinder his chances of obtaining a job. Whereas images are innocent, I presume. Inoffensive. Without risk.

Two things:

First, tell that to Leni Riefenstahl.

Second, does that mean we have become a culture of say nothing, opine nothing, for fear of offense, or retribution? Please, please, please everyone? Does that mean employers seek the mentally enfeebled, malleable, or acquiescent? On the corporate side of the blogosphere, also say nothing, appeal to the lowest common denominator, and, above all else, consume consume consume…

How very John Cagian. Or Jean Baudriallard-esque. Or, to quote Don DeLillo,

“To consume, in America, is not to buy, but to dream…”

while encouraging every ad man in America to go out and buy, and actually read, this time around, Americana. And maybe be surprised by its prescience. Here we are, still shooting the moon, long after the dream has turned into a nightmare.

…And I am saying it anyway.

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