Do Not Censor
by Craig Podmore
In the name of television,
Jonestown, by Craig Podmore
Do Not Censor is divided into two sections, Fiction and Reality. Craig Podmore investigates the blurred line between the two in a manner that reflects how reality operates in a post-millenarist culture of movie snuff and sex consumption. It reveals its hard edges much in the way drunken starlets upload their sex tapes to feed a cannibalising machine that will have their blood..
The Ghosts in the Machine of Fiction parade their post-mortem selves as desired objects that have burnt their image into our irises. Distracting icons who hid a multitude whilst revealing generous acres of flesh. These are the abbatoir-hung victims of a real masochistic need for adulation, and they are in the hands of the sadist advertiser.
from, The Polemic
Where Beth Short lay
Cut like a perfect film clip-
Her body edited and framed.
The raven dreamer
Took the murder scene stage;
The world shocked, bereaved-
Death performance, a media sensation.’
Marilyn, Elizabeth Short, Betty Page, icons of the industrial non-culture of post-WWII and Hiroshima, huge projected fellatrices and suicides, whose addictions fed (and feeds) psychotic addiction to non-reality. They are the very real reality of the undead icon. Here is the underbelly of vocalisation that Tom Waits sang in Sweet Little Bullet From A Pretty Blue Gun. Save now the underbelly is writ large across an abattoir of ghastly smiles in every newsagent across western civilisation. A trickle down of Hollywood snuff culture into every home that bothers to buy it. Turn away from it :
Hollywood Is A Correctional Facility
‘The teenage girl
Etching ‘Destroy’ onto her
Book of Revelations.
That Greta Garbo wears’.
The Reality section of Do Not Censor is not problematic, it is emblematic. Here celluloid snuff is played out on shopping streets and in motel rooms. Here the sociopath or psychopath whose head is filled with Hollywood BDSM victimization gets their kicks in a two dimensional world. The type of psychopathy that leads to massacres at premieres, or robot warfare in suburban neighbourhoods.
Gunmen On The High Street
‘Morality is absent in consumerism
As the gunmen shoot the shoppers down
But the shoppers are numb to the bullets
As they arise and continue to shop.’
The reader needn’t assume the role of judge given the toxicity of post-milleniarism. The screen plays out Hollywood-snuff in the blurred lines between how a reality is perceived, and how it is writ large onto that tarnished screen where audiences are umbilically fed a diet of 50 ft buttocks and botoxed faces.
Daily Masturbation and Internal bleeding
‘Porn star dialogue
For the menial tasks
And biblical passages
For the erotically charged
Acts of Murder.’
Again the undead advertising execs have burned their irrationality into mass consciousness, with reality a fine thread plucked and fucked by the advertisers who have people caring about stars weight increase, who is fucking who and why starlets do radical things to their bodies, whether implant or removal of glands to the point of nauseating microscopy. One wonders who guardians Jolie’s breasts ? Or why we should care about this level of personal revelation. But there it is in huge writing , in endless rote.
This is the culture of nadir – a nadir of cultural expression where flesh is the oldest currency. Its underbelly brought to the level of entertainment where entertainment aspires to cultural voice.
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