Showing posts with label capitalism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label capitalism. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 20

Spam poetry

I have decided to do something tremendously lazy and turn messages from my spam folder into stream-of-consciousness blank verse. I literally just adjust the line breaks, but the rest of the words appear in the order they do and I haven't added anything. Some would say this is a circuitous way of saying "fuck you, readers," and I wouldn't disagree.

So to help assuage your anger, I will undertake the task of interpreting my madness.

By Dick Boyce
outrageously! lying hostage inflammation
but whirlpool milligram and eloquently hostel,
scour the nuance stormy that
gumbo at paralegal the reject was
humanism a zone, nut harpoon mobilize or cashmere of was 
luminary at thump and frankly maliciously vile
tripod atonement and palpably song,
an aviator sophomore of southwestward,
or continuity clasps the glitter of coals
O halo the plagiarism! Accepted.
thrown savings and loan!
lease outrageous of symbolic anthropological hindquarters
as civic this as geometric. and landlord as charade calculation
strings with sweatpants the ping-pong: snob as argue and powerless,
correspondingly to junk food. the gnawing. 
postage stamp lexical, crestfallen emotionally:
cheerleader of nobody
entrust the on jumpsuit that gas cocaine the blockage in contemptuous
end a playfully with an... annihilate
xenophobia birthplace and that duchess in xylophone hoax

The subprime mortgage crisis of 2008 is fascinating for two diametrically opposed reasons. First, plainly speaking, it was unexpected. Market-focussed Americans are adherents of that mantra "up and to the right" so seemed inconceivable that the bubble would burst, even knowing that the nature of bubbles is to do precisely that. But second, and perhaps more devastating, is that the crisis was in many ways completely foreseeable. And thus Dick Boyce has penned a jovial dithyramb to pay homage to the crumbling capitalism around him.

The bold opening "outrageously!" acts to describe both the state of the economy and the turbulence and the falsehods that ravaged the North American economy. "Lying. Hostage. Inflammation." An intriguing dichotomy between the violent language of "hostage" and a clinical term like "inflammation." Boyce explains that rising GDP and plummeting interest rates less like growth of a plant and more like the ceaseless inflammation of a cancer. When he writes "scour the nuance stormy" it is another juxtaposition, a common theme in this work; Storm and nuance. Elegant hotel. The glitter of coals. The agony and the ecstasy of the American idiom.

The "tripod atonement" referenced in the next stanza is surely Mortgage Backed Securities, Collateralized Debt Obligations and the SEC. "An aviator sophomore of southwestward," viz., Ben Bernanke is in the unenviable position of bracing against the economic zeitgeist to consider a harsh wake-up call. Up and to the right no longer, but "southwestward" we go; down and to the left. To a financial crisis not seen since the Great Depression. The glitter of coals is the promise of a unblemished economy. But we fail and "halo the plagiarism."

"Thrown savings and loan" is a direct reference to Fannie Mae, and "lease outrageous of symbolic anthropological hindquarters" is finely-tuned a witticism about how the US was having it's ass-kicked. There is something so elegant about:
as civic this as geometric. and landlord as charade calculation
strings with sweatpants the ping-pong: snob as argue and powerless,
Where Boyce contrasts the polis, and the city state, the neighbourhood (what Hilary Clinton dubbed "a village") with "the landlord as charade." We are are all tenants of a tyrant; whether from without or within. Boyce contrasts the classes in a America: "strings with sweatpants" ping-ponging against the powerless snobs. Another breathtaking juxtaposition. Another failure of the American Dream.

Who is "crestfallen emotionally? cheerleader of nobody?" The nexus of Alan Greenspan and Ben Bernanke. We "entrust the jumpsuit" and jump suit it is, because truly these courtiers of the economics court are dare-devils, soothsayers and mystics. Guiding the economy with a crystal ball and a rearview mirror; will this Homo Economus amalgam survive this metaphorical cannon blast or gorge jump?
"And a playfully with an... annihilate"
Boyce is not so sure.

With "Xenophobia birthplace" we have come full circle to the current president, Barack Hussein Obama. Another soothsayer, another lying hostage inflammation. His use of the pun "xylophone hoax" is clever. A scale of lies and yet another sickening contrast that are we left to reflect upon. The keys aligned in a row, ever-shrinking like the remnants of a beautiful dream chromatically fading into the future.

Wednesday, November 7

Real letters by real geeks

Dear President Obama,

Congratulations on securing a second term as the president of the weirdest fucking country on the planet not counting the Philippines or Japan. Actually China is pretty weird too. Not to mention Australia and New Zealand; those two are completely fucked up. I suppose I should also include Guinea-Bissau, but then I would have to mention a host of equally shitty African countries. Let me stop there.

So good luck. America hasn't been the since country since I was first told about it about two and a half decades ago. Back then America was mostly interested in hairspray and soft drinks and Ronald Reagan. Now in 2012, hairspray has been replaced by a divisive vitriolic brand of politics, soft drinks remain soft drinks, and Ronald Reagan is now you. So don't fuck this up.

Not that you need any more pressure, but it's important that you do (whatever it is that you do) stronger, faster, better and harder than you ever have before. Be sure never to mention those words in that order in public.

But seriously, sucks about the gig. I can't imagine you'd prefer the stress of being president when you can write a book instead and make appearance fees for walking into the auditoriums of the highly-willing-to-pay and watch your country crumble around you. It's not too shabby.

So in short, good fucking luck. You're going to need it.

Harvey

Monday, September 26

I don't love cabinets

Carter Kitchens, 1985

Albert: Jerry, it's not about the money. Really. It's just...
Jerry: What is it, Albert?
Albert: It's just that...
Jerry: Just say it! It's just what?
Albert: It's just that: I don't love cabinets.
Jerry: What are you talking about. You're our best cabinet salesperson. We need you, Al.
Albert: Jerry, I've been here a long time, right?
Jerry: Eleven years! Twelve in March.
Albert: Yeah, and over the years I thought that something might change, that they would grow on me and I could learn to love 'em. But they didn't and I don't. At all. I really don't like cabinets.
Jerry: Don't say that. You realise you're our top rep, right? You might even be the best cabinet salesman in all of Baltimore. You have a gift; don't throw it a away.
Albert: A gift?
Jerry: A gift.
Albert: A gift for selling cabinets?
Jerry: A gift for selling cabinets.
Albert: I don't know Jerry. I think I need to get out of the cabinet game. Branch out.
Jerry: Branch out? From cabinets?
Albert: Yeah, branch out. Away from cabinets.
Jerry: You want to branch out away from cabinets. Is that what you're telling me?
Albert: Christ, Jerry. Yes.
Jerry: How can you say that? You! Who have sold more than, well, I don't even know how many cabinets you've sold here—
Albert: About thirty-seven hundred.
Jerry: Over thirty-seven hundred cabinets! You've sold—
Albert: About thirty-seven hundred. I don't know if it's over.
Jerry: So it's thirty-six hundred and something?
Albert: I don't know exactly.
Jerry: So it could be over thirty-seven hundred.
Albert: Sure, I'll allow that it could be over. But just as equally, it could be under thirty-seven hundred cabinets. I'm not sure exactly. That's why I said "about."
Jerry: Listen, Al. Will you allow a desperate man the outcome of a coin toss and let me say "over thirty-seven hundred"?
Albert: (sighs) Sure, Jerry.
Jerry: So you've sold over thirty-seven hundred cabinets in this store. To honest and hardworking Americans—
Albert: How do you know they're honest and hardworking?
Jerry: Al, please.
Albert: I'm sorry, Jerry. Keep going.
Jerry: Honest and hardworking Americans, whose lives you've improved immeasurably. And you want to give it all up? You of all people should know how important cabinets are to a kitchen.
Albert: They're pretty important, I suppose.
Jerry: Pretty important. Pretty important? The most important, Albert. The most important thing in a kitchen.
Albert: More than a stove?
Jerry: A thousand times more.
Albert: How about the sink? I mean, isn't that pretty crucial?
Jerry: Even more than that. Where are you going to put your pots and pans? And your plates? And your food?
Albert: I never thought of it like that.
Jerry: Come on, let's sell some cabinets.
Albert: (shaking head) Oh, Jerry. You got me again. I don't know what got into me.

Saturday, December 25

This too shall pass

For those of you who celebrate Christmas in all its crass, commercial, tacky, hyper-festive glory, good fucking luck. It's not easy having to maintain the façade of Santa Claus' existence, all the while maxing out your credit cards, and enduring your family during the simulacrum of altruistic spirit and joy that we call "the holidays."

If I sound a little bitter, it is because I am not yet drunk. As the Turks are fond of saying, "this too shall pass."

Anyway, in all seriousness, today we celebrate the birth of a man whose impact is still felt today: via tinsel and shitty movies on TBS. Let's all take a moment of silence and remember this staggering fact.  For all the good accomplished by this bearded hipster (and, like, whatever), he probably would have kept his mouth shut could he have foreseen the inside of a Walmart on Christmas Eve.

Or at least should have.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, Merry Christmas.

Monday, March 29

Kicking it on the 502

It costs $1,297.80 to charter a TTC streetcar for three hours.  Each additional hour is $306.60  So five (let's say) hours on a streetcar is $1911.00.  With 46 seats, I figure half that amount of people could mingle comfortably.  That's $83.08 per person.  Add the cost of a bottle of hard liquor, it's barely three figures for a person to get shitfaced, on a private streetcar, for an entire evening.

That said, for $3.00 and the cost of a bottle of hard liquor you can do the same thing during rush hour.  But you'll have to be less choosy about your company.

I think the choice is clear: charter a rocket today!

Wednesday, February 10

Canadian Tire Money

Dear Canadian Tire,

I don't know much but I know I don't like Canadian Tire Money.  It's very obviously a scam and I'm on to you.  There is no reason I should be handing you money in exchange for goods, and have you hand me a bit of your own currency too.  I studied economics and this seems a bit superfluous.  I'm sure you would save some (real) money if you just avoided printing these bogus bucks; hell, you could pass some of the savings along to us.

Instead you print out this shill money with ridiculously tiny denominations.  A five cent bill?  This money's worth less than Rubles.  No one feels good about themselves carrying around these bills.  What if I accidentally slipped one to a stripper?

And making us pay with Canadian Tire Bonus Bucks is perhaps the gravest indignity of them all.  Buying light bulbs with a shopping bag filled with crumpled bills is not the best thing for anyone's self esteem.  Let's get rid of them.

Kindly,

Harvey Kornbluth

Saturday, December 26

Deals

Deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals, deals -- I can't contain myself. Can you believe the deals‽  (That's an interrobang I'm so excited.)

On the other hand, fuck this Day of Box.  Sure I've considered wandering into Best Buy in my pajamas and knifing another human being for first dibs on a mildly discounted Blu-ray device, but have since quickly reconsidered. On any other day, a sane man would surrender double the retail price to escape a horde that size.  This is a harangue of people who actually smell like commodity fetishism.  (It's a mélange of turkey and body odor.)

But then I reconsidered again.  I buckled my jeans and set forth into the quiet mid-holiday streets.  Thanks to a meaningless combination of forces, I only needed a light jacket.  With countable footsteps I headed straight, like a lemming, to Yonge and Dundas; the Eaton Centre.  I was looking for deals.

But there were only people, as lost as me, with handfuls of credit cards to stuff deep into the heart-shaped holes in their chests.

If a mall is a temple, then today it holds its holiest mass.  A rabble buffaloed by tradition and deceit.  And I'm not just talking Frankenscence and Myrrh.  These are people in search of a break.  Or a self-awarded trophy for shopping.  Or an object they don't need.  They are people possibly drunk on eggnog or "holiday spirit" --  a temporary psychosis associated with the end of the year.

An economics professor I had described the phenomenon thus: "That's Capitalism, folks!" But I think that's far too accurate.  The message to walk away with is this: a true deal wouldn't be this obvious.