Cultural Parody Center

CHARLIE HIDES

2012-02-05T15:47:00.001+01:00

Readers, I´ve been a fan of fellow satyrist Charlie Hides for a while now, so I thought I´d do some free advertising on her behalf:

THE RIGHT CUNT'S GUIDE TO LONDON PART 6: VICTORIA AND ALBERT

2012-01-31T09:10:00.000+01:00

Readers, Victoria & Albert's is one of the prettiest museums in London, thanks largely to its lush design as an atrium. And then also, the pieces you see in it are not always of the world famous variety(like, say, the National Gallery), which allows one to encounter curiosa, and for me, at least, this is the whole point of museum-hopping.

Anyho' these are the pieces I singled out for ya:

THE LAMENTATION OVER THE DEAD CHRIST (1510-15), Workshop of Andrea Della Robia

The captions in the room explained that the makers of icons were trying to get the viewers to identify with the suffering of Christ. Indeed, you see a lot of suffering faces on the icons and the reliefs. But on this piece, readers - and it is not quite possible to see this on a reproduction - Christ is posing like Venus, expecting to get fucked by God. His pelvis is thrusting forwards, and the sculptors were clearly enthralled by the hotness of his sensual body. The curious mixture of suffering and sexuality instantly drew my attention. It's as if the piece were saying that Jesus's pain is the same as his total ecstasy. As a passing remark, the terracota technique makes the whole thing look much more alive than your standard stone sculpture.

TIPOO'S TIGER (1790), Mysore

Here we have what you'd call a Hindu ''revenge fantasy'' involving the slow devouring by a tiger of the British colonial cunt. If I understood correctly, the tiger is even animated, you can see the grisly physical details of the violence. The museum displays this almost proudly, as if showing artefacts of your dirty past can somehow make up for it, or make it less horrible. There is in general something obscene about the opulence of British musea. Unlike the much better designed Dutch variety, things are thrown on top of each other, frequently having little thematic connection, as if to say that so much had been plundered, there was no time to organize it properly.

BACCHANAL, Aime-Jules Dalou

Aime-Jules is apparently a hot kinky French bitch, for in this gem of a piece she captures exactly the ''perverse'' kick of a bacchanal, the RUSH of it; the sculpture is almost animated, threatening to crawl across the wall, and the horny faces of the satyrs, with their wiggling tongues, are a riot. I had a semi-hard on watching this, readers, but then a group of spoiled British schoolkids spoiled my view, and the privacy of the experience.

TRUTH & FALSEHOOD, Alfred Stevens

This one is just lovely; clearly Truth is unable to control Falsehood's prodigious Phallic tongue, or maybe you could say that Truth wants this huge cock only for HERSELF.

ATTACK THE BLOCK

2012-01-28T20:50:00.004+01:00

Readers, ATTACK THE BLOCK is a brilliantly timed, brilliantly witty, brilliantly written horror comedy a la SHAUN OF THE DEAD which also raises - in slightly pamphlet-like fashion - important social issues about the decimation of state-funded education, racism and class segregation in London.

And yet, I feel like I just drank a can of Cola Light. I feel a lot like I just saw TIN TIN, in fact, which the director of this film co-scripted for Spielberg. It's not just that I don't trust his honesty about delivering social statements at the same moment he's working for Spielberg. It's also that the otherwise brilliant scipt remains, at heart, a feelgood story. And curiously infantile, too, given that the movie depicts the kid heroes as more mature than their adult colleagues.

I was reminded of an incident earlier this week. Some students from my old media academy graduated with MAC & CHEESE, a short animation which is about a chase. You can see it here:

In Dutch press I read that (my old) professors at the Academy hated the concept, and advised the students against producing this animation. As the students report, the Academy prefers productions that are only shown at festivals and that have a message. (Indeed, I remember them having this attitude in the time I was studying) However the students were dead convinced that their infantile chase concept, stripped of all meaning & purpose*, would have commercial success; and they were proven right when Mac'n'Cheese received countless hits on Youtube, approaching a million this week.

(* including the post-modern sarcasm of the Road Runner, which they quote as their inspiration; there's no distancing in this animation, it's earnestly stupid)

Of course the Dutch skunk wouldn't be the Dutch skunk if the motive wasn't MONEY, and so the students explained that they were only interested in commercial effects. In fact, they hoped that the professors would give more space to productions solely focused on moneymaking, instead of fostering all these festival movies with a message.

But they still raise an interesting question: in what form do kidz nowadays express discontent? Is the fact that none of it makes any sense a kind of a meta-satire?

Here I was reminded of what I read in WHY IT'S KICKING OFF EVERYWHERE, a recent London best-seller dealing with new media revolutions such as the one in Egypt.

Although he doesn't elaborate well enough for my taste, Mason finds a lot of meaning in the fact that things like mobile phones enable you to simultaneously be an individual, and be connected. (He even goes so far as to claim that Marx was wrong when he thought Communism would allow people to become individuals, that it was DIGITAL CAPITALISM that finally provided us with this opportunity.)
In other words, the instantaneous nature of mobile communication allows for a heightened concentration on the Now, which despite appearing completely flat, is in fact layered. Not exactly ''accelerationism'', more like mobile Buddhism.

Neither the film-maker nor the book writer come to any fruitful conclusions, but this is certainly a crucial topic to investigate further, readers!

I JUST WANT COMMUNISM RIGHT NOW. FUCK ALL THIS!

2012-01-27T22:20:00.002+01:00

That's what Missuz said on Twatter, readers, and when Missuz says something, it causes TECTONIC SHIFTS on Wall Street, not to mention the Kremlin, in fact, the whole WORLD is affected!

But Missuz does not assassinate, readers. She IS assassin.

I do not even PRETEND, readers, that my limited intelligence can grasp all the high registers of Missuz's Communist spirit, but below I have made an attempt to understand how that magnificent female mind works.

In dialogue with the illustrious ''Their Vodka'' - who is apparently disavowing her rampant alcoholism - Missuz speaks:

@their_vodka because consider all these cgi destruction on film is not only fantasy but threat to the audience, the parade of sovereiognty

I have a feeling - although, again, readers, my intuition falters when faced with the profundity of Missuz's implications - that Missuz wanted to say Halliwud CGI bullies the audiences into being thrilled by exploitation, which is aggressive, like Naomi Klein's ''disaster capitalism''. Maybe her Majesty also wanted to say that the CGI makes destruction look attractive. But how she got from there to the ''parade of sovereignity'' is beyond me. It is just too great an intellectual leap; in comparison to Missus, I am (as Amy Winehouse sang) ''a tiny penny''.

@their_vodka oh re Melacholia, consider it is this self contratulation of the ruling class re its unsentimental willingess to obliterate the
species rather than give an inch in the class war. LVT is proud of his posture, the fantasy is of real ruling class power

Here Missuz notes, with a lot of acuity, that the ruling classes in 'Melancholia' would rather sink the whole world than give up on their throne (what a profound insight, readers! I always thought kings and queens were meant to give all their money to the slaves!) But then - bless her kind humane heart - she accuses Lars von Trier of posturing, because the ruling class power is only a fantasy, readers; it doesn't exist!

@gavinsaywhat @PereLebrun that is troubling to me is not so much the populism (in fact popular forms do enclose humanity's longing)

I love it when Missuz waxes poetic, readers - like in the old times, when she sat with Derrida by the cypress trees and he got his hand stuck in her auntie's tight corset. Just let yourself FEEL that oceanic enclosure of humanity's longing into ''popular forms''!

And then after that sublime poetic moment, a theoretic insight of painful clarity:

@PereLebrun @gavinsaywhat consider the origin of videogames as a diluted form of existing genres arranged for the insertion of the player

If only Missuz were there when I was studying media theory, I could have written ''arranged for the insertion of the player'' instead of ''interactive'' and my lesb'an Marxist teacher Judith would have given me a 9 plus! The highest she ever gave me was 8, but only for articles that had some feminism in them.

There are more jewels there, readers, but I have grown weary; as ever, Missuz's brilliance made me feel like a tiny helpless dwarf in the hands of unspeakable benevolent forces.

PROMETHEUS

2012-01-26T16:21:00.001+01:00

Readers, despite my better judgment, I am now in feverish expectation of Ridley Scott's prequel to ALIEN - PROMETHEUS. The movie, if it lives up to expectations, could match last year's obsession with MELANCHOLIA, which still hasn't quite subsided.

I never found Ridley Scott to be a special director in any way, but ALIEN was and remains a tremendous movie, thanks largely due to the work of Ridley's collaborators like Dan O'Bannon, or HR Giger. And thanks also to Sigourney Weaver, who may be an uber-wermin, yet looked astonishingly hot in her overcunt.

Why don't I find Ridley special? Well, readers, because he's basically an advertising director - ALIEN is shot like this huge ''fear commercial'', aggressively pushing on all possible and impossible scare buttons. Fear of asphyxiation, fear of penetration, fear of sickness, fear of death, fear of closed spaces, fear of loneliness... and so on, until you realize the project is actually paper-thin, readers, and works exclusively on the basis of its brilliant visual design.

In the previous three decades, interpreters of ALIEN have focused mostly on the film's Freudian-Lacanian connotations, especially WERMIN THEORIES about the movie being ''male terror of the uterus''. There was a lot of bla-bla about the meaning of the creature as a combined Phallus/Vagina Dentata, and the Slovenly Zizek added some half-baked philosophy about the Lacanian lamela or hymen or whatever the fuck. Related to this, I have to tell you that I always thought ALIEN was far more pitted against the power of WIMMIN than it was a critique of patriarchalism, but that's an old discussion that I don't want to get into right now.

Looking at ALIEN's Blu Ray release, I remembered my hero and cyberpunk Shaviro saying that Darwin is a far more important thinker for our century than Freud. Indeed, I feel that ALIEN works far more persuasively as a relentless tale of the Survival of the Fittest, than any kind of a dick/cunt psychoanalysis. Designed as a science fiction Calvinist cathedral, the colonizer's ship NOSTROMO presciently faces humanity with the God of Capitalism - a remorseless insect whose only function in life is to fuck and reproduce.

Anyho' PROMETHEUS hits theaters round May, readers...

AB FAB CHRISTMAS SPECIAL: JOB

2012-01-25T04:45:00.002+01:00

Readers, this is one of the most hilarious AbFab episodes I've seen since the first episode...

[LINK REMOVED DUE TO ANNOYING ADVERTISEMENTS - DO YOUR OWN DOWNLOADIN, READERS]

THE RIGHT CUNT'S GUIDE TO LONDON PART 5: CANTERBUREEE

2012-01-24T23:02:00.000+01:00

Readers, I loved Canterbury from the moment I got off the bus - it's the English version of TWIN PEAKS, but then with the added dimension of being not just a weird, but a completely INSANE town.

The first thing you notice is the sheer beauty of the skies, as I already mentioned in the previous installment of the cunt's guide:

Then as you get into the town's centre, you notice that various architectural styles coexist with each other in ways that have no architectural logic whatsoever but have their own, psychotic logic nevertheless. For example, I loved the way Victorian seriousness and Bavarian homeliness have been brought together by the use of hysterical, bright, ''Almodovar'' colors...with a Christian cross in the middle just to remind you how crazy the whole concept is

Then suddenly in the midst of the post-modern porridge there is a total masterpiece, like this newly opened museum

And then as you get into a side street, you're stupefied by sights that seem to come out of our classic collective imagination about England, but come out unexpected due to color accents such as the gorgeous red here:

Unfortunately, even with my newly developed mobile phone skills, I couldn't get away with shots of the local diner, where I sat in a crowd so singularly freaky that it came very close to the atmosphere of Todd Browning's FREAKS.

And then, deliciously, at the end of the main street you have the Free Masonic Library, completing the impression that you're now really OFF THE WALL as they say.

I can't quite describe the, er, enigmatic mood this put me in, but it looked something like this webcam snapshot from the hotel...

THE RIGHT CUNT'S GUIDE TO LONDON PART 4: THE LEEDS CASTLE & DOVER

2012-01-23T01:07:00.000+01:00

Readers, there's a whole complicated history about I don't know which fuck of an English royalty built and maintained the castle of Leeds. All I remember from the bla bla is that guards used to pour steaming oil on trespassers, which tells you instantly that all that genteel nobility wasn't as genteel, or noble, as you'd surmise from the beautiful castle, or the surrounding beautiful lake with white & black swans. Then some royal cunt invested her whole life in the maintenance of the castle, which the tour guide announced as if it were a heroic accomplishment. I could see Margaret Mullins next to me, going AWWWWWWWWWWWW, cumming in her lingerie, losing her breath.

But I wasn't edified. I left the group that was going inside the castle to visit the local aviary.

This is where I met my friend from Leeds - the pink parrot. The parrot sprang to the front of his cage as soon as he saw me, then said ''Hello'' in a perfect Elizabethan accent. But when I pulled out the phone to record him, the pink parrot immediately stopped talking. (I love these kinds of bird personalities, readers) None of my incitements (in Serbian or English) made him talk again:

So I went to the maze. I had seen ALICE IN WONDERLAND, readers, and I thought ''If Alice can tackle this - goddamit, so can I!'' And this arrogance led to the completely horrifying situation of walking round in circles for an hour (sic!) until I was forced to call for help. Luckily the attendant heard me, and led me to the exit, which is UNCANNILY placed in a grotto. But this was one of the more nauseating experiences in my life, matched only by the sudden attack of vertigo I experienced on top of Sagrada Familia in Barcelona.

I was able to record a part of the experience (and you can hear in my breathing just how awful I felt):

Moving on to the white cliffs of Dover, I was struck by this huge difference between Holland and England (in most other respects - analogous countries), which has to do with the skies. In Holland, they're extremely low, so despite Rembrandt's romantic renderings, they feel ominous, and oppressive. In England, they're high, which opens a beautiful vast space above you. It is this, rather than the quite banal white cliffs, that makes the place so remarkable. Sadly, as I learned, the locals can only use the beaches in a limited fashion, for they are full of sharp rocks. This would explain the sheer amount of limey cunt dancing on Greek tables in the summer.

The day trip ended with one of the many beautiful bus rides across London. There is something, er, COMPLETE about the design of London. You can say the same of the Dutch design, but it is much more disciplined and uniform than the concept of London. The architecture in London changes on practically every corner, and you're treated to endless kaleidoscopic variation.

THE RIGHT CUNT'S GUIDE TO LONDON PART 3: MADAME TUSSAUD'S

2012-01-23T00:31:00.001+01:00

Weeel readers I'm back from Londen town and I gotta tell you, I HAD ME A BLAST!

I wanted to pay another visit to my London correspondenteuze, but readers, the sleazy slag did such bad planning, there just wasn't any time in between all the day trips.

On the way back I was pondering why I had such a blast, and I realized it's because London has a sense of THE UNCANNY that is pleasing to my psychoanalytic-subversive orientation in life.

A good example would be Madame Tussaud's, which branched out to other countries (including Holland), but the office in London remains the best supplied one. It also boasts the 'history of London ride' which is a surreal riot, and a very fine example of advanced puppetry that beats any CGI out there, including the holographs currently on display at the O2 concert hall.

Anyho', the appeal of Madame is twofold: on the other hand, the un-canniness of encountering actors and politicians that are almost, but not quite, real, and on the other hand, pleasing the visitor's narcissistic desire to be recognized. I would say this second one (recognition) is even more important than the uncanny aspect, for in recognizing their favorite actors, the visitors actually recognize their own narcissistic projection in the mirror - fancying themselves to be just as beautiful, powerful, and famous, as the starz.

In this way Tussaud's is one of the world's few surviving PSYCHOANALYTIC INSTITUTIONS, readeries.

Whether you can conclude anything psychoanalytical from the fact that I recognized myself in the embrace of Margaret Thatcher - I leave that up to you.

THE RIGHT CUNT'S GUIDE TO LONDON PART 2: STONEHENGE

2012-01-20T19:23:00.001+01:00

Readers, while standing across the Stonehenge rocks today, I remembered something the Egyptian Temptress wrote about the necessity of seeing these mystical Objects up close, because only in this way, you see, are you able to experience their magnitude, their physicality, their objectness.

How blissfully full of shit the Temptress is, readers, and she owes me 25 pounds by the way, for the bus tour. IT'S JUST A BUNCH OF OLE ROCKS standing in the middle of a meadow. And they're not particularly big either. What you're shown in the brochures is thus exactly what you'll end up seeing!

Everything relevant about Stonehenge comes from human mythical imagination, the stories that have been spun about it, as well as endless advertising images circulating which enhance/amplify the mythical imagination. The place, in fact, functions as a Rorschach test: by the very fact it doesn't mean anything concrete, it provokes endless human curiosity.

To put it in another way, the Stonehenge is interesting for the RELATION it has built with humans over the centuries. Not for the fact of its being a 'withdrawn rock' or whatever the goddamn fuck the Temptress would like to christen it.

On another note, the tour was haunted by two horrible American hicks who kept reacting to the sighting with such exaggerated enthusiasm, you could tell from a mile's distance this is their first time out of fucking Iowa or something. That's a second pair of American hicks in two days, on two separate journeys, increasing my negative impression of deeply rooted HICKNESS inside this ''nation''.
(I don't suppose that any real US intellectual would take the Evan Evans tour to Stonehenge, though, so I may be exaggerating the satire slightly.)

I was tempted to tell the American hick that the rocks were withdrawing from the horrible sight of her. It would have been too cruel, readers, because she would take it literally and break up sobbing right on the archeological site.

THE RIGHT CUNT'S GUIDE TO LONDON PART 1

2012-01-19T01:09:00.000+01:00

Readers, I gotta tell you that I'm pretty surprised how well I've taken London in; on my last visit eight years ago it seemed such an unwelcoming place - in any case, not the kinda place that would welcome a right Serbian cunt.

Maybe in the meantime the terrorist attack paranoia subsided, so now London feels extraordinarily relaxed and er... WIDE. On a few occasions I was even compelled to whistle some swinging 1960s tune while shaking my ass around the Piccadily Circus.

Now even though that sleazy SLAG of a London correspondent told me that her shack is 'dreadful', her kind of a shack would be considered ''above average'' in Tito's Yugoslavia. Not even in the crappiest burroughs of London did I see anything like the kinda poverty that you'd encounter in Serbia, or the pre-EU socialist states. The Whitechapel area housing, for example, is more than decent, and I see that the supermarkets are stacked with goodies that even garbage collectors can afford.

(All of which makes me resent the WAILING of the socialist ''intelligentsia'' even more than their love affair with Zizek, but more bout that later.)

Tonight's West End production of 39 STEPS was exactly the kinda fluff I wanted to avoid. I had thought this Hitchcock satire would at least have some Hitchcock in it, which would separate it from productions like LEGALLY BLONDE THE MUSICAL. And the premise was intriguing enough - to turn Hitchcock's McGuffin into the central theme of the show. However, the makers were so eager to earn a quick pound on this one that they only went for the lightest possible vaudeville. It was supposed to be silly in a vicious way, but it just came out silly.

I have yet to visit the fringe theater productions, to comment more, readers, but the West End thing appears to me a bad trip reaction to American cultural imperialism.

More, readers, if I manage to exit the tube system at the right station...

THE IRON LADY

2012-01-13T01:20:00.000+01:00

Readers, this post will be updated when I get round to watching the actual movie. I postponed the viewing because I thought it'd be much more fun to see it with St. Nick Land.

But for now let me just remark that director Chlamydia's remarks in the MURRRRL Q & A point to the following:

1. This Oscar (tm) franchise attempts to HUMANIZE the monster cunt that Margaret Thatcher was, and remains, well beyond her physical death, somewhere in Hell. Chlamydia explains how the real idea of the wermin-filmmakers was to avoid the polarization of the public around the subject - the Leftists saying it would ''redeem'' Thatcher, the Rightists complaining it would critisize her from a Leftist perspective - and offer a view of the depths of an aging human soul, so that in the end we would come out noticing the old people that our ''consumerist society'' ignores (MURRRRRL said that while holding on to her spectacles, readers)

While in the case of MAMMA MIA! the same thought sounded hilarious, here it's downright creepy. For it is precisely the HUMANIZATION that makes the whole venture outright evil. The hidden message is that Thatcher shall be restored by way of Leftist Feminism and Humanism!

2. Although it was clear from the very beginning, MURRRL is only now showing her true self to the public: the self of a deeply conservative, narcissistic, power-hungry elitarian wermin CUNT. This is especially noticeable when she explains that we must abandon the one-sided view Thatcher destroyed the Unions, bringing on the misery of millions, and embrace the view that ''things are just different in England, where the state used to pay for things''.

3. It is undeniable that Thatcher - much like Darth Vader - exerts an enormous media power. If I made a film about her, this aspect would interest me the most. Totally against my judgement as a thinker and a film reviewer, I really can't resist the horrifying dark allure of this mummified Vagina Dentata. And readers, it is exactly on the basis of Margaret's continuing power among the gay fans that I tell you, once again, capitalism ONLY succeeded because of WERMIN LIBERATION.

WE DON'T NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN

2012-01-12T22:49:00.003+01:00

Readers, it's been known for a while now that arthouse cinema can be just as empty, discredited and dead as the Halliwud mainstream, but WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN really pushed the limit for me.
I swear even THE IRON LADY is more enjoyable than this kind of a used femidom posing as a ''found art object''.

The story is something about a psychopathic boy who perpetrates a Columbine-style massacre at his highschool. The boy grows up with an equally psychopathic middle American WERMIN, inexplicably played by the (otherwise excellent) Tilda Swinton. As she recollects the events that led up to the massacre, we learn that the boy and the mother continuously exacerbated their respective psychopathologies. There's a relatively sympathetic father from the wurking classes, but all throughout the movie, he's clearly in the jaws of the lesb'an top Swinton. And so nobody takes the boy to a psychologist, let alone the police, and it's clear as day that he's going to end up doing something antisocial on a massive scale. Hence I guess the ''engaged'' title of the film, aimed at the broader society, pointing to its autism and indifference...spare me the wisdom, readers, I don't wanna know.

This may sound illogical on first glance, however readers, the fact that none of the characters in this movie have a single redeeming feature is what director Lynn Ramsay clearly AIMS FOR. It is this movie's so-called arthouse shtick. What she primarily wants to bring to the fore is the cold lesb'an affect, for this is what turns wermin on, readers. She revels in scenes showing Swinton with a manly haircut, being aloof. She glories in the adrogyny of the boy, whose psychopathy by the way is bout as believable as the OMEN - but never mind. She secretly giggles at the possibility of a ''queer'' family trying to be normal and dysfunctioning because of that (not because they're batshit crazy, mind you,readers; that wouldn't be PERVERSE enough) But this is not really for some sound psychosocial reasons, it is simply because Ramsey adores the idea of Swinton and her boy being the tops in the family, gettin' their well-deserved revenge on the patriarch (who of course, and predictably as Hell, is ineffective). I was half-expecting a scene where the mother and the child fuck each other. I realized that would never happen because they are both lesb'ans.

And THAT's just the beginning of the torture, readers. Rumsey delivers the story in an arthouse style that is so transparently DELIBERATE, it stabs the eyes, and I confess I had to pause the film a few times just to get a good shit. All the vicious affects are coded in color red. All the time we see blood stains, tomato juice, red balloons, strawberry jam, until it culminates with a highly suggestive shot of Swinton standing in front a row of tomato cans at the supermarket. The image is practically screaming, I'M AS ALOOF AS ANDY WARHOL!!!

But the real insult doesn't come from this rather predictable arthouse fodder. It's more in the fact that they mercilessly knock out the wurking class father, meaning to say that Ramsay actually LOVES the white middle class bourgeois perversity that she is paid to ''deconstruct'' for white middle class bourgeois audiences.

Maybe I'm bitching too much, because after all, Ramsay could just be Swinton's butt girl, and truly great actors do have a right to please their butt girls on occasion. But I sure as Hell am glad I didn't pay for the movie ticket !!!

SINTHOSIS PART ONE

2012-01-10T17:19:00.002+01:00

As the Narcissistic Cat is diving down her favorite swimming pool of Key West, she notices the Chalk Object at the bottom. This sort of an object attracts obsessive felines like catmint, readers, for it is with the chalk that dr. Sinthome had inscribed herself into the Symbolic Order; at least, back in that time before the Egyptian Temptress spoiled all the fun, reinscribing the cat into the Object Order - that horrible, selfish bitch.

What the cat doesn't yet know, but is about to find out, is that the Parody Center planted the chalk as a decoy: the Object is actually a portal...to another world. When the cat touches the Chalk Object...

...she is teleported to the other dimension. As the cat swooshes through hyperspace, her love handles are quickly diminishing in size, and her physique is acquiring the features of a musclebear.

The Narcissistic Cat awakes in the Garden of the Slut´s Eden. Standing in front of the Tree of Smut, she notices that her mantool has grown out of all proportion and is now as long and thick as a python. To exacerbate the cat´s vexation, Parody Center is standing right next to her, in what looks like Christian leather gear!

DR SINTHOME: Where are we?

PARODY CENTER: Welcome to the Garden of the Slut´s Eden, dr. Sinthome. The time has come for your Sinthosis to commenceth.

Parody Center caresses the cat´s python, feeling every bulging vein on its hardening surface.

DR SINTHOME: (barely able to contain her purring) Sinthosis?

PARODY CENTER: Yes, dr. Sinthome. Sinthosis is the process of Sinthomatic Theosis, whereby your sinthome, your obsession, becomes deified, and you establish a relationship with God. That is the last level, level seven. But to get to that level, we need to start here. Right here. In the Garden of the Slut´s Eden.

DR SINTHOME: So what are the other levels?

Parody Center takes dr. Sinthome for a scenic walk around the slutty Garden.

PARODY CENTER: We will get to that in time. This here is level zero, the creation myth, where it all began.

DR SINTHOME: I can smell semen in the air...everywhere. And the trees seem to be SWEATING.

PARODY CENTER: What you are smelling, dr. Sinthome, is YOUR OWN CUM. Your own sweat. All the flora and fauna in this garden is YOUR desire. And it is so completely free. It knows no boundaries. You are cumming every millisecond, all the time. But since there is no linear time here, there is no reason to stop cumming. It is eternal bliss, dr. Sinthome.

DR SINTHOME: But why does everything seem to be wrapped in leather fetish gear?

The Parody Center and dr. Sinthome pass by dr. Lacan, who is getting sucked by Deleuze and Guatarri. They never passed over to a higher level, readers, and are still hanging by their mentor´s balls.

THE PARODY CENTER: This is because your Desire is still tied up in obsession, dr. Sinthome. You want to keep things under control. Back on Earth, you can barely find time to sleep, because you need to top one scientific paper with another. And even though you don´t want to remember, every time I sucked you, you had a blackout and you deep-throated me. You want too much for the limited time you have on Earth. Your passion is enveloping the Universe, and you don´t know how to steer the ship.

THE BUZZY BLAWG BUZZ, 10-1-2012

2012-01-10T13:28:00.001+01:00

Readers, that hot'n'sassy Alabama conference slut from the upper echelons of New York intellectual sassiety - dr. Jodianne Dean Fossey - links to an article describing how peer-to-peer network enable capitalist exploitation to include free labor invested by blawgers like us

In 2002, Benkler wrote Coase’s Penguin, or Linux and the Nature of the Firm, a heavily-cited paper that argues that the rise of peer production represents the “emergence of a new, third mode of production in the digitally networked environment.” In fact, this third mode is not new, it is simply the expansion of the so-called Third Sector of civil society after being turned to an even more profitable direction. The cause of this error may be found in the first line of the abstract: “For decades our understanding of economic production has been that individuals order their productive activities in one of two ways: either as employees in firms, following the directions of managers, or as individuals in markets, following price signals.”

Dissenting from this view, Marxist feminism has long observed that the unpaid domestic labor of women is an unacknowledged source of profit for the capitalist class that the economy depends on. Domestic labor traditionally involves reproduction, raising children, caring for home and husband, but this critique takes on a new and unexpected relevance with the increasing role of unpaid digital labor under neoliberalism. Here, the sentimental elevation of maternal compassion, care and self-sacrifice appear in a more childlike form, as the kindergarten virtues of unselfishness, sharing and helping, which undergirds peer production.

Michel Bauwens, founder of the P2P Foundation, claims that ”peer-to-peer production will form the core of the new capitalist system.” There seems to be little reason to doubt this, with the minor note that it is not new. Capitalism thrives with a large gift economy, which has historically enabled rather than mitigated its extremes.

Sounds great, but do please note the idiotic Marxist reasoning behind this story.

This is actually the same thing that happened in the former Yugoslavia after the Second World War. Rich Western countries created a completely artificial ''federation'' as an excuse not only to keep the politics towards Russsia under control, but also, to test a number of SAMOUPRAVLJANJE methods (such as peer-to-peer networking) based on BROTHERHOOD AND UNITY that are now part of parcel of the advanced digital capitalistic system being discussed in the article. The whole country of Yugoslavia was maintained by Western charity funds, which were poured generously into various peer-to-peer projects that slowly generated an atmosphere of total improvisation, laziness and unthinkable stupidity.

(And don't you fucking dare tell me that the system also created 'experiment' and 'innovation', because most of the REALLY innovative brains were mercilessly shipped out of Yugoslavia - like Makavejev - simply for revealing to the public how stupid things were getting)

These mechanisms were built as an elaboration of MARXIST IDEOLOGY, and in this context you can safely say that Marxism in the old Yugoslavia was the best possible ENABLER of capitalist exploitation that you could imagine.

Am I claiming that Yugoslavia woulda been more successful as a capitalist country? DAMN RIGHT I am claiming that. With the resources available in the Balkans and a better patronage of Russia, I'm sure we would have come up with sufficient adjustments to capitalism, overcoming by light years anything that's been done in the West.

Why didn't that happen? Well because of TROTSKY'S SOCIALISM, readeries, as well as the sheepish idiocy of Marxist humanists who taught us that people do things out of their innate goodness and an intrinsic herding instinct.

Ignoring this important historic lesson, using the peer-to-peer wonder of blawging, the author of the text cheerfully continues to CRITIQUE without having a single goddamn proposal as to HOW and FROM WHERE to create an alternative economic system.

Meanwhile, dr. Fossey, who links to all this incredible intelligence, continues to earn a good part of her salary admonishing us on the virtues of the Stalinist state, EXPLOITING ME by stealing my ''eye labor'' (J.Beller) not to mention all the time I invested in satirizing her FAT ASS !!!

MACHO FUCKER

2012-01-07T21:01:00.002+01:00

Readers, in 2012, it's bizniz as usual at the Parody Center - I have to do all the WURK while my various correspondenteuzes bask in the undeserved attention I lavish upon them, knowing that every good porn studio needs to put up with its stars' WHIMZ.

Speaking of porn, and continuing the long-neglected tradition of porn site reviews, I bring you THE MACHO FUCKER.

This site is interesting for being what you'd call the ''far end'' of gay porn. Meaning that the Macho Fucker is where ALL queens mostly want to be: their holes mercilessly savaged by extremely well-endowed, virile, antisocial and brutal so-called XXL hetero tops.

Of course, like most fantasies, this one is vastly exaggerated, too. There are plenty XXL hetero tops who don't mind shoving it into a tight hole, but they don't frequently cross paths with the queens. If they do, it's usually out of disappointment with the fact that many women refuse anal entry ''because it hurts'', or because the tops need a so-called cumdump (a queen slut who wants to swallow cum). In most other cases the tops want the queens to be trannies, dressed in full-on drag. And then there's a large portion of the tops who aren't really tops. Their desire is in fact an identification with the bottom; they insist of getting RIMMED because their patriarchal culture prohibits them from admitting that they're curious about getting fucked.

The racial element to the fantasy is very interesting. You will have noticed that the tops all seem to come from dark patriarchal cultures - Niggaz, Latins, Creols, Mediterraneans. I only saw one white Dutch top on the site, and he isn't much. It seems that the colonial mind, still haunted by projections of these cultures as more ''natural'' and ''virile'' than the decadent Western world, firmly believes in the cliche of the nigger with a big dick. Even more interesting how this relates to socalled homosexual emancipation. It appears that most queens DESIRE exactly the kind of a debasement that the gay liberation movement is poised to fight as a conservative remnant of the loathsome patriarchal culture!

As the site delightfully puts it,

''Brazilean boy pussy wrecker Ronaldo is back on the sheets, screwing and seeding another of those numerous willing holes that you can find at any corner anywhere in Latin America.''

But anyho', readers, all this brought me back to thinking about Almodovar's THE SKIN I LIVE IN.

Unlike many of his gay contemporaries, Almodovar isn't ashamed at all to admit to the world that he has a hungry, deeply unsatisfied pussy instead of an ass. And although he admits this female masochism in the first instance, he doesn't quite stop there. Instead, he shows how the fantasy of the XXL top is just that - a fantasy. Once the bottom is fully transformed into the Frankenstein woman, it becomes obvious that the heterosexual top helped him to attain the previously inaccessible lesbian top woman that he/she really desires. In this sense, both the bottom and the top are involved in the uncontrollable mechanics of female desire, which the XXL ''pure top'' fantasy is designed to COVER UP, readers.

CHICO AND RITA (CHICO Y RITA)

2012-01-05T21:24:00.001+01:00

Readers, while the undead American 3D animation industry keeps churning out completely lame photorealistic digital apparitions, the Spanish animation industry is apparently alive and well, and they make great 2D animation, too.

The wonder of Chico & Rita is that it discards photorealism in favor of Juan Miro type drawing to tell something unimaginable on the current US animation scene: an adult love story.

This story - about Cuban musicians who hit it big in the Apple - would have been sentimental thirty years ago. We wouldn't exactly see the political background of the musicians' success. But the naughties have brought an awareness of racial politics, so we witness how Chico and Rita were exploited by the big musical bosses of New York. At the height of her success as a music hall celebrity, Rita is still considered a ''Latin'' among the rich of New York, raising eyebrows in places where white singers would have no problems.

It is to the makers' enormous credit that they don't end with a one-sided criticism of capitalism. While Rita is being meat-processed by the US industry, Chico gets a taste of the same cookie in his homeland Cuba. Having been framed and deported out of the US, he witnesses the brave new socialist world in which jazz is forbidden. Castro's government condemns him to 45 years of unemployment.

The movies' character animation is amazing: using Miro's reductive modernist style, it captures an incredible range of emotion. Especially stunning is the way Rita constantly avoids Hollywood ''femme fatale'' typecasting by being a wild Latin cat in one moment and a vulnerable child in another. There hasn't been a sexier character in animation since at least Jessica Rabbit.

I also totally loved the music, readers, as you can hear in the Youtubes below, but my New York correspondenteuze will be able to tell much more about this.

THE BELLTOWER

2011-12-30T13:54:00.001+01:00

SINTHOSIS: TEASER TRAILER

2011-12-24T05:28:00.001+01:00

CRAZY CLOWN TIME

2011-12-18T09:26:00.002+01:00

Readers, I know many of you will be rollin' their eyes thinkin' ''NO not David Lynch again!", but readers, the man is a visionary.

And I'm sorry, readers, I only fuck visionaries!

The new audio CD - Lynch working alone without collaborators and therefore even more powerful than usual - is a delirious, surreal, philosophical ''theme album'' on subjects related to the fourth dimension. It also provides a glimpse into Lynch's wryly humorous, quirky private life...but I'll leave the review to those more versed in musical matters.

Here I single out ''Pinky's Dream'', which returns one of Lynch's favorite tropes: the lost highway. The lost highway, to my knowledge, first appeared in ''Wild at Heart'', when Sherilyn Fenn died poignantly in the midst of a horrible car crash. Now we're back on the road, riding with demons and angels...Words fail me, it's a highway teleportation experience.

So just take a ride, readers, and WATCH THE ROAD.

CUMMING ATTRACTIONS: W FOR WARSZAWA

2011-12-18T08:24:00.001+01:00

Readers, in this creepy one-time Halloween special, Wayne Kasper plays Warszawa Klein, a psychopathic, sexually ambiguous janitor in Manchester. Warszawa spends his days in an alcoholic stupor, but at night, he puts on a creepy mask and transforms into the infamous W - a serial stalker of late night DVD outlets. Driven by strange, cryptic obsessions, Warszawa kills video clerks who don't agree with his refined taste in 1970s socially relevant cinema. But behind the seemingly ruthless mask of the killer is a modern-day Taxi Driver: a fervent Marxist idealist who believes that he is ridding the world of the fifth column.

One day, of course, Warszawa makes a fatal mistake: returning from a screening of Bette Midler's THE ROSE, Warszawa gets very drunk and starts to argue with a group of horny Manchester United supporters...

WORK CONFESSIONAL

2011-12-17T05:35:00.002+01:00

Readers I fucking hate confessionals but there's no other way I can communicate this to you.

It's about the job I just lost - though ''lost'' is a bad word, I didn't really have the choice of keeping it, namely.

It's a scary ''communications bureau'' of the sort that neoliberal capitalism produces in support of its system. In fact, this type of a bureau, dealing as it does in communication, is one of the most essential institutions of neoliberal capitalism. The purpose of the bureau is to modulate AFFECTS, readers, and they specialize - via cognitive-behavioral psychology that is the underpinning of all Human Resources - in stuff like conflict management, personal development, personal effectiveness, or the reduction of stress. This all goes under the term ''training'' which immediately tells ya that the bureau isn't really out to HELP you, but to TRAIN you, like a goddamn rat.

Following the recent universal mobile fad, as a result of which everyone has an i-pad these days, the bureau decided to expand its activities to the mobilosphere, and for this they needed a designer of e-learning.

Behind the plan is the bureau's realization that their design thus far isn't effective because the story they're selling is 1) total crap and 2) nobody believes in it anyway. Communications courses is stuff you do when the social security office forces you at gunpoint, not because you feel that you want to ''grow'' and ''change''.

So looking at my stuff they realize there's character, humor, story in it - all the things that belong to the animation universe. In principle those are the strategies you deploy, to make e-learning bearable. People like to experience some kind of a human emotion in all that abstract & boring stuff.

And I get hired on this basis, but the German boss is already finicky at the very beginning. Possibly she senses or feels my hidden disgust with the essence of the firm, but more likely she senses that someone with artistic talent won't easily fit into the world of ''communications experts''. (I don't know how to define those; they have no real function in the world except to be fucking nuisances) Why? Because readers, artists deal in exactly the kind of emotions that the bureau wants to measure, rationalize, digitize, control and ultimately plug into the efficiency machine.

After the obligatory ''habituation period'', the real work begins, and without false modesty, readers, I produce some really objectively entertaining stuff that catches the eye of the big bosses. Maybe because it's the first time in 40 years that someone laughed at a business conference - the place, like the rest of Holland, is a fucking graveyard.

But then, inevitably, my barely hidden contempt starts to show, and the boss is worried that something isn't quite working out right.

Thinking all the while, I must keep this job, readers, I do not tell her, I keep silent. I only reveal that I have some family problems, and this is causing my lethargic & lightly depressed mood.

But the German bitch presses on. ''You're not wearing the right clothes.'' ''You look down, you look distracted.'' ''I want to send you to a course in personal effectiveness''. ''Please define your tasks, operations, and immediate ambitions'' ''I need to manage you - shall we have a conversation about the last period?'' ''You smoke, you don't do any exercise, and you're not assertive'' ''Why can't you divide your time working in small chunks instead of doing everything all at once'' BLA

On and on and on it went, readers, for nearly half a year.

And ironically, the whole time, I (and fellow slave designer) are the only ones who are doing any real work, measured in concrete invested hours of drawing, programing, operating software, and talking about that in meaningless weekly management meetings. The German cunt just goes around blathering, displaying her sagging tits to younger colleagues in hopes of drawing some jouissance from her completely joyless world of cognitive-behavioral psychology.(Do note, readers, her salary is thereby around three or four times higher)

Then in the seventh month, she finally utters what we both know: my 'objectives' and those of the 'company' are too 'far apart' (this is language from process management), therefore, my contract shall not be extended. (She cynically keeps all the courses I made, silently acknowledging that they're good, while it is my personality that needs a lot of ''work'')

What did I learn? Fucking nothing. I did make some money. But did I need it? I don't need two goddamn mobile phones, a Kindle and an I-pad, to be happy. I could've also written for the Parody Center all day on social assistance. It costs the Dutch less to pay me social assistance, than the costs of my heart disease treatment after 10 years of friendship with communication bureaus.

Just wanted to share this with you, readers, so that you could feel a bit sorry for me, and I could triumph in a bit of healthy self-pity as well.

NOW'Z THE SEASON TO BE MERRY

2011-12-17T02:09:00.002+01:00

Happy Christmas an' all other holidays and the festive season, readers!

HAITIAN DOLLAR

2011-12-14T02:34:00.001+01:00

WHO IS NICK LAND?

2011-12-14T01:47:00.000+01:00

Readers, here's an excerpt from the famous TV show which has been running since circa 2005

ST ELOISE'S SPIRITUAL PILGRIMAGES EPISODE 1: TOILET TROUBLIE

2011-12-13T18:27:00.001+01:00

Readers, St. Eloise Doylie has decided to join the Dominican Sisters' Convent in Boulder, Colorado, and is discussing her anxieties with her secular therapist, Dr. Erika Doyl.

ST ELOISE DOYLIE: I've been having these levitation dreams, Erika, which always seems to come when I'm anxious. I feel that this is a turning point, but I'm lost again, I keep floating at the ceiling like some silly party balloon!

DR. ERIKA DOYL: Remember to do your breathing exercises, Eloise, and try to express your anger as much as possible. Bear in a mind, a monastery asks a lot of restraint from you. You can see it as a challenge; try to negotiate the borders between your emotional expression and the demands of the environment. Every challenge is simultaneously an opportunity for growth!

During midday prayer at the Dominican Sisters' Convent in Boulder, CO, readers, a highly unpleasant incident is announced by the Elder Sister:

ELDER SISTER: Sisters, it breaks my heart in two that I shall have to announce...Lord please forgive me... one of the sisters completely SHAT UP THE TOILET last night.

The elder sister approaches St. Eloise in the toilet.

ELDER SISTER: Sister Eloise, the toilet is now SPARKLING CLEAN. You have repented more times than the angels can count! Please stop cleaning now.

ST ELOISE DOYLIE: Statistical research shows that deeply rooted anally retentive behaviors are to be countered by at least an equal amount of dehabituating behaviors in later life! If I fail to put more effort into this activity, it is bound to reoccur, Elder Sister!

Later, at Dr. Doyl's office...

ST ELOISE DOYLIE: ...and then she told me that she did not find that I was ready as yet to bear my cross, and that I must leave the monastery at the crack of dawn. I feel really defeated, Erika. Is this normal?

DR. ERIKA DOYL: No it is NOT normal to feel defeated, Eloise, when you are the winning party!!! If I were you I would have SHAT IN THAT BITCH'S MOUTH and flushed the toilet on her conceited head.

ROB ZOMBIE'S HALLOWEEN 2

2011-12-12T13:35:00.000+01:00

Readers, I deliberately put ''Rob Zombie's'' in front of the title because this is in all significant respects - an auteur film.

HALLOWEEN 2 is also the best example of a ''trash film'' that routinely gets only the worst reviews from so-called ''world movie critics'' while being routinely brilliant: in aspects, readers, that mainstream cinema cannot even address, being constrained by codes, formulas, marketing projections, and the like.

Anyho' the original HALLOWEEN 2 (sequel to Carpenter's classic, directed by Rick Rosenthal) was a completely mediocre slasher, chronicling Laurie Strode's recovery in the hospital after the gruesome Halloween night. Zombie remakes this sequel in the first 15 minutes of his film, but does it far more persuasively. Where the Carpenter franchise was all metaphysical, stylish suspense, Zombie goes for social realism, combining merciless brutality with body horror to show that the marginal, ''trailer trash'' United States comes from trailer trash capitalism, locked up together in an endless circle of violence, exploitation, psychological abuse, and marketing.

(Rob Zombie's own career in heavy metal trash is absolutely no exception, and Zombie strives to hammer that point down through a distinctly unsubtle ''grunge'' design; the casting of his attractive spouse, I assume, is also part of the self-satire. Precisely for being so extremely selfconscious, the self-satire works!)

Then we realize the sequel remake was merely Laurie Strode's dream. The movie transforms into a darkly satirical psychodrama about a girl's schizophrenic disintegration under the influence of America's trailer trash patriarchalism - still going strong, readers, despite Bush's departure. Thereby Zombie amps up the ante on patriarchalism critique by making even the GOOD DAD - ineffectual!

You'd be tempted to think ''So what? There's so many movies satirizing Tea Party mentality!''. Besides, it's really hard to beat George Romero's latest living dead entry, which was about rightwing rednecks taking over the world.

Zombie's film, however, is unique for pinning the blame down on PSYCHOLOGY, or more precisely, THERAPY, with its ambition towards affect management. All the while Laurie is seeing a horrible emotional-rational therapist who is to cure her of the Michael Myers syndrome. In a supremely ironic turn, Laurie's request for more medication is turned down in favor of discovering the ''underlying causes'' of her trauma. At this point, Laurie goes fully berserk, screaming at the therapist: ''You're crazier than me you fucking cunt! I'd also gladly ask 'how are you Laurie' at 100 dollars an hour!'' Readers, it's been a long time since I felt this amount of RELIEF watching a movie, it almost had a real therapeutic effect.

The therapist-from-Hell is supported ideologically by Dr. Loomis, brilliantly rendered by Malcolm McDowell in the role of his life. Dr. Loomis goes around publishing mega-successful pop psychology serial killer books about Michael. All the while he's pontificating with his publisher in the back of a limo about his guilty conscience, but you can tell Dr. Loomis is smart enough to realize that both his publishing and its consumption by trailer trash America belong to the same vicious circle. He also senses the yearning for a Father Figure that fuels the sick cycle of abuse, and tries unsuccessfully to pull Michael out of it. I'm not going to spoil for you, readers, how all this delightfully implodes in the necrophiliac finale, suffice to say Zombie makes very few artistic compromises.

As we close on the hospitalized Laurie Strode, who is to inherit Michael's madness in the sequels, there's a clear sense that the villains are actually the good guys, and that affects cannot be ''managed'', which is simultaneously the film's socially engaged message to audiences.

I could hardly imagine a better remake, readers!

WHEN ALL IS SAID AND DONE

2011-12-11T16:23:00.001+01:00

(and don't miss the wonderful requiem by Cherubini at the end credits, readers!)

Readers, one of the cinematic moments that has impressed itself indelibly on my soul was the ending of TWIN PEAKS: FIRE WALK WITH ME, probably the most underrated movie of two centuries.
By this I mean that now, in the 21st century, it still isn't getting the recognition it deserves.

What happened before Laura Palmer ended up in Sartre's room was her incestuous dad barged in on her and a girlfriend slut while they were engaging in some horrible debauchery with a fat drug baron pig in the trailer. In a sequence simultaneously horrific and sublime, Laura's dad pleaded for her not put on the ''wedding ring''. Throughout the movie, this ring stands for some kind of trouble - and you sense that the trouble at hand is a perverse marriage of Laura with her crazy father, which would imply that she's marrying the evil spirit of Bob as well.

Well Laura decides to put on the ring after all, maybe because she cannot stand continuous rape, and only really just wants to die. And the father ritually kills her.

Meanwhile, the slutty girlfriend, whose heart is apparently not as troubled as Laura's, decides to pray - and gets miraculously saved, apparently by divine intervention. Laura's father throws her out of the trailer, and this is how we meet her at the beginning of the TV series: wobbling in a semi-comatose condition from the forest into the town of Twin Peaks.

So is this saying that while Laura deserves her fate, and is now alone with detective Cooper in the purgatory, or Hell, the girlfriend ''bought'' her salvation by asking God's forgiveness, and this is why she survives?

This, readers, would certainly be the Catholic/Calvinist interpretation: we all have the free will to choose, so we BETTER CHOOSE WISELY, READERIES, or else we get God's punishment.

But the issue of free will is a tiny bit more complex here. What if Laura's decision was based on her fear that if she continued to live, she would host the evil spirit of Bob, be the vessel of Satan, as it were, and so destroy both herself and her father in the process?

Or, in the worst-case scenario, what if Laura DESIRED her father, and so committed suicide in order to punish herself?

We could see that last scene in two ways: either Laura is crying the tears of liberation and cleansing, having realized that the Angel of Mercy saved her, too, and all her pain, all her suffering, was unnecessary, for the love of God is infinite, and we have already been saved. Or, Laura is crying because she realized that she missed the boat forever, having failed to maintain her faith in an all-loving God that would rescue her in the end.

The outcome of this dilemma is less important than the unique way David Lynch has tapped into the MYSTERIES OF LOVE (the title of one of his most astonishing songs from BLUE VELVET). For indeed, readers, this is and remains a MYSTERY that we'll never be able to (rationally) understand, even as in our hearts we know it is the only thing that could possibly matter - when all is said and done.

PARODY BOOK REVIEW: WHY GIRLS LOVE SOCIOPATHS

2011-12-10T20:02:00.001+01:00

Readers, the fabulous theological superstar Dr. Adamina Kotsko gave us an exclusive interview about her new book, which made reading the book completely impossible. Namely, dr. Kotsko became so aggressive in the midst of the interview that we had to call the police. We decided not to press charges, but were quite shaken by the sight of the young doctor losing her composure.

Sounds kinda cliched in a stupid way, an authoresse who writes about sociopaths, displaying sociopathological tendencies! But in those brief moments before she went berserk, dr. Adamina gave us the RAW angle on the motives behind her book:

- You know let's be honest I don't have the handsomeness of an Ashton Kutcher that the best looking bimbos would hump me by default. So I have quite a bit of a problem there. It was much easier when I was studying with Dr. Angelina Paulina Smith, she was always there to cover the most basic needs. Now we're not living together anymore, and I'm forced to look at myself in the mirror. And I see that with my geeky spectacles and my Peter Parker earnestness I do have the weird, detached handsomeness of a serial killer, who always looks more innocent than he really is. And you know how they say - women are masochists! They all want to be murdered a little. So my book taps into that widespread sentiment, and I identify ways to score better on the cutthroat heterosexual Christian Right market.

Asked about frequent allegations amongst the brethren in her congregation that she'd been sucking dr. Zizek's dick in the back of His limousine, Dr. Kotsko became visibly agitated.

- Nonsense! The dialectic double negation turn I make at the end of the book, where I conclude that we're all better off being just a little bit more sociopathic than the average Joe, is MY IDEA! It's MY IDEA! Do you hear me??? It's MY IDEA!!!

CUMMING ATTRACTIONS: ESCHATOLOGIA

2011-12-09T01:44:00.001+01:00

THE ADVENTURES OF TIN TIN

2011-12-07T22:52:00.001+01:00

Readers, all my life I've come into conflict with pretentious geezers who want to convince me that Steven Spielberg isn't a good director. But anyone who tries to deny Spielberg's visual genius is in fact fuckin' COLOR BLIND readers, and needs professional help that way.

It is largely due to movies like JAWS and JURASSIC PARK - two notable examples of Spielberg's talent - that America became the evil Empire that it is. Because geezers in Haiti watch this incredible, non-stop thrill montage and they think, WOW, you can achieve anything you wan' in Amerika! Then they jump into boats, which sink along the way and then they get eaten by Spielberg's sharks.

TIN TIN reminded me again, just how monstrously endowed Spielberg really is in the visual department. In many ways it's a repetition of the winner strategy he chose for INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM. Now the TEMPLE OF DOOM is the best action movie of all times: after 20 years, it still seduces with its relentless delirium, one sketch following the other at the speed of light, a cinematic roller coaster such as no amount of modern FX could challenge. You get double the dose of kinetic insanity with TIN TIN, only this time it comes with brilliant animation and a Belgian sense of humor that was mostly lacking in Indiana's stupid macho narrative. The movie was a 2 hour adrenaline rush, readers, of the kind I haven't experienced since MELANCHOLIA.

And this is completely apart from Spielberg's obvious status as an evil asshole, his ''artistic project'' being nothing else but a digital incarnation of the Market. While the INDIANA JONES series at least pretended to be about things quasi-spiritual, in TIN TIN, the sole purpose of the adventure is to get gold: lots and lots of gold. The great white shark used to be the villain in JAWS, now it's Spielberg's sole remaining ideology.

So after the ride is over, you walk out feeling that you just saw nothing, even though you certainly remember the pleasant thrill that the experience caused. In other words, it lasts long enough to perform a successful TRANSACTION, readers. Just like shopping!

TRENTEMOLLER: MOAN

2011-12-07T10:01:00.001+01:00

Readers, quite belatedly I discover the gem called Trentemøller - with an equally brilliant 2007 video featuring the tragic fate of Laika, the first dog to have entered space. I've rarely seen something this earnestly moving in the entirety of its horrible implications about the human race, as seen by the eyes of a dog.

CUMMING ATTRACTIONS: SAINT ELOISE'S SPIRITUAL PILGRIMAGES

2011-12-06T09:08:00.001+01:00

Readers, in this upcoming hilarious cartoon series, Saint Eloise Doylie goes on spiritual pilgrimages ranging from Western Catholicism to Eastern Orthodoxy, searching for her true calling in life.
But every time St. Eloise joins a spiritual community, her repressed tendencies towards cognitive psychology thinking cause her either public disgrace, or swift dismissal from the institution. Still St. Eloise continues her pilgrimage, knowing deep down in her kind heart that one day she will be illuminated by that special uncreated light of the Creator, readers.

The Parody Center is currently in negotiations with Patrick Mullins of the Immoral Sewers of Manhattan City, to play the role of - plainly put, readers - Satan, in the series.

THE SKIN I LIVE IN (LA PIEL QUE HABITO)

2011-12-03T08:07:00.001+01:00

Readers, that cinematic giants like von Trier or Almodovar seem to be surpassing themselves, film after film, in their autumn years, tells you on the one hand that talent isn't necessarily related to age, and on the other hand, that art may still have redemptive power in the midst of an Apocalypse. So by all means - get yer asses to THE CINEMAS, readers!!!

THE SKIN I LIVE IN is Almodovar's apotheosis on delightfully anal levels. All previous films by the chubby Latin bottom dealt with his attempt to divinate that ass into sublime transgenderism.
I remember we spent quite some blawging hours discussing Almodovar's relationship to ''female desire'' and the like. Now he goes all the way and imagines himself receiving a vaginoplasty from Antonio Banderas, who gives him a set of dildos to widen the hole so he may avoid ''negative consequences of surgery''. Banderas is ostensibly driven by Hitchockian motives - he wants to create a replica of his deceased wife. But all the time you can tell Almodovar's bottom (as represented by the surgery victim) has fashioned the surgeon into the perfect top. There are numerous obsessive situations in which Almodovar's avatar gets fucked endlessly, first in crude fashion, by an impossibly well-endowed Spanish delinquent, and then tenderly, by Banderas, who asks Almodovar to fetch some lubrication.

Although these penetrative experiences could be dubbed ''female'', they really are not. They are the desires of a particularly voracious gay bottom. Vincente, the young man who gets the vaginoplasty, is a bottom from the very beginning. Cast out by the masculinist Spanish bourgeoisie, Vincente doesn't score well with women; his love interest is an inaccessible butch lesbian. During the rape (of which he is falsely accused), Vincente can't even penetrate Banderas's daughter. Therefore, the ''punishment'' he receives from Banderas is in fact the bottom's profoundest desire.

Readers, I can already hear the WERMIN, shrieking in unison: you DISGUSTING MISOGYNIST CREEP!!! You are saying that women actually will their own rape!!! You should be ARRESTED!!!

But of course, the wermin are going to entirely miss the point of this movie, just like they missed the point of Brian De Palma's DRESSED TO KILL, which is more of a reference here than either VERTIGO, or THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN, although readers, ALL these masterpieces are a reference and the film is a wet dream for me on so many refined cinephilic levels.

After Vicente becomes Vera, he DOESN'T learn to accept his ''feminine self''. Just at the point when he is about to do so, and live happily ever after with the handsome surgeon and the good Catholic mother, Vincente sees a picture of himself as a young man in the newspapers, becomes embittered, and kills his perverse ''family''. It's a kind of an Oedipus in reverse, readeries: by becoming a full-blown woman, Vincente learns more about what it means to be a man.

The underlying suggestion is that the female ''gender'' is not really a gender, but something surpassing society's attempts to control it, as neither the surgeon top nor the operated bottom seem to be able to come to terms with it. It is pre-ontological, fungible, bendable, endlessly malleable, and it defies control on the level of the FLESH, readers.

I will be able to tell more after I have discussed this issue thoroughly with Tony, readers.

WEEKLY SERMON: TAKE YER DIRTY HANDS OFF MY JOUISSANCE, READERS

2011-12-01T19:02:00.001+01:00

Readers,

Eloise Doylie can hate me for a WHOLE WEEK if she wants, but I'm not going to let her steal my jouissance of MELANCHOLIA, readers! Nor I will quit talking about it for as long as it goddamn FEELS RIGHT AND GOOD!!! Especially not so that Doylie can have HER jouissance. When it comes to jouissances, mine is always top of the list; if we can share jouissances, readers, that's IDEAL - but Doylie apparently feels that this is not possible, because her jouissance is more important at this moment, more important, even, than our friendship.

Doylie wanted me to read some of her texts, which I have been ignoring because I'm too busy with MELANCHOLIA, but also, because I'm a very visual type and so avoid reading large chunks of densely composed text on principle. And this is simultaneously my main complaint against Eloise's texts - they're damn DIFFICULT, readers, in the manner of a Freud, or a Dostoyevski. They require reflection, contemplation, CONCENTRATION, none of which I have at the moment.

But Doylie wants me to prove my LOVE in this way, because you know, love is a ''reciprocal relationship''. Give'n take. She's been wrestlin' with that sin of pride for ages now, readers, and in her inability to offer unconditional love, failed on many counts. Which explains why she is now a buttslave at the Immoral Sewers of Manhattan City, where the Devil's gotten ahold of er.

Eloise has a good heart, though, and I know this will all come to pass.

Which brings me to my main subject - DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE TRY AN STEAL MY JOUISSANCE, readers. In many ways, MELANCHOLIA is a visionary piece of artistic masterwork because it puts into perspective that the monstrous global capitalist culture we live in wants to steal all of our goddamn jouissance, appropriate it and energize its pointless consumerist culture with it. It is the INSIDES OF OUR HEADS that the Masters of the Universe want to colonize, so that every single last drop of creativity becomes the Crisco Cream on capitalism's deeply embedded BUTTPLUG.

But Lord knows, readers, that this is neither fully possible, nor sustainable, and that it will eventually crash in on itself. Once that happens, there will be a liberation of jouissance, and I want to preserve my jouissance, whatever of it I still possess, for THAT DAY.

Thank you for your attention, readers.

THE BLAWG BUZZ, 29-11-2011

2011-11-29T16:43:00.001+01:00

Readers, the British Gothic Calvinist Bottom Club published their review of MELANCHOLIA, and of course, Comrade Dominique Fox wouldn't be the Oxford snob that she is, if she didn't forcefully read her gnostic adumbrated pretentiousness into Von Trier's text:

Somewhere along the line I think LvT’s constructing a version of “resolute being-towards-death”, which invests certain acts with authenticity, with existential heroism. He assigns this authenticity to the pre-modern, the non-rational, the feminine, the earthly and so on: to that which is aligned with “evil”, and doesn’t try to separate itself from its own evil nature. The non-evil – rationality especially – is inauthentic because it obscures or dissimulates the primary evil of creation: a kind of “feminine intuition” of that evil is then posited as a source of gnostic illumination. All of this makes a certain sort of sense (albeit one I find a bit noxious), but it’s not really compatible with nihilism as such – nihilism is rationalist, not pessimist, and utterly removed from the sort of Heideggerian sentiment LvT resorts to when he needs to ward off the threat of real meaninglessness.

I'm not going to get into the discussion as to why MELANCHOLIA is more related to Eastern Orthodoxy than Gnosticism, readers; it's a whole other subject. Rather, I'd like you to note Comrade Fox's craving for REAL meaninglessness. This is the bottomless pit into which the snob wants to fall, after she has hacked off her pecker, and fed it to the feminists. Angelique Paulina Smith is hilarious on the thread, trying to argue something against the Gnosticism thesis, but not having the guts to stand up to her Masters.

DR SINTHOME AND THE OBJECTS: SINTHOSIS

2011-11-25T07:31:00.001+01:00

Readers, the Egyptian Temptress sedated the Parody Center with her fragrant saliva and brought her to the Cairo headquarters, where you see the Parody Center waking up in shock...

...to see the Temptress leaning ominously towards him.

EGYPTIAN TEMPTRESS: So there you are. Welcome, I would say.

As the Temptress fixes her beautiful ravenous hair, her voice takes on a purring, slightly sinister quality, as if coming from some Lovecraftian Beyond.

EGYPTIAN TEMPTRESS: Me and Tamarayana are not pleased at all that you decided to take Levi for yourself, Parody.

PARODY CENTER: What exactly do you mean, dr. Harman?

The Temptress approaches Parody Center, readers, to put her sensual tentacles on the Center's tender nubile body.

EGYPTIAN TEMPTRESS: What I mean is that your ridiculous obsession with Levi's Phallus interferes with my plans to envelop Earth in the kind of a frigidity that would allow me to get ALL of the world's sensuality for myself, Parody.

The Temptress increases the sensual energy in her Tentacles.

EGYPTIAN TEMPTRESS: I think you can feel it now. I can generate countless micro-orgasms simultaneously, with a mere caress of my tentacles, while all you will ever get from Levi is a stupid fuck.

EGYPTIAN TEMPTRESS: So go ahead if you want, waste your time, draw stupid online cartoons, suck Levi's balls, be a Serbian wife, whatever. You're an intelligent young man, you should be able to figure out how stupidly you're behaving.

PARODY CENTER: But Dr. Harman, what do you want from Levi? And why do you need me? You're a multi-billion drachme international all-round academia superstar. I'm just an unemployed designer.

The Temptress points her impeccably polished fingernail in the direction of her crystal ball, where we see dr. Sinthome, who just woke up after a week of depressive slumber, scratching his balls.

EGYPTIAN TEMPTRESS: You're the one who knows the Secret of Sinthosis.

Back in the fourth dimension, readers, dr. Sinthome is telephoning Mrs. Sinthome, whom we haven't seen for a long time...for apparent reasons.

DR SINTHOME: Honey, the Earth is evil. Nobody will miss it. And there's no life on other planets. Life is only on Earth. (dramatic pause) And not for long.

MRS SINTHOME: What the Hell are you rambling on about? Is this all you have to say to me after you disappeared offa the face of the world ??? I'm filing for divorce this time, buster. And I'm not going to call Dr. Miller. I almost bankrupted the household the last time I called. You're beyond repair, you obsessive maniac!!!

But Dr. Sinthome is so melancholic, readers, that he can't even process this bit of rough terrain on the household front. The cat heads for her favorite Key West swimming pool.

DR SINTHOME AND THE OBJECTS: THE RECKONING (CONTINUED)

2011-11-20T01:24:00.000+01:00

Readers, it's been a year now according to fourth dimensional time that dr. Sinthome and the Parody Center spent some lovely steamy days and nights at Key West. Considering how stormy relationships can get between two obsessive men, it's been going pretty well for the Narcissistic Cat and her lascivious parodic lover. But this week dr. Sinthome seems to be suffering from a strange case of melancholia, as he spends all his time sleeping soundly on his favorite bed made out of a heap of smart books. The Parody Center tries to wake dr. Sinthome up:PARODY CENTER: Get up, Levi, for God's sakes, you have a conference in Sweden next week, and then a cocktail with Lars von Trier the week after that, remember you have to discuss the withdrawal of the objects in relation to melancholia, and then you need to fly down to London to try and get that posh new assistant provost post you said you wanted so badly,... the agenda is completely full. GET UP!!! GET UP !!!

But dr. Sinthome merely changes his sleeping position and lets out a melancholic sigh. The Parody Center is growing increasingly worried that in this condition, the cat may not be able to fulfill his ''marital duties'' - at all.

As the Egyptian Temptress observes the scene in her crystal ball, she is concerned that dr. Sinthome has been spending far too much time in the fourth dimension. She's also had quite enough of the Parody Center's constant nuisances, and is ready now to settle the matter once and for all. (Readers - you will have noticed that little Tamarajajna, in the meantime, grew up into a formidable bloodthirsty Egyptian panther; this will grow in plot significance as we move along)

Dr. Sinthome's melancholia is now so bad that the cat can't feed herself anymore. The Parody Center springs to the rescue, giving dr. Sinthome little bird bites of her favorite Texan stew.

But the merciless Egyptian Temptress spreads out her tentacles and kidnaps the Parody Center right in the middle of this endearing scene!!!

SALON.COM ON MELANCHOLIA

2011-11-13T15:33:00.001+01:00

“The Earth is evil. No one will grieve for it.”That moment upset me profoundly the first time I saw it; I was immediately in Claire’s corner, asking, “But where will Leo grow up?” On second viewing, this thought experiment on von Trier’s part strikes me as a theological argument, and perhaps even as a way of reintroducing God, in covert and obscure form, into a godless universe. When I suggested this to him in our interview last year, he didn’t disagree, and as a friend of mine observed after a recent screening, “Melancholia” has an almost religious intensity in its latter stages. Faced with the ultimate irrelevance of all the conventions and rituals she values, Claire moves from being Justine’s caretaker into total panic and despair, while it’s Justine who pulls herself out of her personal pit of gloom long enough to gather her sister and nephew to her, in a loving embrace, at the very end. Indeed, Justine seems to view Melancholia as a friend or kindred spirit or lover; in one breathtaking scene, she reclines naked on a riverbank at night, luxuriating in the double light of our own Moon and the new planetary visitor, looking like an extraterrestrial Rhine Maiden. “Claire” is harder to watch because we know how it’s going to end, but then, we know how our lives will end and that doesn’t stop us from wanting to live them.The end of “Melancholia” is both gorgeous and terrifying, but von Trier is right that it’s not a movie about the end of the world. It might be expressing the fact that sometimes we all feel as if we wish the world would end — and it delights in going much further than Hollywood disaster movies ever dare to — but that’s a different matter. It’s about facing life and death and mental illness with as much courage and love as you can muster, and recognizing that it isn’t always enough.Readers, I completely agree with SALON's view. But the God returning is neither the vengeful God of Catholic Christianity, punishing mankind for our sins, nor the Nirvana God of Eastern religions - it is the Christian Orthodox God of forgiveness, who has a deep understanding for the meaning of suffering. When I say ''meaning'' I have to be careful not to imply that the suffering in MELANCHOLIA is MEANINGFUL; it completely isn't - Justine's depression has no purpose to the plot, or ''character development''. She does not learn a lesson, she does not climb to a higher level. As the reviewer nicely puts it, ''recognizing that it isn't always enough'' is actually the only ''lesson'' we get from the proceedings. But precisely this WITHDRAWAL OF VANITY is what makes it possible for the characters to hold hands together in the end and basically forgive each other not just for their own sins, but for the sins of the world as well. The movement is completely the opposite of transcendence - it is a return to the horrifyingly pointless, vulnerable, humble position of being HUMAN, in which we finally come together. Even if it's just for a few moments before the end of the world.

FELINE MYTHOLOGIES

2011-11-09T14:03:00.002+01:00

Readers, I love the Narcissistic Cat - but she's gone as mad as Cheshire Cat under the influence of the Egyptian Medusa:The denial of the mythic modality of consciousness really frightens me about Enlightenment-promoters, because their disregard for how myth channels their science, etc., blinds them to hubris. That was much of the lesson of WWI and WWII–that science is not a cure-all.This is the sort of thesis that really frustrates me in discussions about religion, myth, science, and reason, because the suggestion seems to be that science and technology are the cause of the horrors of the Holocaust and World War I. Yet they were not the cause, but rather the occasion for these horrors. The cause was mythological thought in the form of nationalist, religious, and racial myths that animated these two wars. In this regard, there was little difference between 14th century pogroms directed at Jews during the Black Plague or the wholesale slaughter of Muslims by Catholics during the Crusades, than what took place in these wars. The difference was that the hatred generated by these mythological forms of thought during the 20th century was able to exercise itself on a greater scale than ever before due to the new technologies. Nonetheless, the problem wasn’t Enlightenment, but the absence of Enlightenment.
So far so good, readers. Even as some ''academics'' on dr.Sinthome's blawg don't, I do still remember my highschool lessons about the difference between a CAUSE and an OCCASION. For example, the cause of the First World War is the imperial competition over the colonies, while the occasion is the murder of Prince Ferdinand in my homeland.
But then the cat goes batshit:
In this regard, it is not Enlightenment thinkers that disregard myth in science– everywhere they strive to sniff out exactly these things –but rather the users of this technology that disregard myth or cynically use it to advance their own aims.
What the geezer on dr. Sinthome's blawg was trying to communicate before the cat cleverly turned the argument around, is that Enlightenment's MYTHICAL belief in reason, rhyme and rationality, which drives science and machines, contributed to people underestimating what these machines could do, when plugged into nationalistic and other myths. Even if the Enlightened rationality didn't directly cause the abuse of these machines, its neutrality ALLOWED it to happen, it was impotent to stop the power of passion and myth, so EFFECTIVELY, readers, it did commit murder without deliberation. Not to mention what a central role technology played, say, in Hitler´s propaganda, where it´s really impossible to establish a border between cause and occasion.
The cat's hidden agenda in this & many other discussions is to take the side of the oppressed machines, who together with the cat's coffee machine, ironing board, and DVD player, should rise against those pesky subjective humans spoiling the blissful neutral New Agey world of benign objects.
But whenever I try to get angry at the cat, she comes up with something adorable,
Good examples of this sort of myth would be the myths that animated eugenics, the myths today that animate sociobiology where, for baffling reasons, researchers again and again choose chimpanzees that are highly warlike, patriarchal, and hierarchical as their model of human nature, all the while ignoring bonobo monkeys that are very bit as genetically similar to humans, and so on. This is what the Enlightenment project of critique is all about.
Readers dr.Sinthome is such a tomcat that he can hardly stand it himself, so he projects some lame kind of Enlightenment feminism on his own EXCESSIVE MALE TESTOSTERONE.

LOVE AND DEATH ON LONG ISLAND

2011-11-08T23:23:00.000+01:00

Hi again readers!

One of the many great things MELANCHOLIA conjured up is John Hurt - one of the best actors out there - who accomplished his pinnacle with the criminally underrated 1998 masterstroke LOVE AND DEATH ON LONG ISLAND.

To dispense with the plot technicalities, Hurt plays Gilles D'Ath, an aging writer queen experiencing what you'd call a ''late coming out'' when he discovers the beauty of Ronny Bostock (Jason Priestley) in a puerile romp called HOTPANTS COLLEGE. Gilles's erotomaniacal obsession with Ronny is also his initiation into the Modern World, which he'd been trying to avoid hiding in his Victorian mansion. Gilles embarks on the path of impossible desire - one of my favorite subjects, readers - and travels to Long Island, USA, where he will meet his buttboy-to-be.

Needless to stress this kinda trajectory leads straight down the toilet drain; Ronny of course doesn't want to leave his vulgar but pretty American wife in order to suck Gilles's sagging, uppity British asshole. The film ends with a harrowing scene at the diner table, where Gilles finally confesses to Ronny why he's been so eager to help his film career. It's a total downer, and yet in all the sordid depravity - echoing, but not replicating, Visconti's ''Death in Venice'' - lies a very important message about the 21st century, readers.

Allow me to elaborate, although I promise I won't be as elaborate as dr.Sinthome, who has by now turned into a veritable one-man object-oriented logorrheatron (with adorable love handles).

When in the middle of his obsession Gilles decides to hold a lecture entitled ''The Death of The Future'', the movie's giving you clues as to what it's really about. Gilles had just discovered a video player. Fascinated, he explains how on repeated viewings, ''what seemed accidental becomes an indelible part of the film's texture - even a banal message on a T shirt''. To illustrate, Gilles freeze-frames a video of Ronny ...

...and we instantly get a hunch that the death of the future is related to the loss of PENIS, readers, that neither Gilles nor Ronny can find in their pants anymore. But this masculinity crisis doesn't lead to a lament for the return of patriarchal society, which I'm sure dr. Slavoj Zizek would encourage with all of his salivating mouth. To the contrary, it presents us with the image of two queer people tragically debilitated by the patriarchal system being entrenched NOT by Gilles's old-fashioned Victorianism, but by the society of soft, politically correct surveillance, co-regulated by wamyn like Ronny's castrating spouse. It seems insane that Gilles and Ronny could ever have a love affair, but one is left with a clear sense that Ronny would have been happier indeed if he'd followed Gilles to England for a career in arthouse cinema.( Provided, of course, they skipped the rimming and focused on other types of intercourse.)But I wandered off my main subject, readers, which is that the frame freezing here refers to a new vision - a predecessor to the multimedia transformations that would take place a decade after the film's release. The frozen frame is like a portal - it opens doors to the eternal dimension , to permanence, beyond the morass of repetitions and circularities that define our decaying post-modernity. You can of course read it as ''death'' (Gilles's surname telegraphs the message from the very beginning), but as I said before, this is not entirely Luchino Visconti territory. There's nothing remotely transcendent, sublime, or even soothing, about Gilles's confession to Ronny. In the end, Gilles writes a long letter saying that Ronny will forever remember the letter and how he chose not to ''open his heart to another in the face of an uncaring world''. And that's all there is to it: a contact message frozen in time. Yet this one frame, this one moment, remains the only thing that will survive the post-modern world of endlessly disposable exchanges.

DOSSIER VON TRIER

2011-11-06T21:36:00.001+01:00

Readers, the Lars Von Trier Hitler Scandal is dragging on, refusing to go away. Soon it will be amplified by Melancholia's American premiere.

Although I share much of Von Trier's scatologico-infantile impulses, I don't think this latest was merely a prank. Which would explain its staying power.

You see, readers, when Lars said he understood Hitler, he was principally making fun of himself as the bourgeois ''houte culture'' artist, partaking of the same vile bourgeoie impulses that his movies satirize. (We should remember here that Hitler used to be a frustrated painter) Von Trier was also referring to Melancholia, which metaphorically accuses upper class bourgeoisie of destroying the world. As he always used to say, in Europe, we are all Nazis; this didn't change since the Holocaust.

But what Lars was also saying, ironically, is that he doesn't give a rat's ass about laws and regulations prohibiting free speech on the Holocaust. Few things are as de rigeur in Europe as the collective ritual of being taken aghast by World War Two atrocities. It's the safest imaginable ''political conscience'' - for most Europeans, as deeply felt as the fart of Queen Beatrix.

The REALLY significant political act would be to condemn modern-day Hitlers, and there are more than one, sitting in most Western governments, and in quite a few other world governments. BUT THAT AIN'T NOT GONNA HAPPEN, readers, despite #Occupy, so we're going to weep again for things that we have no responsibility for - and our leaders will stay safely hidden behind their liberal-humanitarian masks.

I'm not saying that MELANCHOLIA is going to change the world, but I'm quite sure the consternation around Lars and Hitler is so great because the movie touched a nerve, in that one place where the world doesn't want to look - the idea that we're hurtling to annihilation under the leadership of the new Nazis.

WITHDRAWAL OF SANITY

2011-10-24T03:22:00.001+02:00

In ''Local Manifestations and Withdrawal'', the Narcissistic Cat Dr.Sinthome tells the story of a flower, which can either be yellow or white, depending on the kind of light that falls on it, and the eye that is observing it (the cat reminds us that animals, unlike us stupid humans, can see the ultraviolet spectrum).

Later in the post, the cat claims that neither the yellow, nor the white flower, are real, but ''local manifestations'' of the ''real flower'', whose inscrutable essence, it being withdrawn, we shall never get to know, readers. In the comment boxes, the cat connects this inscrutability - with a lot of grandiosity and pathos - with the struggle of oppressed black women. If everything were just simply a product of internal relations,the cat shrieks, there’d be no point in pursuing projects of emancipation because oppressed peoples would irrevocably be what they are and would harbor no potentials to become otherwise!!!

It sounds at least as wonderful as Madanna's EXPRESS YOURSELF, readers, but there are some prodding unanswered questions that just keep gnawing at me.

If there is a real flower that I can never see or know, because it exists in some dimension beyond my comprehension and or experience, what is the point of even talking about it? In that case, isn't the ''real flower'' just a figment of my imagination, like aliens from outerspace? The flower cannot interact with me, and I cannot interact with the flower. Therefore, we are two nothings facing each other - leading up to nothing.

One of the commentators wryly replaces the term ''figment of imagination'' with the term ''inference'', but the difference is purely technical. We are calling into existence something that doesn't really exist, and while we're doing it, we're sabotaging ourselves by claiming that we can never really know the existence of that which doesn't really exist.

Or in other words: if the black woman's real self was really withdrawn, HOW would she ever develop her potential to become otherwise???

It's a kind of a Zizekian double negation mixed with self-castration and then packaged as bilogistic novelty. Whatever it is, it's a total MINDFUCK, readers, and I think this is why it works so well commercially.

ON THE LOSS OF CHARACTER

2011-10-23T04:22:00.000+02:00

Hoberman of VILLAGE VOICE writes:

http://www.voicefilm.com/2011/05/cannes_2011_lars_von_triers_melancholia_wow.php

The response that most surprised me was the commotion in the aisles with people rushing from the theater even as it was clear the movie was building up its final moments. Probably they were hurrying to get seats at the press conference. I'd like to believe however that for some, like the characters on the screen, the tension was unbearable: They couldn't stand to see the end. The word "melancholia" describes a state of being. Melancholia is an experiential movie, wondering (among other things) how doomsday might feel.

And this, readers, is the best review of MELANCHOLIA I read so far.

In the past couple of weeks Marxist hordes have started ranting again about the fact that in our technotronic age, there are no ''character actors'' anymore. Many critics complain that the characters in MELANCHOLIA are ''underwritten'', the dialogue ''empty'' (''people don't talk like that''), and consequently, the film pretty but frivolous.

Ah the sterility of world reviewing!

I see this quite differently: the reason I could never dismiss ANTICHRIST, despite its plethora of inanities and even overt stupidities, is that it offers such an incredible EXPERIENCE of the Unconscious, readers. From the very first shot of the ''magic forest'', I cannot get my eyes off the screen - but despite Lynchian references, it's NOT the same location as David Lynch's surreal landscapes.

ANTICHRIST was recorded and projected digitally, and is the first instance that I know of in the history of digital cinema where the image creates something qualitatively NEW (this impression extends to, and is amplified by MELANCHOLIA) Possibly due to the fact that the relationship between the foreground and the background isn't three-dimensional in the analog sense: I'm not exactly sure. It could also be the way artifice (talking fox) coexists with sublimity on the plane of immanence. But this forest certainly conjures up a presence, which is accessible experientially, even as on the level of symbolism it's quite cliched, and predictable. Shortly, readers, the movie convinces you that the forest is alive, and that THE FOREST IS THE CENTRAL CHARACTER IN THE FILM. No wonder, then, that the human agents have no personality!

It is quite like that unspeakable, unmentionable, unimaginable ghost that haunts INLAND EMPIRE, whose (literally!) organic presence you can feel even though he is never shown, or explained.

When in MELANCHOLIA Justine says that ''she knows the world is evil'', I think she is referring precisely to this invisible-yet-present experience, rather than her alleged clairvoyance, or the intricate web of symbols that the movie spins in order to fuck your mind with highly pleasant intellectual distractions.

In itself, this is no revelation, readeries. After all, movies are always - a sensomotor experience. But there's something OTHER to this experience, which I would like to see addressed. Namely, despite being projected on a 2D screen, von Trier's fantasies have a corporeal, and an organic component to them. It's as though he were tapping into some undiscovered sensual apparatus in our BODIES - perhaps in our ''astral bodies'' - and speaking to it. This is why MELANCHOLIA hits with such visceral power; you can argue that the beauty of the images and the power of Dolby Surround makes your ass shake, and that's certainly there. But there's more to it, something that is quite material even though it appears fancied.

So will the ''character lamenters'' please shut the fuck up, and get over their boring nostalgia. We're dealing with the birth of something new.

CUMMING ATTRACTIONS: 9/11 THE MONOMUSICAL

2011-10-23T03:29:00.000+02:00

Hi readers! Only a few months after the publication of his erotomaniacal masterpiece, IMMORAL SEWERS OF MANHATTAN CITY, Patrick J. Mullins delights us again, taking the lead in a musical version of 9-11, properly entitled 9/11: THE MONOMUSICAL !!!

Captured by the splendor of American dance artist Martha Graham, Mullins choreographs himself falling off the Twin Towers as the Ballerina. While the Towers are crumbling, the Ballerina continues to fall, and fall endlessly, until in the show's second hour it becomes obvious that she will never reach the ground.

''I wanted to freeze that moment in time'', Patrick tells us in an exclusive interview, ''and then use the opportunity to tell my entire lifestory. It's an attempt to use the beauty of my body and my bodily movement as a barrier against traumatic memory. In the end, I conquer gravity, and I conquer history. At the same time, I am keeping the memory of the trauma alive, and the musical in this sense is a mobile monument. I am like Querelle, an icon of fetishistic worship, and a harbinger of doom.''

Here's a selection of press reviews, readers:

''Powerfully self-absorbed, gloriously pretentious, majestically narcissistic''
(VARIETY)

''There's something irresistibly putrefying in Patrick's performance''
(VILLAGE VOICE)

''It really takes something of a pathological genius to combine a pretentious monodrama with an even more pretentious operetta into a 2-hour long spectacle of self-indulgence''
(ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY)

THE THING

2011-10-23T01:02:00.000+02:00

Readers, as if we needed yet another proof that Halliwud is undead, in comes this ''prequel'' of John Carpenter's immortal classic - a prime-time example of 21st century buggery - that nobody really needed or wanted, but that justifies its existence naturally by the fact that it can make PROFIT.

Directed by a completely bland Dutch novice (Matthijs van something, every Smurf fucker here is called Matthijs), THE THING tries to be a prequel, explaining the events in the Norwegian camp that led up to the release of the Thing in Carpenter's film. However, the movie is really just a remake, and a bad one at that, for it replicates the original's structure, mood and design by fouling up everything that was good the first time round.

Rob Bottin's groundbreaking animatronics, which creeps the Hell out of me every time I see the original, transforms into CGI that is effective, but dead. The creature is now able to mutate at a much higher speed, but its movements neither look natural, nor are they especially frightening. Hordes of reviewers on the internet justify this by a kind of a ''get over it - it's the age of CGI after all".

The main problem with the CGI has always been that it operates in the hyper-realistic key. In its very attempt to imitate reality, the CGI ends up looking unreal. Over the years this has improved somewhat, for example you have moments in Pixar's animations where the characters come across as living creatures. But generally the technique remains shitty-looking and also seems to run on automatic pilot by now. Several thousands of times the technicians and the directors have admitted that CGI doesn't look as good as the animatronics, but they fucking keep doing it. Which only goes to show that once you let technology run the world, there's no turning back, readers.

Carpenter's delightfully homosexual narrative is changed by replacing Kurt Russel with a WERMIN. I won't bother to quote her name, or credentials, because she's a plucky nuisance. From the getgo you know the WERMIN will end up pulling the Sigourney Weaver shtick from ALIENS. I was secretly hoping - in vain, of course - that the Dutchman would have the dark Calvinist ingenuity to dispense with her and allow the men to finish the show properly. But she lingers on, getting more irritating by the minute until she finally decides to stand up to the abusive Norwegian patriarch by yelling ''Open your mouth!''. At this point I almost turned off my illegal copy of the film, readeries.

The homosexuality in Carpenter's THE THING, readers, isn't simply a matter of men fucking each other. In fact, there is no evidence in the film that any kind of sexual activity ever took place in the Antarctic camp. It's more about the idea of men locked up in a closed space, confronted with the fact that without women, they can only reproduce themselves endlessly - as the Thing monster ends up sarcastically showing them. The monster is designed as a huge vagina dentata, clearly indicating that it's a feminine force come to tamper with the all-male Paradise.

So when you take this darkly humorous, subtly ironic, creepily sexual concept and change it into a WERMIN narrative, it's really something only a bland fucking Dutch asshole could do to a Carpenter masterpiece!!!

#OCCUPY AMSTERDAM

2011-10-16T23:31:00.000+02:00

Readers, here's a brief photo report from #Occupy Amsterdam (mostly to stop my London correspondent from BROODING something about the Grateful Dead).

The #Occupy wasn't much, as only about 1,000 of the tweeted 3,000 showed up, and then half of that number were farted-out socialists (tm), beatnik anarchists (tm), anarcho-hippies (tm), Slavoj Zizek fans (tm), Illuminati (tm) conspiracists, 9-11 Truthers (tm), angry drunks (think Warszawa Klein) plus your usual assortimaint of weird Amsterdam types, whose weirdness has been commodified by the ubiquitous rebellion (tm) industry.

The crowd was uncomfortably crammed into the smallish Beursplein, making it all look even more insular than it actually was. Everywhere I saw logos of the ''Zeitgeist'' organization, which plays an important role in #Occupy. Looking through their website, I understood that ''Zeitgeist'' is selling a holistic alternative to the money system no less, only despite a lot of really wonderful rhetoric, I couldn't find exactly what this alternative is. There are references to a ''new'' and ''growing'' kind of social consciousness that isn't based on Profit or the Survival of the Fittest. ''Zeitgeist'' proposes that we get there by Gandhi-like peaceful activism, but readers, I really don't know if this isn't yet another Mutter Gaya New Agey conceit like James Cameron's AVATAR. I have problems with the concept of a good ''mother nature'', and I have even more problems with the concept of a good HUMAN nature.

Enfin, some hope for improvement came when the Facebook gen youngsters joined the crowd in the afternoon phase of the demonstrations. The youngsters didn't seem to belong to the stale ol Lefty scene represented by the aforementioned characters. They were mostly defined by their Samsung Galaxy phones, and their explanation of the world crisis sounded far more logical than the socialists' ranting about ''bringing down the profit system''.

DEATH IS THE BEST SINGLE INVENTION OF LIFE

2011-10-13T03:08:00.000+02:00

Readers, this insanity from the fairly insane corporate thief Steve Jobs basically means that YOU SHOULD REPLACE YOURSELF FOR A NEW GADGET.

Which reminds me - my hero and cyberpunk icon Shaviro has been musing on all the ways TREE OF LIFE and MELANCHOLIA are different in their worldviews.

While the TREE OF LIFE offers precisely this Steve Jobsian New Agey techno-positivistic optimism, which in fact is standing for a DEATH CULT, readers, MELANCHOLIA with its nihilistic pessimism offers a truly life-affirming message.

FRIGHT NIGHT 3D

2011-10-02T23:49:00.000+02:00

Readers, as I was just telling Tony before he stood me up for our nighttime MELANCHOLIA date, homosexuality seems to have been occluded from the FRIGHT NIGHT remake in a way which clearly suggests there's been a REPRESSION taking place, readers.

In the original movie, homosexual seduction was simultaneously a part of the film's post-modernistic in-joke, referring to the growing ''gender bending'' trend of the 1980s, and a coming out event for the rather obvious homosexual undertones of the vampire myth. (This would later culminate in the Lestat-Louis love affair from THE INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE, and be elaborated in the brilliant HBO series TRUE BLOOD.) Played by that heartthrob Chris Sarandon, the vampire protagonist, despite having a bisexual orientation, was still the charmingly seductive Dracula we know from Bram Stoker's novels.

In the new FRIGHT NIGHT, Colin Farell plays the vampire as a total sado-psycho top. Indescribably hot in his simple work overalls, Farell doesn't need stupid leather accessories to look mean. The small leather band on his wrist is already enough.The vampire doesn't waste any time on foreplay, or elaborate wording - he goes straight for the throat. And that's all he really cares about, readers: beating up then sucking off his maso bottoms. His desire isn't driven by anything as perfunctory as a Libido. Quite simply, it is sucking for the sake of sucking.

Bathing in a sickly-pale grey light, the whole film emanates a coldness of affect. Although the leading teenagers try to communicate sweet things to each other, everything clearly revolves around sado-masochistic relations. There are only tops and bottoms in this world, readers, I've been telling you that for how many years now!!! Because sex as a vehicle of exchange is actually perfunctory, we don't even get to see particularly explicit scenes. All we see is perfectly cardboard ''commodity images'' engaged in the survival of the fittest. Please note, readers, that the ''homosexuality'' of the relation does not refer to the act of intercourse between two men, but to the desire of all the men to reproduce themselves endlessly.

More movies have dealt with Marx's metaphor of Capital as the Vampire, for example DAYBREAKERS. But FRIGHT NIGHT tops them all with the clinical precision of its detached affect.

THE BOY WITH THE BIKE

2011-10-02T16:20:00.000+02:00

Readers, here's a great piece of prole cinema more suited to the Limey welfare tastes of my London correspondent than Lars von Trier's Melancholia. It's quite a bit of a masterpiece in its own genre, and I look forward to discovering more of the Dardenne brothers in the future.

Played brilliantly by Thomas Doret, the boy with the bike is an abandoned child who keeps trying to win back the affections of his impoverished father. Along the way he bumps into a kindly hairdresser (Cecile de France) and she ends up becoming his stepmother. In the immensely strained, but endlessly tender mother-child dynamic that develops, THE BOY WITH THE BIKE finds exactly the humanity that so many aging Marxists are claiming to have lost in the post-human age of Digital Cinema. And it's a simple, yet wonderful joy to watch, readers.

But in the Dardenne brothers' strange blending of melodrama with cinema verite, precisely this humaneness makes the class relations behind the story even more horrfying, and inhuman, than they would be in a classic ''socially relevant drama''.

Following a nasty episode where he tried to rob some middle-class Frenchmen, the boy with the bike decides to clean up his act, accept the idea that his dad isn't coming back, and live with his caregiver permanently. Just when your faith in humanity is restored, readers, the Dardennes deal the 400s blows (reference to Truffaut's film deliberate): the boy learns through a near-death experience that the only way he can live in society is if he keeps silent about class inequalities.

THE BLAAAWG BUZZ, 1-10-2011

2011-10-01T17:21:00.000+02:00

Readers, it seems the Colonel of Arabia managed to inject some life into the morass that we call the Lefty blawgosphere nowadays. And it is the dark Diva's ability to accomplish this that'll always give her sordid credits in my book, much as I detest her vulgar Communism.

Further down the comment boxes, that ACTION SCRIPT SNOB from Oxford, however, steps on my foot by using the word ''nationalism'' again:

The gloves generally came off for people who were being idiots. It's true that there's something about Zizek that seems to bring out the idiot in idiots (Dejan obsessed over him too, albeit largely for creepy Serbian nationalist reasons). He that toucheth pitch shall be defiled therewith, perhaps.

It is typical for petty collaborationists like the Fox to throw little darts from their comfortable fag sofas like this. Since they neither have an argument, nor the guts to defend it, they will continue to suck Stalin's dick to the LAST DROP, readers, before they'll stand up for their irrelevant snotty asses.

I needn't remind faithful readership of the absurdity contained in the equation between Slobodan Milosevic's defense of the socialist Yugoslavia, and Serbian nationalism. It is precisely the necklace that the Western Left never should have put on, if they really wanted to maintain a shred of dignity in the face of capitalism's triumphant march. It is the Party Line of NATO, and the key conceit of the Trotskyist cunts: that they were leading us into a bright future when they envisaged the common socialist state of the proletariat.
(Which, irony of ironies, readers, only Serbia was defending - the whole time)

Zizek is too good for these kinds of cunts, readers. What they deserve is five years of forced labor on Tito's Naked Island, and in Comrade Fox's case, a lifelong prohibition on masturbation.

MELANCHOLIA

2011-09-19T01:47:00.000+02:00

I could be bound within a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space,
if only I didn't have...bad dreams

Readers, a ''review'' is completely inopportune for a piece of sheer cinematic poetry such as Lars Von Trier's MELANCHOLIA. But I'm going to do it anyway because I promised Tony I would do it, and there's no less than 53 days to go before the American premiere...

(DISCLAIMER: regardless of this film's immense beauty, professor Products without novels is NOT excused from publishing at least one novel this year)

If in ANTICHRIST von Trier was dealing with the ''externalized Unconscious'', in MELANCHOLIA he's dealing with the ''externalized Depression''. An intimate family drama, not unlike Winterberg's FESTEN, seems to cause planetary shifts in space so that the planet Melancholia is about to collide with planet Earth, causing an instant Apocalypse.

All is this laden with potential for academic interpretation fodder. For example, you could see the movie as Von Trier's meditation on Liebestod, via Hamlet. What with that Ophelia-like promo image of Kirsten Dunst, and Wagner's Niebelungen blasting from the soundtrack, there's no denying there's something rotten in the state of Denmark. Or we could discuss how upper class bourgeois embarrassment is going to lead us all into the Apocalypse. In some parts of the movie, von Trier deploys the same handheld Dogma picture from FESTEN to uncover the hypocrisies, and the repressions, of the upper classes. Other times I was reminded of Hitchcock's MARNIE, which similarly externalized Tippi Hedren's hysteria to surrealistic/expressionistic effect. Or if you're one of the post-Continental Marxists, we could all hold hands together, whining about the emerging end of the world, which however is already dead, and so there's just nothing that can be done about it.

Von Trier's arthouse publicity machine certainly counts on a chorus of interpreters masturbating their readings, my dear readeries!

But I was more struck by MELANCHOLIA's intense capturing of affect - the beauty and tragedy of the Apocalypse. Already in the stunning prologue, the film posits that the end of the world will primarily be an AESTHETIC experience. And indeed, from the shiny surface of planet Melancholia to the gorgeous overhead shots of running horses, it never stops being so painfully beautiful that when it finally arrives, it's really some kind of an artistic orgasm, readers.

I was reminded again of the concept launched in THE PORNO GANG: Catharsis through self-annihilation. As Mladen Djordjevic once said, art is like a ''personal temple for purification''.

The only philosopher, then, who is really licensed to address MELANCHOLIA would be my hero and cyberpunk icon Shaviro. His fascinating recent research in aestheticization could explain why and how the end of the world could be so terrible and beautiful at the same time.

Finally some credit to Kirsten Dunst's incredible performance. Dunst was already brilliant in INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE, at the age of 12. She then grew up to sheer gorgeousness in SPIDERMAN. Now she's just irresistibly adult - and still gorgeous - as the depressed Ophelia, whose ''madness'' brings planets into collision.

OO3: THE TEMPTRESS SPEAKS

2011-09-17T19:22:00.001+02:00

OOO3: DR SINTHOME STRUTS THE STAGE

2011-09-17T19:00:00.001+02:00

MY 9/11 COMMEMORATION

2011-09-13T08:38:00.000+02:00

Readers, when 9-11 was taking place I was making a German Jaegerschnitzel with champignon sauce. I remember being nervous about some university exam.Then the picture of the falling towers came on screen, and I thought it was the trailer for an Independence Day sequel.When it turned out it wasn't, I thought, oh well, good that America's finally getting a taste of their own cookie. The death toll was a little disappointing; I expected more carnage, and maybe also some splatter shots of the falling victims.Without those kinds of visceral shots, it was pretty disappointing reality TV porn.And that's that - readers. I didn't think about 9-11 any further.Dutch television later broadcast a great video saying ''Americans, we don't care'', and I remember the general sentiment in Holland was exactly that. Nobody seemed to find this American melodrama especially moving.I thought about 9-11 again when I met Patrick J. Mullins, who is probably the most famous Republican 9-11 groupie on the Internets. The sheer amplitude of his shrieking invested the subject with some excitement...for a while.But that quickly subsided, and very soon I forgot about 9-11 altogether.

ELVIRA

2011-09-12T01:56:00.000+02:00

Readers, Kim Dammit is soon going to publish the ultimate take on Brian De Palma's Scarface; I just want to focus on Scarface's wife, Elvira Madigan (Michelle Pfeiffer), who is the most underrated maso bottom in cinema history.I'm sure many feminists and WERMIN would like to convince us that Elvira is the victim of circumstance - cocaine, Tony Montana, or the evil patriarchal system - but all that is just alotta CROCK OF SHIT. From the very first moment Elvira walks into Tony's life, it's obvious she's expecting to be dragged around, pampered and fucked by all the handsome Italoamerican mafiosi populating this film, readers.

In this scene, Tony is being particularly nasty to Elvira - calling her a junkie and publicly humiliating her - but Elvira can only stare back with a hilariously hurt expression. Pfeiffer portrays her masochism perfectly, as a combination of weakness, idleness and an incredibly voracious libido hiding behind a mask of aloofness.

Another setpiece shows how Elvira, insulated in front of her vanity mirror, actually runs the show. Even though clearly separated from the men, she is nevertheless the discrete focus of attention that never goes away.

And in a particularly brilliant acting turn, Pfeiffer demonstrates that Elvira's overly restrictive superego fuels her addiction, snorting not once but twice as she looks around nervously, observed presumably by her own exaggerared conscience.

THE BLAAAWG BUZZ, 8-9-2011

2011-09-08T14:32:00.000+02:00

It seems that the deep friendship between Cloaques Immorales d'Manhattan and our favorite foul-mouthed cunt Warszawa Klein ended before it'd even started. The two have delinked each other's pussies in a matter of hours, and left each other to bleed. Such is the fickleness of blawgy love affairs, readers. Maybe it's all for the better - Martha Graham was already startin' to turn in her grave observing this ''intellectual collaboration''. Cloaques threw herself on more age-appropriate pursuits, such as idle political chit-chat over tea biscuits at Eloise's, while Warszawa cranked up the volume of her pseudo-engaged political ranting under the strict supervision of the cunt's Mistress, the infamous, and very tawdry, Colonel Lucretia Sherbert of the Wall Street Borgias. It was interesting, though, to observe the brief cross-pollution.. I noticed over time, readers, that blawg writing frequently borrows the structures of TV soap, leading up to delightful effects. It's always exciting in soaps when the leads temporarily play ''out of character'', which only makes their character more pronouncedly rigid. And then we all go, ''the more people change, the more they stay the same...'' So now we're back in the autumn season, and every bitch is shacking up in her own niche. I don't have high hopes for the ''joint collaborative writers' effort'' between Cloaques and Eloise. It only started, anyway, because Cloaques gave a few compliments to Eloise for her writing. This is quite like giving a glass of water to a self-flagellating Samaritan who spent 12 years in the Sahara without any water, readers. But Eloise only needs to cross the 9-11 line a little bit, and the unforgiving Cloaques will throw her out, too. I know Cloaques is writing all this down manically, saving it somewhere in her red diary, together with her daily used condoms, with the ambition of publishing another exclusive ''Penis artbook'' next year. Which when you think about it, readers, isn't as insane as it sounds: world news reported this week that Madonna's SEX book is the single most coveted out-of-print item on the globe, only 15-odd years post publication! * * * Some Swiss ''hospitality reviewers'' picked up the Egyptian Temptress's idle chitchat about the design of showers in hotels and I must say that for the first time in my life, I was actually appreciative of the Temptress's journalistic prowess. This because I spent much of last year staying in my employer's various hotels and in every single fucking one of them, the shower nozzle was designed like a science fiction contraption. Took me half an hour to get it rolling EVERY SINGLE TIME. Sounds perhaps like a mild, even frivolous annoyance, but when you consider that in the morning you're rushing to get to that meeting and you have your laptop hanging from your ass and there's a million details to think about, you don't want the stupid fucking shower nozzle to IRRITATE you even more, readers!!! Yet more importantly, this little winner by the Temptress shows you how she mounted her objectology shtick - by paying attention to these seemingly irrelevant objects, which are nonetheless always somehow laden with their own will and meaning. Essentially she applied Reader's Digest strategies to high-fallutin' philosophy and even though the subject matter excites me as little as the Temptress's frigid cunt, you gotta hand it to the bitch, she's a clever businesswoman!

RABBI CHABERT IN JERUSALEM

2011-08-30T19:12:00.000+02:00

Readers, this just came in from my new correspondent in London; written in a breathlessly modern style, playfully vicious, deploying Brechtian alienation techniques and more than just a little bit sordid, it's a great new entry in the ongoing Rabbi Chabert (tm) saga. Enjoy!

Rabbi Chabert has a problem: her 'real' self lusts for expensive 'stuff', to impress her jewish girlfriends that she is 'together' and a credible feminist; but she feeds this lust by currency-trading, which is a 'difficulty' for her other, online identity as a revolutionary Marxist. As part of a program, designed by her Chinese Hauntology therapist, to re-integrate her virtual and actual identities and restore her street cred, her mojo (SYMBOLIK EFFIKASY), Rabbi Chabert is to enter meat-space to perform ritual acts of LOOTING AND HAUNTING in the very heart of jewishness - JERUSALEM!!!! She must also 'do something for the Palestinians' while she is there, to justify her BREAKING THE BOYCOTT.

[ SCENE drawing: Chabert strapping herself into her bondage gear, whilst reading petitions on her computer: " Chabert don't go!!!]

Chabert (thinks bubble): it's a far, far better thing I do now... some day, my children you will understand

[SCENE drawing: customs at Ben Gurion airport, Israel. View from behind the customs officer. Chabert is facing him, accompanied by two blonde, muscular young men, naked but for leather thongs, carrying large bags in each hand, with a bag also balanced on each head]

Customs Officer: Ah, Molly Chabert, self-hater, brand-name player in the anti-semite online revolutionary socialist commentariat, under false passport supplied by her Mossad cousin, accompanied by two Polish bag-wallahs....Are they circumcised?

Chabert: Of course.

Customs Officer: Enjoy your stay, Rabbi.

Chabert: Fuck off misogynist cunt!

[SCENE drawing: Chabert and bag wallahs (sans bags, which are 'in the hotel') in a store's toiletries section - ' KOSHER TAMPONS' prominently on display. Chabert raises fist in 'black-power salute' to declare her manifesto]

Chabert: Better the whole world should be destroyed and perish utterly than a free man should refrain from one act to which his nature moves him (K.Marx)! Whatever the eye sees and covets, let the hand grasp it!

[SCENE drawing: the bag-wallahs, stiff members unleashed, start tearing Chabert's clothes off]

Chabert: Rape! Rape! Police! Police!

[SCENE drawing: police cuffing the bag-wallahs]

Chabert: You won't shoot them will you?

Cop: No, we'll just sell them into slavery.

Chabert (thinks): shit, I'll have to get onto the letting agent to get new tenants for their cupboard.

Cop: and you get a night in the cells for conspiracy to loot!

[SCENE drawing: Chabert on the ground seen from the front sitting on a man whose cock is up her ass; another man is in her pussy, both sets of balls and apertures visible; over the shoulder of the upper man Chabert's head can be seen sucking a third man's cock. They are surrounded by naked Arab-looking men with erect cocks. A thought bubble comes from Chabert: " Free, free Palestine! Free, free..."]

[Scene drawing: Chabert in her hotel, sewing up the center of a white burqah's eye-slit, to make 2 separate eye-holes]

Chabert (thinks): Well, that was an added bonus. But I didn't really loot anything. I'll have to get back to that. . Now to HAUNT the wailing wall.

[Scene drawing: Chabert in improvised Casper the friendly ghost outfit, pestering Othodox prayers at the Wailing wall]

Chabert: Wooooooooo

[SCENE drawing: Chabert, still in white ghost outfit, being led off, hands cuffed behind her back]

[SCENE drawing: seen from the back of a large cell, Chabert in the doorway in her white burqah with 2 eyeslits. Ringing the room are women in black burqahs with one eye-slit]

Chabert (thinks): Oh, no! Just keep thinking of Flaubert's tale of St Anthony lying down with the leper....

[SCENE drawing: caption: 'the Next day:' seen from the corridor, Chabert, still in her white burqah, saying goodbye to her cell-mates, some in the doorway waving, Meer weergeven... who now have joined together the centre of their eye-slits to imitate Chabert's 2-eyed ghost style]

Chabert (thinks): well, they were really sweet, and I seem to have started a new fashion...

[SCENE drawing: Chabert throws herself on her bed in the hotel]

Chabert (thinks): God, I can't wear that bondage outfit again, and definitely not if I'm going along somewhere with the International Solidarity Movement. I haven't the energy to lift my bags ... And I'm so hungry I could eat a German!

[Scene drawing: talking into the bedside phone ]

Chabert: Coffee, gallons of it. And a mountain of food. but nothing that makes you fart too much. And I need a porter ...or hire a slave, or buy one... can you arrange it...oh, the police sold them into slavery...you think? It's been 2 days now...organ transplants?!! Omigod!... Oh, please try..no, I never asked them their names. They're Polish, wearing leather thongs...

SCENE drawing: [caption " That night:" Chabert in burlesque - basque, stockings, (tiny thong when seen) sitting in a sedan chair ported by her 'boys'.]

Chabert: Right lads, no more misunderstandings, and tonight we can lighten up and have some fun. And maybe mix business with pleasure. It's off to the GAY DISTRICT!

[Scene drawing: a street full of blonde boys in leather thongs, Chabert in her sedan with a loud-hailer]

Chabert loudhails: " Stop pink-washing apartheid!" gays in the street chant: boring, boring...

[Scene drawing: caption: " Police siren wails" close up on Chabert - the sedan is now on the ground and she's stepping off it]

Chabert: Quick boys, disappear into the crowd. Should be easy for you. I'll meet you back at the hotel.

[Scene drawing: Chabert approaches door with legend: " Fetish Club"]

Chabert (thinks): I'll hide in here. [Scene drawing: Chabert is looking onto a dance-floor where a beautiful woman with long black hair, is dancing, naked except for a frilly white French maid's apron] Chabert (thinks): Omigod! That's Donna Intertextual! She's so hot! She's more pomo and less zionist than Dana International, and she's still got her tackle

[Scene drawing: Chabert dancing with Donna, whose tackle is now visible - insert your own standard porn scenes, or jump straight to: sex ends with a round of applause, Chabert looks up to see they're ringed by cops]

[Scene drawing: sitting in the back of police van]

Chabert: What's it this time? A night with Netanyahu? Cop: You wish. No babes, 3 strikes and you're out.

Chabert: No! You couldn't. No, I don't want to die.

Cop: Laughs. You will soon - want to die Chabert: What? Where...where are we going - sees pyramids ahead in the windscreen - Oh God no, not THAT!!!!

[SCENE drawing: from behind, Chabert's still naked beaver and stockinged feet, and hands throwing sand back, as she kneels, trying to burrow under a chain link fence. On the other side, the police car can be seen moviing off]

[Scene: close-up of Chabet's face looking over her shoulder]

[ Scene: across the desert, a great black shape is blotting out part of the moon and the pyramids]

[Scene: repeat of Chabert burrowing scene] Chabert, Oh No, Jesus, Moses, Buddha, no, please no!

Egyptian Temptres: Oh Yes, Yes, Yes!!! My spies have been watching you since you set foot in Israel. Now, at last, you're MINE!!!!

THE END

ON THE MONKEY REVOLUTION

2011-08-26T03:36:00.000+02:00

Readers, that conference slut dr. Jodianne Fossey is cumming in her panties about the ''revolutionary'' prequel to THE PLANET OF THE APES, but the only ''revolution'' that'll happen is the box office is going to pick up a trillion dollars on a ''socially engaged'' CGI blockbuster - and THAT'S THAT.

No shortage of Halliwud revolutions, readers. A recent one I can recall is the revolutionary insurrection against aliens in the 1990s blockbuster INDEPENDENCE DAY (by scary creep Ronald Emmerich). America led the world in that Neolib Revolution, and now American apes are leading the world in the Pseudo-Socialist Neolib Revolution. The difference is basically in the advancement of the CGI.

But there's more insult to the cinematic injury. The very conceit of a revolutionary ape is such an amazing copout, it deserves to be censored, banned and burned. The conceit is calculated at New Age activists, animal rights parties and their object-oriented counterparts. The idea behind it is that if we could only look through the eyes of the poor apes, we would see how arrogant, authoritarian, crazy and evil us humans are, and we would humble ourselves towards some less anthropocentric universe.

(Note the ''if only'' clause in this last sentence, readeries. Everybody fucking knows it's never going to happen because for better or for worse, humans still run the show on this planet. But the Romantic ''what if'' excuses the greenery activists from coming up with something concrete, such as a replacement energy resource, or a system more efficient than capitalism. It allows for a big nostalgic sigh - for green pastures, for cute little animals, for a more just future...et cetera)

And this is exactly what big corporations wants us to do: eat their branded idealism. They want us to APPRECIATE the eco-friendly, green-compatible, fair trade and fair exchange coffee that they sell nowadays at Starbucks. If they can crank up the level of our self-loathing, they'll be able to profit from our guilt even more, and even more efficiently, than they already are.

Halliwud is selling this new Revolution brand (tm) through Revolutionary CGI. (We hear expressions like ''the CGI is even better than Harry Potter'') The Revolutionary of the CGI seems to lie in the fact that the motion-captured performance of the central ape is more convincing, and therefore more HUMAN, than the performance of the humans, who in this case have become like bad CGI. The barely disguised technofetishism (and probably also technofascism) behind this statement seems to revel in the fact that the computer technology became BETTER than humans. As we embrace this Riefenstahlian cinematic Leviathan, pretty soon we won't be needing any human actors.

(Thankfully, though, you need only look at clips from the movie, not the whole movie, to realize that the ''Revolutionary CGI'' still suffers from the Uncanny Valley effect, that is to say, the ape looks slightly creepy because he is TOO successful at imitating the human. Shortly, nothing like the claimed ''replacement of the human'' took place. It's just another computer-generated abomination come to life.)

TRUE BLOOD UPDATED

2011-08-22T14:22:00.000+02:00

Readers,

I started this post with the intent of pleasing my lazyass London correspondent, to whom I promised, round three years ago, that I would watch the currently popular HBO series, like THE WIRE, or TRUE BLOOD. I've been missing the series because I didn't believe anyone could top TWIN PEAKS. The original plan was to watch the first episode of each, and then comment or analyze critically.

Well I ended up seeing all 3 seasons of TRUE BLOOD in 12-hour marathon sessions!!! That's how good the show really is, readeries.

Initially it seemed the series was a spin-off of Anne Rice's hugely popular INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE serial, which dominated the 1990s. To an extent this still holds true: TRUE BLOOD also takes place in the steamy Southern setting, and it's a homosexual text written for heterosexuals (Rice's was a heterosexual text written for homosexuals).

After watching the show, I realize the two texts have different premises. Rice's was showing the demise of modernism. The story was about history being all surfaces and no substance. TRUE BLOOD is already taking place in the midst of the post-modern era, but it is no longer concerned with ''unmasking''. Vampires and humans coexist peacefully, in the same (fantastic) dimension, aware that their lusts are fully interchangeable. TRUE BLOOD focuses on the network of relations between them, and how

THE BLAWG BUZZ LOOTING SPECIAL, 21-8-2011

2011-08-21T04:42:00.000+02:00

Readers,

Predictably,

Dr. Slovenly Zizek - whose opinion still seems to be viewed as important by the majority of the Lefty blawgosphere - explained the London lootings in terms of the DEKLINE OF SIMBOLIK EFIKASY (Slovenlian translation of the DECLINE OF SYMBOLIC EFFICACY).
As the Slovenly bitch argues, the looters are under threat of becoming pussified after the act of impotent rage that they perpetrated on London shops. In order to mount an organized socialist revolution, they need a hard, erect, BIG STALINIST PHALLUS. It is exactly the Phallus that dr Zizek cannot give us, because he doesn't even have a DICK, readeries. The Slovenlian Eurovision queen hacked it off for Josip Broz Tito, some 40-odd years ago.

Conspicuously, the objectosphere isn't reacting to the lootings. I assume this is in defence of the HUMAN RIGHTS OF THE LOOTED OBJECTS TO BE WITHDRAWN even as they're being looted. I don't know exactly what it is, but it's something New Agey and upper class cryptic, that much is clear, readers.
Or maybe the objectologists are too busy dealing with the newest tete-a-tete with my hero and cyberpunk Shaviro. (Honestly, readers, I couldn't tell PROCESS from OBJECT no more than I could tell shit from shinola in this case, but if my hero says it's PROCESS, then it's PROCESS!!!)

Meanwhile, at the Singagogue of Sin, on the Radical Left end of the blawgosphere, Rabbi Chabert published her own reaction to dr. Zizek:

Particularly it's self-celebration of the psychoanalytic complexities of its own relationship to corporate image-commodities, to misogynist movies and racist jokes, and its disappointment in the vulgar desires for tangible commodities evident in the rebellion.

And here we see, readers, just how deep the Rabbi's vulgar desire for LOOTING tangible commodities really is! What her analysis completely ignores is that luxury goodies nowadays - iphones, ipads, ipods and idildos - depend just as much on their ''magical'' design and their communicative capabilities as they do on the VULGAR MATERIALS (metal, glass, fiber, silicone) they're made of.

HAUNTOLOGY

2011-08-19T09:30:00.001+02:00

BRET EASTON ELLIS ON GLEE

2011-08-15T02:52:00.000+02:00

Readers, I nearly gagged when I read on Bret Easton Ellis's Twitter that he compared the experience of watching GLEE with ''stepping into a puddle of hiv''.

For this is exactly how this show makes me feel, too, readers.

I also loved Ellis's comments on the ''It Gets better'' campaign:

Several hours later, the writer posted a further message in which he attacked the 'It Gets Better' campaign, which was launched last year to prevent suicides among LGBT youth.

Ellis charged: "I hate that s**t about 'It Gets Better.' It doesn't. Retool it. Say 'You Get Stronger.' The narcissism of gays is out of f**king control..."

LOOTERS

2011-08-12T19:23:00.000+02:00

Readers, I can't comment on the sociopolitical meanings and significances of the British lootings, but I sure can comment on the way Le Colonel Sherbert and her prodigy Warszawa Klein got themselves all worked up and sweaty over this rare awpartunity to LOOT themselves. Looting is what these two smut socialists live for: it's their raison d'etree and their life mission. So when these kinds of rare outbursts happen, it's like a whore noticing a customer after a very slow season in Amsterdam.

Le Sherbert's entire career is based on looting - she looted her way out of the womb (because she wanted to demonstrate her right to be born and NOT appropriated by capitalist pigs), looted her way through ivy league education (but didn't learn anything in the process), looted her dad's inheritances to build the Haitian booze export business she's running now, and finally, looted her way into the darkest places of the blawgosphere, where she managed to build the malevolent celebrity status that we know today.

Now the fascinating thing about all this is that the heiress never had to loot. All she had to do is raise her voice a little bit, and daddy would take care of things. While in the blawgosphere, there's never a shortage of bottoms who are willing to follow the snake wherever she decides to slither. So the snake looted because she LOVES IT, readers.

Warszawa, on the other hand, didn't get as lucky as the Colonel; she had to loot, to survive. But she dissolved what little survival skills she had in booze, so now the only way for her to go on is to loot other people's assets, including, ultimately, Colonel Sherbert's.

This is why these two looters, readers, are a match made in Blawg Heaven. They point to the wonderful awpartunity of a new Communist Revolution, in which the wurking classes will loot the assets of the rich and give them all to the poor, keeping only a modest percentage to cover their administrative costs.

CUMMING ATTRACTIONS: THE CONFERENCE SLUT

2011-08-11T00:10:00.000+02:00

Readers, in this hilarious political sex comedy dr. Jodianne Fossey plays Samantha, a famous Communist lecturer whose career peaks at the very same moment she hits the middle age crisis. Travelling around the world for various socialist conferences, Samantha finishes every lecture with an anonymous encounter in the hotel room - but doesn't seem to remember any of her sexscapades in the morning. The plot thickens when one of Samantha's one-night stands turns out to be a Russian maffia overlord who's apparently infatuated with the professor's passionate Communist ideals.

Posited somewhere between LOOKING FOR MR GOODBAR and SEX IN THE CITY, but having its own, raunchy undercurrents, the movie's comedy disguises a very serious attack on liberal sensibilities. ''In today's culture, parody has become an instrument of kommunikative kepitalist propaganda'', dr. Fossey told us in an exclusive interview. ''So I was looking for a way to engage young audiences by delivering a kind of a morality play hidden behind an almost-pornographic sex comedy''.

Dr Slovenly Zizek is ''enchanted'' by THE CONFERENCE SLUT. "The film shows the bipolar psychosis resulting from the Dekline of Simbolik Efikasy, and how it can even deform the minds of Western socialist intelligentsia."

STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE

2011-08-10T21:16:00.000+02:00

Readers, Kim Dammit has what is probably the penultimate critical analysis of Tennessee Williams's STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE. The analysis distinguishes itself by putting in focus the fact that Marlon Brando's totemic cock runs the whole show in this movie. We never get to see the dick, nor can we imagine how thick & large it actually is, but its presence is felt by all the women and men in the cast. Which brought back memories, readers, for STREETCAR is every gay teenager's required reading (or viewing).

Of course we all see what we wanna see in the moviez, readers, and so Kim, being a WURKING MUM, identified herself mostly with Stella. For me, however, the central area of interest has always been the relationship between Stanley (Brando) and Blanche (Leigh). Unlike Stella, Blanche doesn't have the blessing (or curse) of family life. Her sexuality isn't demarcated by the norms of heterosexual society. As Dammit rightly points out, she is in equal measure perverse and voracious, readers.

And in this way, Blanche is the body double of Stanley's character: both of them total tops, whose bottoms - from Stella to Mitch - have to endure living in their shadow. Which of course causes the bottoms to bitch aimlessly at each other. But the mutual attraction, and resentment, between Blanche and Stella doesn't come from anything sexual. Rather, they recognize each other's power, and feel themselves naturally threatened by it. So when Stanley rapes Blanche, he doesn't (just) do it from his gonads - he does it because he has to overpower Blanche. And it isn't entirely clear that he succeeds. Though Blanche goes ostensibly ''mad'' and is later transported to an institution, we are left with the bitter foreboding that Stanley will never quite get over Blanche. Because after all, Stella had always been but a pale shadow of her sister's magnificence.

Here you see, readers, how it takes the sensitivity of a gay man to understand the double sword that is WERMIN POWER. The desire of the title is not sexual desire, gay or straight. It is the DESIRE OF THE WAMYN. A thirst that can never be quenched, a craving that envelops us all.

MADAMME BOULANGER ON PATRICK

2011-08-09T18:35:00.000+02:00

''Patrick was one of my worst students in history. He would always turn up fifteen minutes too late for class, and I could tell by his unkempt apperance that he had been partying all night. I had to use the cane just to get him to start playing the piano. I tried to instill in him a love of Prokofiev and Shostakovich, but he was only interested in Gershwin. He had absolutely no taste. If I would send him to the Bastille opera, he would end up in Pigalle. Students told me that he was a homosexual, who frequently changed partners, and that he intimidated some of our professors. He was extremely lazy, and I never saw anything for him except a career in seedy American bars. He was a do-no-gooder and a rascal.''

COMMENTS ON IMMORAL SEWERS

2011-08-05T02:24:00.000+02:00

Readers, here's what some famous people had to say about Patrick J. Mullins's new book, IMMORAL SEWERS OF MANHATTAN:

Seulement après j'ai lu le livre de Patrick que j'ai réalisé que le corps sans organes est un pénis. (Gilles Deleuze)

(Only after I read Patrick's book did I realize the Body Without Organs was a penis)

Je ne peux pas obtenir assez de pénis Patrick. (Marguerite Duras)

(I can't get enough of Patrick's penis)

Пенис Патрика самое прекрасное, что произошло в балете. (Vaslav Nijinsky)

(Patrick's penis is the most beautiful thing to have come out of ballet)

Jag kunde suga på att penis för en annan livstid. (Anni-Frid Lyngstad)

(I could suck on that penis for another lifetime)

Le pénis de Patrick est tout simplement trop gros pour sonder. (Edith Piaf)

(Patrick's penis is just too big to fathom)

PARODY BOOK REVIEW: LES CLOAQUES IMMORAL DE MANHATTAN

2011-07-31T22:53:00.000+02:00

Dans "Les cloaques immoral de Manhattan", Patrick J. Mullins - pianiste échoué, l'ancien arnaqueur et un rentier sordides - tente un hommage post-moderne à son propre pénis. Le livre est écrit comme un voyage surréaliste à travers le ballet, Hollywood, républicain anti-islamisme, la paranoïa de Patrick au sujet d'Internet, Deleuze, et un tas de trucs à sensation tels. Il n'ya pas de fin au voyage: il ne peut pas obtenir assez de sucer le pénis du ballet beau.

Patrick a travaillé pendant près de 20 ans sur le livre, se soutenant à travers les dures conditions économiques en Amérique par la prostitution homosexuelle et la location de son appartement de Manhattan égouts. Le résultat est un chef-d'œuvre à couper le souffle du narcissisme pornographiques, nous sommes attirés inexorablement à l'intérieur de cul de l'auteur.

Une partie spéciale de l'ouvrage est dédié à l'amour de Patrick pour le mystérieux écrivain anglais Nick Land. Les lecteurs du Centre Parodie connaissez déjà les détails de cette affaire scandaleuse.

Publié par un label suisse exclusif, le livre est uniquement disponible en 90 exemplaires. Il ne semble pas qu'il sera de gagner un large public européen, mais les ventes sont garantis dans les magasins gay porno.

HARRY POTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS PART 2

2011-07-31T00:46:00.000+02:00

Readers, the new HARRY POTTER is probably the surprise of the decade for me - I actually loved the movie!

All the disgusting elements that made the series repulsive for ten years are still there...

... from the upper class British witch school, across the Gothic New Age WERMIN ILLUMINATI conspiracy against men, to the desperate ugliness of Harry Potter and his friends and the even more desperate ugliness of CGI creatures from the Spielberg-Lucas factory...not to mention the hideousness of UBER-WERMIN JK Rowling...

...and then, completely unexpectedly, we get a Harry Potter with a human face!

This happens in the crucial moment of Harry's death - you see, readers, the main spoiler is that Harry discovers he has been infected with a part of Valdemart's black soul, so that in order to rid the world of Evil, Harry must die together with Valdemart.

So Harry dies, and his soul in the Heavens pontificates to the Old Wizard about his further options. Following the series's Gothic line, and the influence of Lucasfilm Ltd, you'd expect something like the ending of THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK - in order to reincarnate, Harry must accept the Dark Side, and then we get another sequel in which he is drawn back to the Good Side, and so on, ad nauseam.

Instead, the Old Wizard tells the surprised Harry that he still has free will. If he wants to, he can choose to climb on the train back to earthly life. And this concept, readers - that God is such pure love, you even have free will after death - is much closer in spirit to Russian Orthodoxy, than any Gothicism, with its guilt, predetermination, endless punishment.

(I loved the Lacanian moment when the Old Wizard tells Harry that words have magical power, both to hurt and to deliver from pain.)

Were this given against the backdrop of a classic fairy tale, it would of course be total sentimental crap. But there is enough misery, bloodshed, and even creep-out horror (note the snake attacks) to counterbalance the sense of forgiveness, telling kids clearly that the world isn't a pretty place, that suffering won't be avoided, but that you still have a chance if you can embrace your own free will.

In addition, HARRY POTTER puts to shame the newest so-called ''arthouse'' effort by Wim Wenders, whose PINA 3D disappoints by being visually conventional. POTTER's brilliant art direction recalls Andrei Tarkovsky in the most pleasing manner, without being either overly dramatic or stupidly hyper-realistic. I had to ask myself, readers, why the Hell should this NOT be considered poetry only because it wears the ''commercial'' label on its sleeve, while Wenders likes to call himself an ''artist'' and an ''auteur'', but fails to deliver on this most basic photography level?

While in PINA 3D people talk endlessly about the human condition, desiring, loving, hating, and so on, until the babble becomes an ''art statement'' (YAWN), POTTER has such delightful concepts as a magic spell that replicates objects endlessly, or Harry collecting tears out of his dying teacher's eye, which will enable the wizard to see his own future reflected in the teacher's tragic fate.

THE WEB 3 REVOLUTION

2011-07-30T13:56:00.000+02:00

Readers, if there's one thing I agree 100% on with that hot and sassy Alabama conference slut (dr. Jodianne Fossey), then it's her low opinion of the new digital mobile device and social networking goddamn revolution.

It'll probably cost me my current job (which is exactly in the social media) but readers those devices FUCKING SUCK.

My acquaintance with them began when the company ''blessed'' me with a laptop, a mobile phone and then an I-pad. Next to my home PC and private phone, I now have 3 new devices, so that's five in total.

Aside from the fact that I'm constantly servicing them - fixing errors, enabling upgrades, looking for the simplest way to work around a straightforward operation like number dialling, and generally giving these gadgets almost a quarter of my waking life - I'm also compelled to run PARALLEL OPERATIONS on tasks that would normally require a single operation.

So for example I have to turn on my wakeup alarm on 2 mobile phones, because I'm always afraid that one of them will run out of power and I will not wake up as a result. (I am notoriously bad at waking up,readers) Then, in order to transfer my work from the PC to the laptop, I need to either use a separate USB stick, or purchase a docking station for the laptop, so that I can keep the laptop easily disconnectable and use it for transfer to the workplace. Both operations require the use or purchase of NEW GODDAMN EQUIPMENT, increasing my already-overloaded list to six. Or - probably the most pathetic example - I have to continue surfing on my new smartphone while I'm on the train, even though I have surfed almost the whole day, because it just doesn't feel right that I'm paying for mobile internet and not using it.

As for the Ipad, readers, it's a goddamn abomination. It REPEATS, shamelessly, all the functions of the i-phone and the smartphone, but adds the ''crucial'' twist that the screen is larger, so that it can also be used as a sketchpad or a notebook. (A gosh darn expensive one, readers, as a paper notebook only costs 1 euro while the Ipad currently costs between 400 and 700 euro)

FUCKING HELL.

But where I crucially differ from the horny Alabama professor is that she would like to explain this phenomenon as a consequence of CAPITALISM, while it's actually a consequence of SOCIALIST SELF-MANAGEMENT. For this effect, readers, of technological communication devices proliferating at the expense of content - until communication becomes its own point - was exactly the Babyloninan tower plan behind self-management, which purported to make all the wurkers equal and then created more wurking tools than there was wurk. (The hi-tech concept of ''congruence'' whereby all devices meld into a single device is the capitalist equivalent of self-management) In the end, only one percent of the wurkers took ALL THE MONEY, while the rest of the proletariat went bankrupt.

Which, if you look closely, is exactly where capitalism is headed at the moment.

TULIP PLUCKERS

2011-07-29T03:21:00.000+02:00

Readers, in conjunction with our UK comrades Agnetha and Agatha, the Cultural Parody Center proudly presents

TULIP PLUCKERS

a retro-haunto-futuronostalgic, pseudo-Modernist, post-post-Modern-post-Continental exposition of post-paintings dedicated to Polish field workers in the Netherlands. This new proletariat, seeking supplementary income in the competitive world of tulip plucking, frequently encounters covert racism from the Dutch. But their extreme productivity, going hand in hand with camaraderie and solidarity, challenge neoliberalism with the vitality of socialist ideas, hinting at a new opening for the communitarian concepts that neoliberalism has been suppressing.

Comrade Agatha Pyzik told us in an exclusive interview:

"My contry often gets ridiculed for having a slave mentality - first we serviced the Soviets, now we're cleaning the EU's toilets. I would like to challenge this prejudice. Where the Dutch worker approaches his labor with resentment, the Pole sings in the fields."

The expo will be running August 1-August 12 in Leiden, Dordrecht, Best, Rotterdam, Venlo and Papendrecht.

RIP AMY WINEHOUSE

2011-07-24T09:39:00.000+02:00

Readers, I discovered Amy only last month, on the occasion of her unfortunate Belgrade concert. It seemed to me the Belgrade ''fiasco'' had been pre-arranged to fit the superstar's marketing. I thought - oh no, not another swinging 1960s London Duffy and Patsy Stone clone/Hairspray camp icon PLEASE GET OFF MY BACK; and that ''getting arrested for narcotics'' shtick was utterly tiresome. I didn't like Amy's appropriation of black jazz & soul, either; reminded me for the umpteenth time of THE IMITATION OF LIFE.

But then I heard ''Back to Black'', which turned me around completely. I realized Winehouse was a great, great artist, making the news of her premature demise utterly depressing. You see, readers, we need great artists, to make this horrible world just a little bit more liveable.

The genius of ''Back to Black'' is that it makes Amy's (real life) self-destruction into an art form. As the artist fully identifies with the existential pain that is the underpinning, and the beating pulse, of all life, she becomes the mournful Black that she's singing about. At the point where the flower falls on the grave, I'm bought, readers; there aren't many chanteuzes nowadays who can create an aesthetic experience out of death. Much less chanteuzes who actually dare to LIVE their art.

POTICHE (TROPHY WIFE)

2011-07-22T03:57:00.000+02:00

Readers, in POTICHE, the pervy French bottom Francois Ozon - whose entire opus was dedicated to the New Feminist Revolution - goes out on a limb to openly admit that he's a chronicler of the New Matriarchate. He tells this through a typically Ozonique sitcom-vaudeville tale about a trophy housewife's metamorphosis from an obedient ''patriarchal'' woman to a WERMIN POLITICIAN with aspirations to alter the male-dominated world order.

Now the interesting thing, readers, is that Ozonique depicts this process from the perspective of an Eurotrash queen. Everything in the film, from the umbrella factory that the Trophy Wife ends up running, across the Trophy Wife's various fuckings with working class studs, to the way the gay community enables the Trophy Wife's metamorphosis into a politician, is told in high camp key.

When finally the Trophy Wife tells the French nation that she aspires to become its ''mother'', Ozonique articulates his main thesis: apparently, with the help of their gay sons, WERMIN have managed to pussify men and steal their power. Though this process has been largely liberating - at least in terms of socialist modifications to capitalist abuse - the film's creeping sense of underlying WERMIN DOMINATION also suggests it was female power in the 1970s that enabled today's networked capitalist ''society of control''.

You see this clearly from the brutally calculated manner the Trophy Wife dispenses with her former Communist lover, played with poignant, potato-shaped sincerity by Gerard Depardieu. At the very same moment Depardieu launches her socialist career, she pulls a catty trick on him, exploiting her bourgeois privilege to advance her own power.

Here I have to display my total adoration and worship of Catherine Deneuve: readers, she is astonishing in POTICHE. More than just an icon Diva, she has literally become the Oedipal Mother of the Nation, and her omnipotence is on display in every single frame of the film. The role is somewhat similar to the Egyptian Queen she played in THE HUNGER. Underneath the charm, the suave seductiveness, you sense a domination so total, so inexorable, that you can only be GRATEFUL for being eaten alive.

There's only one actress who can pull this off, and that, readers, is Catherine Deneuve.

DR SINTHOME AND THE OBJECTS: THE RECKONING PART 2

2011-07-21T12:29:00.000+02:00

Readers, dr Sinthome and the Parody Center are having a GREAT TIME in Key West. Here you see an endearing picture where the Center is feeding the Narcissistic Cat fresh fish, and the Cat is purring from pleasure. (The Cat's erection is not visible due to copyright infringement concerns, but rest assured, readers, that it's rock hard)

As the Narcissistic Cat and Parody Center cook enchilada together, we approach something like an all-male Paradise: a world completely satisfied and self-contained, where men have everything they need.

But of course, readers, THINGS ARE NEVER AS THEY SEEM. The Narcissistic Cat suddenly becomes irritated.

DR SINTHOME: How many times did I tell you that I don't want salsa sauce in the tortilla, but guacamole??? Are you deaf???

THE PARODY CENTER: I'm sorry, okay, they didn't have any guacamole at the Bayou...

DR SINTHOME: DON'T GIVE ME THAT SHIT!!! YOU ALWAYS HAVE AN EXCUSE NOT TO DO SOMETHING AS I WANT IT TO BE DONE!!! YOU KNOW WHAT I'M GOING BACK TO MY FAMILY AND YOU CAN STICK THIS TORTILLA UP YOUR ASS FOR ALL I CARE!!! I'M NOT EATING THIS SHIT!!!

Meanwhile, in Cairo, Tamarayana has discovered the Egyptian Temptress's secret vault, the precious locus of her pleasure, the essential hole. As Tamarayna licks the hole, ...

...every single tentacle of the Temptress's majestic corpus, readers, sprouts a thousand Phallic appendages which the Temptress will use to penetrate her entire body, satisfying its diffuse network of erotogenic nodes...

PARODYSOPHY

2011-07-13T04:45:00.000+02:00

Readers,

Since I've been getting so many comments that indicate total and profound incomprehension on the side of my retarded readership, I decided it's time to do some explainin' about the philosophy of parody, or if you will, parodysophy.

Although many readers have taken my parody text up their asses with the idea that it's some kind of a Derridean ''deconstruction'' game, schizophrenia, or gibberish, there's actually a Weltaanschauung behind all this.

You see, readers, my main ontological premise is that the world consists of Tops and Bottoms (figure 1) - and nothing else. The Tops are the ones who fuck, and the Bottoms are the ones who get fucked.

Clearly from the positioning of the Tops on top of the demarcation line you can see that the Tops are running the show, while the Bottoms merely provide a cumdump. However: things are a little bit more complicated than that!

Namely, if the Bottoms were entirely removed from the equation, the Tops would end up not having anything to fuck, and readers, saber-rattling each other's cocks isn't exactly the horniest sex you can imagine. So if for no other reason than due to sheer Darwinian necessity, Bottoms must continue to exist in the world.

This is where I introduce the concept of the INSATIABLE ASS. By virtue of the fact that the ass, having no tools for spontaneous orgasm, can never get enough of getting fucked, the bottom accomplishes a successful fuck symbiosis with the Top. It is a kind of a mimicry - what you see in the sex lives of animals - whereby the Bottom ensures the Top's undivided attention by sucking him into its hole.

The problem is that like all symbioses, this one, too, is precarious. The top is troubled by the necessity of constantly cumming; unlike the Bottom, he has to terminate his excitation occasionally. The top also needs to change asses frequently, in order to alleviate his boredom. Besides, while the top is plagued by his contempt for the bottom, the bottom is plagued by his jealousy of the top. There is a lot of tense dynamics there.

And this, readers, is where things like Marxism and Christianity are born: in order to avoid destroying each other, the Top and the Bottom deploy a kind of a META-MIMICRY whereby the Top sometimes pretends he's a Bottom, and the Bottom deludes himself that he is a Top. The demarcation line becomes more flexible.

This is not to say that the Bottom could ever really become the Top, or vice versa. If such a thing happened, the world would disappear. So they will always stay on their positions. But to keep the world operating smoothly, they sometimes need to pretend, that some other combination is possible.

Some readeresses will be asking themselves, what is the position of WOMYN in my ontology? And I'm sorry to report that I just don't find wermin relevant to existence. I admit, though, that no ontology is bullet proof, and so the wamyn do have some kind of a secondary existence. As long as they don't try to meddle with the order of the world, they can keep that privilege to themselves.

THE BLAWG BUZZ, 11-7-2011

2011-07-12T00:27:00.000+02:00

Hi readers and comrade readeresses!

It seems that Warszawa Klein won't be reading the Parody Center anymore. As the foul-mouthed bitch put it herself,

It's intruiging how I became your new fixation, but you're too monotonous for me to care really. I expect you'll try to blame me for your decline, but that's between you and your own head. If you insist on seeing it that way, regard it as starting a fight you lost.

What Warszawa persisently doesn't understand, readers, is that - as a dominant bottom - I'm not even expected to maintain any kind of an erection. This is WARSZAWA's JOB. But this message isn't about me, readers, it is about Warszawa's inability to deal with the decline of her own Phallic power, her own SYMBOLIC EFFICACY, which she is unable to exert on me, even as she screams and screams and screams, and uses so many vituperations.

VANESSA

2011-07-09T14:04:00.000+02:00

''The youth of today! Appalling! When I was their age, I sucked cock as a matter of courtesy!"

MY ANGLE ON THE GREEK CRISIS

2011-06-29T16:22:00.000+02:00

Readers,

Everybody's saying that the Greek crisis has something to do with themes like ''capitalism'' and ''socialism'', or that it's related to the global financial crisis, or that it means the disintegration of the EU.

All these elements are there, but nobody's talking about the real issue: the Greek crisis principally shows the deeply ingrained HATRED of the New Roman Empire against Byzantium, and its intention to divide & conquer the Byzantium until we, the Orthodox bottoms, become total slaves of our Roman tops.

You can see this already in the contemptuous way rigid anal tops like the Germans complain about the Greek messiness, laziness, lack of discipline, lack of willingness to accept austerity measures, seeming lack of enthousiasm for slavery, and the appearance of troubling mass demonstrations.

Whatever the crisis means and however it's going to unfold, it's quite clear that the New Roman Empire expanded for the main purpose of getting to Byzantium - where endless resources of cheap energy and labour must be conquered so that the New Roman Empire may continue to expand its anal Calvinist civilization.

LOVE LAMENTS

2011-06-20T04:19:00.000+02:00

Readers, who the fuck am I kidding? Dr. Sinthome will never leave his wife and family to live with me in some Deleuzo-Lacanian queer paradise, where our respective desires for each other may thrive beyond any an' all ideologies. All I can really do is read the Narcissistic cat's books about Lovecraftian ikebana, and put my fantasies into cartoons. Occasionally the cat will allow me to publish some wisecracking comment, but readers, that's even sorrier than sucking off some heterosexual top under the table because he doesn't even want to see your face. And she's probably only doing that because I'm friends with Shaviro, otherwise she would fuck me off like she does all the others. I should have gotten the cat while it still wasn't too late - somewhere in that period she was blowing up the school building and running away from home, doing these gay rebellious things. Now she's just another Dr Graham Harman in the making, and sooner or later she'll turn more conservative as well, while at the age of 50 she'll probably become an Institution herself. Still, it's hard to get over the cat, readers. Every time I get angry with her she does something funny and nasty, like the recent fistfuck with two deranged bottoms.

About dr. Jodianne Fossey I don't even have to tell you. How many times in the last four years did I praise her tits, and countered her self-abusive insecurities about her good Southern looks, and even openly offered to suck her tits at one of the Rotterdam conferences. And that's nothing compared to the kind of a favor I did for her by telling her who that slovenly bastard of a Zizek really is. I know she was excited every time, she read every single goddamn line of those parodies, but this elite cunt, readers, couldn't bring herself to cross the party line of her elite circles, and commit adultery with a SERB - one without a Ph.D., mind you. While if that Slovenlian ape so much as showed her hairy ass, she would IMMEDIATELY suck on it, no questions asked!!!

I'm also giving up on that post-feminist apocalypse of a WERMIN, you know who I'm talking about - the artist formerly known as DOT PALIN. She's so full of love and emotion and intensity ABOUT HER OWN GODDAMN ASS, readers. She composes entire poems, readers, about that self-indulgent behind. She still didn't send me the art book, and I'm not going to send her the Porno Gang DVD either, until she does. But I mean fuck the book, if she ever would send a note to ask how I'm feeling, I'd think that she's really got at least courtesy, since she's incapable of selfless love. Nothing ever comes, just endless laments about that big juicy Arizona ass, in which we're asked to imagine the Artist as a suffering WIRMARN from Douglas Sirk melodramas, and weep our asses out for HER ASS.

THE TROLL HUNTER (TROLLENJAEGER)

2011-06-19T02:44:00.000+02:00

Readers, if my ex-parody correspondenteuze was still here, I would give this Scandinavian ''movie'' FOUR GODDAMN MURRRRL STREEPS - that's your Swedish version of the American star rating system, and it means around minus four stars. Being alone with my demons now, I am only going to give it a VIEWING BAN.

TROLL HUNTER belongs to the same dry mackerel genre that gave us so-called ''Nederhorror'' a few years back, that is to say, campy Dutch horror parodies of extremely modest quality. In the absence of any serious budget for horror, all that lowland Smurfs can do is laugh sarcastically at their much more affluent American,...er, ''NATO compatriots''. And this is what they've been trying to shove down my throat for 12 years now, readers, these smelly haring traders: the idea that since they've wisened up, became more eco-friendly and less aggressive to their colonies, they still have a CULTURAL IDENTITY apart from the United States.

Which any visitor to the local McDonald's knows is a goddamn lie!!!

Despite their spectactular landscapes, Norway, Sweden and Finland are indistinguishable from each other in terms of this undeserved farmer's arrogance. And so THE TROLL HUNTER could be taking place in any of these Scandinavian egalitarianism paradises of boredom.

Especially because it's so goddamn DRY and SARCASTIC, readers. Just as the Dutch think they've given the world an indispensable cultural heritage by producing Sint Nikolaas (Santa Claus), so the Norwegians, I assume, are trying to persuade us, with the TROLL HUNTER, that they've earned a place in Heaven by giving us the Trolls.

Well, to use a Norwegian expression, dear Norwegians,

Jeg spretta søstra di mens den tilbakestående
faren din sto bak og fumlet med ballene mine!!!
= I stretched your sisters ass
while your retarded dad stood
behind me and fumbled my balls

The convoluted ''self-parody'' here involves the idea that by laughing at their own provincialism, treating it as an American spectacle, Norway critisizes America, or the global voyeurism culture, or something, asserting the superiority of its little fjord culture, which in fact, to use another Norwegian expression, isn't even a fjord, but a fjert (QUICK FART).

Because, readers, after all those BLAIRWITCH PROJECTS, PARANORMAL ACTIVITIES, and BIG BROTHERS, THE LAST THING WE NEEDED, READERS, WAS A NORWEGIAN REALITY TROLL HORROR!!!

THE BLAWG BUZZ, 5-6-2011

2011-06-05T12:56:00.000+02:00

Professor Products without Novels, who is deeply identified with Lars von Trier's Melancholia, tweeted to the Associated Parody Press that he, too, cherishes ambitions of becoming a ''Persona Non Grata'' of post-Continental philosophy. But why didn't this happen yet? ''The problem'', Novels explains, ''is that I deliberately delayed the publication of my subversive novel, entitled 'THE NO-NOVEL', which consists of 1,500 empty pages and is my most ambitious project to date. It is compositionally a negation of itself, but my negation of its publication also makes it an ontological self-negation, and in this way, an expression of my deep existential Melancholy. But nobody in the academic circles seemed to understand this. They neither condemned it, nor did they have any specific reaction to it.''

* * *

Perhaps Professor Novels should take lessons from Warszawa Klein, the new shooting star in the starry starry firmament of the post-post-Marxian blawgosphere: Klein is white, heterosexual, and a resident of Manchester, but she effortlessly dabbles in Orthodox Marxism, writes for the bisexual Impostor, and yells like a drunk militant goddamn lesbian !!!

Which brings me to the perverse core of this blawg buzz, readers, namely, the post-post-Marxist Apocalyptic Malaise. It's not that our global culture ISN'T suffering from exhaustion - especially if by ''global'' you only consider the boring productions of the affluent West. It's more that the incessant post-Marxist MOANING about the Dekline only amplifies the exhaustion, fetishizes it, and ultimately, cements its status as a permanent commodity.

This was expressed most hilariously by this recent statement of the increasingly absent-minded Comrade Zizek-Fisher:

One piece of your analysis has been called into question by a wave of recent student protests in the U.K. In the book you describe British students as suffering from a “reflexive impotence,” by which you mean that their own perception of political marginalization fuels their actual depoliticization as a group. How have the student protests made you rethink this?

I really do think that that part of the book is somewhat out of date. I’m sure it still applies to many of students in the U.K., but it was dramatic and exciting to see those protests. A lot of what I talked about in the book was just encounters with students and their widespread sense of hopelessness that one could see.

THE RITE

2011-06-03T03:31:00.000+02:00

Jesus fucking bloody Christ and fuck Mary in the ass, readers, THE RITE is an intellectual abomination on a scale we haven't witnessed since at least James Cameron's TITANIC!!!

The concept was to make a kind of an ''Exorcist lite'' by putting a Swedish IKEA-type director at the helm, and hiring Anthony Hopkins as an intellectual Catholic priest, who will indulge in self-reflection even while he's transforming into Satan. Hopkins in the meantime has apparently gone outright senile, so he spends half the film SCHMIERING to a nauseating degree, displaying not even a glimmer of Hannibal Lecter's predatory sexuality despite the fact that he's still basically playing Hannibal Lecter.

Marketing quacks further identified American Ph.D. students (think Angelina Paulina Smith) as the target audience. Therefore, the main plotline is about this tormented but deep US theology student who goes to Rome for the first time in his life and heads straight to McDonald's. His appalled Italian love interest buys him genuine Roman capuccino, but still, you get a sense that this little Eurocentric joke cannot stand in the way of Euroatlantic friendship.

And if this isn't already horrific enough, readers, bear in mind that it gets worse. Much worse. The young priest's father is played by Dutch celebrity Rutger Hauer, who is a Calvinist undertaker straight outta SIX FEET UNDER. Thus by marrying the ''morbid and quirky'' Eurotrash formula with the even more irritating American ''Catholic hero'' formula, the film-makers were hoping to deliver a COMMERCIAL INGMAR BERGMAN picture - and all with the underlying aspiration to infuse new blood into the otherwise quite vampiric Catholic religion (tm) formula.

JOHN CARPENTER'S THE WARD

2011-05-29T15:46:00.000+02:00

Readers, though I would certainly not classify this in the category ''The best of Carpenter'', it's still more than a worthy entry in the opus of the horror maestro. Here I am strongly opposed to the lame reviews that THE WARD received from Canada to Serbia.

The story is about a pyromanic girl who gets locked up in your typical 1950s repressive psychiatric institution. The girl is subjected to heavy psychotropic medication combined with electroconvulsive therapy. She befriends the other inmates, all girls with varying degrees of autistic psychosis. Meanwhile, a ghost perpetrates grisly murders, leading up to a surprise ending which I am going to reveal for ya immediately, readers. All the protagonists of the film are in fact incarnations of the leading girl's multiple personality disorder, and by extension, she is also the mysterious ghostly murderer.

Why revisit this known territory, you may be asking yourselves? And the answer is given already in the beautiful opening titles sequence, where we see the various horrors that psychiatry committed against psychological disorders, operating from the medical / cognitive-behavioral paradigm that there's a cure for every symptom, that the removal of the symptom is the cure, and that the human being is reducible to the sum of its parts. This is played against the backdrop of endlessly fragmenting mirrors, suggesting that the human psyche will continue to evade this reductionist violence.

What was true about psychiatry in the 1950s STILL holds true in the naughties, readers, and so THE WARD, despite its conventional structure, is a very contemporary film.

In the end, the girl is ''cured'' by a kind of a psychoanalysis, like her predecessor SYBIL. She realizes that the other girls are only fragments of her split personality. And then there is the classic Carpenter ending, where it turns out that ''evil'' triumphs and those other entities are in fact just as real as the girl's ''main'' or ''fixed'' identity.

We saw this last year in a different movie, Arronofsky's BLACK SWAN. If you took the plot the Swan and played it in the classic genre mode, instead of the director's preferred post-PoMo pastiche mode, you'd basically get the multiple personality disorder narrative of THE WARD. The only difference being that BLACK SWAN is a highbrow production starring Natalie Portman, while THE WARD is a proletarian Gothic horror.

THE ROLE OF SERBIAN COMMUNISM IN THE DESTRUCTION OF OLE YUGOSLAVIA (NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART)

2011-05-28T16:31:00.000+02:00

Readers, that cocky little cunt of a Warszawa Klein published something on Yugoslavia that - coupled with my recent Belgrade tip - made me reconsider the role of Serbian Communism in the destruction of the ole Yugoslavia.

Even those Western authors who otherwise write decently on the Yugoslav dossier, like Michael Parenti, continue to hammer on the delusion of the ole Yugoslavia as a good thing. Maybe from the Communist perspective, this is the logical thing to do: after all, Yugoslavia CAN serve as a successful example of an organized state outside of the capitalist system. We had work, we had medical insurance, we had peace, we had inter-ethnic coexistence, and we had more civil rights than any capitalist country in the world, readers.

However, Communist are natural born liars and so whenever they talk about these positive aspects of the ole Yugoslavia, they fail to mention that all innovation and prosperity was based on WESTERN CREDITS, not on any indigenous effort by the local economists, let alone the local proletariat. Which, among other things, should indicate, above all, that Yugoslavia was a WESTERN CAPITALIST EXPERIMENT!!!

That's just for starters, readers.

Far more important on the menu is the idea of the Yugo-nostalgic wimps and Orthodox Marxist oxen (like Warszawa Klein) alike that Serbian Communists are BLAMELESS in the process of Yugoslavia's destruction. And this as well fits so nicely into the dubious morality of the Communist, who prefers to put the blame on everybody else except himself, measuring his success or failure exclusively in relation to his sworn enemy, the so-called capitalist pig.

ALAS, readers, the reality is so much more complex, and horrifying, than that.

It's been known for much, much longer than the 1990s that Tito's Yugoslav consitution had been designed, and I underline DESIGNED, readers, on the Trotskyist ideology of ''decentralization'', whereby the wealth of the country would be distributed ''asymmetrically'' in order to systematically favor, and support the development of, traditional Western satellites in the Balkans: Slovenlia and Croatia. The underlying idea - which would only come to be formulated concretely in the 1990s - was that the overpowering Serbian element, projected as the dominant political-military agent on the territory, had to be ''restrained'', prevented from abusing its overwhelming power.

You had to be pretty fucking retarded, readers, not to see this, even back in the 1960s, when everybody was being brainwashed by the psychotic cult of personality in Tito's propaganda machine. Not only were dissenting Serbian intellectuals, like those involved in the cinematic Black Wave, expelled from the country, or sent to Tito's gulag; there were also frequent riots in Kosovo, alarming the public about the abuse of the Serbian populus out there. Not to mention the unspoken, but omnipresent, low-key tension that I remember from Serbian families all over the place, the feeling in the air that ''something isn't quite right in the kingdom of Denmark''.

And yet - the Serbian Communist elites TURNED A BLIND EYE, readers!

When the collapse began (after Tito's death), half the professoriat at the University of philosophy packed their suitcases and fled to Western Europe; half the educated youth grabbed the first chance for an immigrant visa to Canada; and another half of Serbian Communists - if they didn't join Milosevic's robbery of the state - married their Swiss bank accounts. Long, long, LONG before the Euroatlantic hustlers started butchering the remains of the country, we were ALREADY a colony of the West.

And now the most typical maneuver you see from international socialists, is to act as if the Serbian Communists had nothing to do with the defeat of Serbian Communism in the face of international challenges!

Yeah right!

I don't mean to shit any further on Communism, readers: it was bad and rotten to the core, and it was sufficiently bashed by neo-liberal capitalism in the years following its demise. But continued bashing would only constitute a gesture of meaningless negative nostalgia.

Now's the time to look for a new kind of Communism, independent of Western financing, and involving at least a degree of awareness that no, people are NOT GOOD BY NATURE. But for this process to begin, as the old mantra goes, you first need to own up to the past - and in this context, I propose a collective psychoanalysis of Western Communists before they are allowed to write cocky blawgs about my country, or make any more careers on my country's continued suffering.

THE OBLIGATORY RATKO MLADIC POST

2011-05-27T16:43:00.000+02:00

Readers, one of the many half-literate commenters on CNN described Ratko as ''handsome and savage'', revealing the true nature of Western libidinal investment in our arrested general: Ratko is the noble savage that the European ''civilization'' repressed, the one who still dares to perpetrate a massive massacre of Muslims while the Dutch Eurovision queens can only fantasize about it.

(This is what makes the hatred of the Dutchbat against Ratko so enormous. These inherent Dutch racists hate the fact that they were never given the chance to get down and dirty with the business, because Ratko stole the spotlight; and the only way they can get their rocks off is by humiliating Moroccan immigrants.)

Doubtless, Ratko was involved in said massacres - though the extent has probably been vastly exaggerated by the Kangaroo Court - and I also have very little doubt that he's an arrogant and authoritarian Communist aparatchik, just like Pres. Milosevic. A ''war criminal'' he is not, though, while the issue of justice cannot even be raised before all the other (Croatian, Slovenlian, AMERICAN and Western European) participants are arrested by the Kangaroo Court, together with those Trotski cunts who supported the fragmentation of Yugoslavia.

ON THE SEXUALITY OF BLAWG POSTING

2011-05-26T18:04:00.000+02:00

Readers,

Using the very simple method of parodic parallelism, you can quickly analyze exactly how good our favorite blawgers perform in bed - on the basis of their posting habits.

Dr. Sinthome appears to be the only true stud in the group. The sturdy Texan cat is able to spew out three to four new posts in a matter of hours. The posts are consistent, controlled and passionate, suggesting that the cat can shoot a great load repeatedly, without losing steam.

What a contrast to the erratic Egyptian Temptress, who publishes manically every second minute, and whose posts are of a highly incosistent quality. Clearly the Temptress has difficulties maintaining her clitoral erection, the penetrations are very short, and the chaotic frequency of the posting suggests a premature ejaculatio praecox issue for this forty-year old Diva.

While the clinical precision of his posts, and their slow arrival after interminable breaks, might suggest a withdrawal into sexual nerosis, K-punk's posting habits rather indicate a fiery obsessive libido behind the cold mask of this Hitchcock blonde. While it'll take her a long time to get aroused, you can rest assured, once she grabs hold of you, she won't leave you before she experiences several orgasms.

At the other end of the socialist spectrum, the incessant posting of Molly Klein at the Bastion of Depravity reveals that despite a manifest excess of sexual activity, the underlying hysterical neurosis throws the Parisian Diva into constant frigidity. The same can be said of Klein's new prodigy, Warszawa Klein, who has the advantage of being much YOUNGER, so that her genitals sometimes work outside of her conscious control.

The loyal posting habits of dr. Jodianne Fossey, unambitious in scope, but reliable in appearance and frequency, indicate that dr. Fossey is principally a romantic fuck. This is not to deny the doctor's extensive libido, which her obsession with Comrade Mehmet revealed to us on many an occasion. But dr. Fossey knows how to keep her cool, and with her, you can always expect a good, tender, classic fuck.

Possibly the most erotic and charming blawger in the group is of course Eloise Doyle. Eloise, readers, is the type who publishes for other people - she is so considerate that she can't even get aroused if the only erotic object of her publishing is herself. Unlike all the other blawgers, Eloise was never widely reviled; we all love Eloise, and those who have tried to see her kindness as passive-aggressive are just cynical, envious blawgers, grey vampires or Trolls.

DAVITELJ PROTIV DAVITELJA (STRANGLER VS STRANGLER)

2011-05-24T11:38:00.000+02:00

(Plot details here)

Readers, one of the reasons why Serbian cinema is unique in the world is that the Serbian cinema takes the tropes of mainstream (or avantgarde) American film and throws 'em in the gutter, with all of the ingenious, pathetic and hilarious consequences such an act can have for the so-called ideal of the ''pure genre film''. (Thereby, following in the footsteps of my hero and cyberpunk icon Shaviro, I consider European avantgarde film just as much a genre as any other)

Slobodan Sijan's DAVITELJ is a good case-in-point because the film fits into the hugely popular Hitchcock remake trend that dominated much of the 1980s-1990s period, culminating in Gus Van Sant's shot-by-shot remake of PSYCHO from the late 1990s. Although it formally belongs to the Post-Modernistic movement, DAVITELJ is not to be conflated with equivalent works by Brian De Palma.

Despite being a huge fan of De Palma's work, I feel that Sijan's pastiche of PSYCHO is superior, and there's a sociopolitical reason for this, apart from the Serbian creative genius. Even in his boldest work, De Palma never had the kind of an intellectual freedom Sijan enjoyed in the anarchy of post-Titoist Yugoslavia. The socialist production system may have been repressive to the Black Wave, but it didn't impose quite the same ideological restraints on forward-thinking movies as the Dictate of the Market in digital capitalism. As a result, DAVITELJ pointed not so much to the end of Modernism in Serbian cinema, but to the development of 21st century post-modernism, as we are witnessing it in movies like THE BLACK SWAN, or ENTER THE VOID.

In the words of screenwriter Nebojsa Pajkic, who called the film ''a horror travesty'':

Mi se nismo trudili da bilo šta parodiramo. Mi smo jednostavno želili da iz sebe izbacimo što više svog filmofilskog iskustva bez ikakvog konkretizovanja, kao, mi ćemo sada da uzmemo sekvencu iz ovog ili onog filma, mi smo jednostavno pustili da nam mozgovi rade po materijalu kojim su napunjeni. U mom životnom iskustvu puno je značajniji aspekat iskustva koje sam dobio iz sadržaja filmova od onog što sam dobio gledajući oko sebe. Prema tome, mi smo se referisali na životno iskustvo koje je filmsko.

We were not trying to parody anything. We simply wanted to express as much of our cinephilic experience as possible, like, we'll now take a sequence from this or that film, we simply let our brains work on the material that was charged into them. In my life experience it's much more important what experience I got from the content if the films I saw, than what I got looking around myself. Therefore, we were referring to lived experience, which is cinematic.

This would mean that DAVITELJ wasn't excatly taking an ironic distance towards its (parodic) material. Instead, it was treating this material in materialistic fashion, and with dead earnestness, as if reality itself were composed of film fragments, as if there were a 'flat ontology' operative... long before anyone in America started talking about the possibility that cinema and life occupy the same dimension.

Then there's all kinds of interesting things, readers, related to DAVITELJ's handling of sociopolitical influences from Western culture.

Played by the singular Tasko Nacic, the Davitelj (Strangler) superficially resembles Norman Bates in having an Oedipal relationship with his domineering bourgeois mother. There's a crucial difference, though: Tasko doesn't kill wymin because they arouse him; there is no undercurrent of sexual neurosis, Tasko is more interested in eating delicious Turkish cream pies, than seducing wermin. He kills the wermin because they refuse to buy his carnations, and in this way do not acknowledge his placid, oral-submissive nature, or his endearing innocence. We see this clearly in the famous scene where Tasko is compared to Boris Karloff's FRANKENSTEIN. What drives ''the monster'' to murderous crime is his horror at the loss of innocence in the world, not his sexualized (Oedipal) fears.

(In other words, readers, the wermin are not victims of male Phallic violence, it's the other way round - sweet chubby men become victims of female Phallic violence!)

ON THE HUMAN RIGHTS OF BLAND QUEENS

2011-05-22T15:22:00.000+02:00

Readers, the only possible place I see in the world for Dr Graham Harman's object-oriented pathology would be a fatal dissection of the European Union's HUMAN RIGHTS as anthropomorphic and violent conceits that are increasingly oppressing non-human actants at the expense of ''protecting'' an increasingly disgusting humanity.

I was led to these thoughts by the Week of Queer Rights in Belgrade, which opened in Dom Omladine as a transvestite show featuring third-rate gay celebrities from our affluent neighbours in London and Denmark. (There was also a pathetically bad Serbian transvestite called Marquise de Now, who couldn't even put up a decent standup comedy show)

While I was just as flabbergasted as anyone else that five policemen stood in front of the door to prevent possible attacks from nationalists - I don't really believe in beating people up in the name of ANYTHING readers - I was equally flabbergasted by the blandness of the whole performance, and the fact that the present gay crowd didn't have anything by way of a political statement, even though the show was ostensibly dedicated to the ''week of queer rights''.

The crowd was basically dedicated to the adoption of Western fashion trends. The young gay men were all overdressed, too queeny, too performative, and oblivious to the fact that the histrionic/overdone drama queen has long been absent from the Western gay scene, or commodified by superstars like Lady Gaga. I could not detect an inch of self-acceptance in the way this crowd stubbornly continued some sort of an outdated identity politics.

As in any other, Eastern or Western country, the real action never takes place in these kinds of places, readers, populated by fashion bottoms who don´t even look like men anymore. So after the show closed, half the crowd - of course - moved to cruising parks, or turbo folk music joints where they dream of getting raped by the selfsame muscled homophobic nationalists who threaten their ´´human rights´´ on the Gay Pride parade.

Now don´t you fucking dare suggest, readeries, that I´m proposing some kind of a nationalistic-homophobic, self-loathing and self-denigrating POGROM against gays, in an attempt to resurrect the spirit of Slobodan Milosevic´s authoritarianism. All I´m saying is that the issue ISN´T POLITICAL at all, while the concept of ´´human rights´´ tries to make it political.

And so we end up with a message from the European Union that the reason for our pain, and the reason we should accept the EU´s soft dictatorship, is that we don´t get to wear crappy camp outfits from 1930s Marlene Dietrich movies in third-rate transvestite clubs. This is what it boils down to, readers, these human rights of gay people in Serbia: the right to be a bland queen.

SERBIAN-FRENCH RELATIONS

2011-05-22T12:14:00.000+02:00

Dusan T. Batakovic, Serbian ambassador in France
(From the Serbian daily POLITIKA)

Да ли данас можете да се поврати барем део те блискости са Француском?

У модерној српској историји, од самога Карађорђа који се обраћао Наполеону за подршку, па до Првог светског рата – француске доктрине, Францускареволуција, Друга и Трећа република, били су идејни узори, посебно нашим париским ђацима, „Паризлијама“, у политици и дипломатији. Србија није имала аристократију, па су се француске доктрине складно уклапале у „руралну демократију“ 19. века. Врхунац је досегнут у „златном добу Србије“ (1903–1914), за владавине краља Петра Првог, официра школованог у Француској и узорног демократског владаоца. На стогодишњицу његове званичне посете Паризу 1911, где и данас једна авенија у самом центру носи његово име, планирамо да поставимо спомен-плочу.

Can we restore at least a part of our intimacy with France?

In modern Serbian history, from Karadjordje, who asked Napoleon for support, to the First World War - French doctrines, the French Revolution, the Second and the Third Republic, were seen as ideals, especially by our Parisian pupils, ''the Parisians'', in politics and diplomacy. Serbia did not have an aristocracy, so the French doctrines fit perfectly into the ''rural democracy'' of the 19th century. The pinnacle was reached in the ''golden age of Serbia'' (1903-1914), during the reign of King Petar the First, an officer schooled in France and an exemplary democratic ruler. During the centennial of his official visit to Paris in 1911, where an avenue in the center still bears his name, we plan to mount a memorial.

У Титовој Југославији сјај Француске је почео да бледи. Због чега?

Између два светска рата пријатељство са Србијом постепено се утопило у француско-југословенске везе, премда се заправо радило о блискости Срба и Француза. После 1945, наглашавано ми је, Французи су упознали неке друге Србе стасале у Титовом режиму, чије је понашање често одударало од славних солунских традиција описиваних у међуратним уџбеницима. У Титово доба, то пријатељство било је доведено у питање. Пошто је у монтираном процесу осудио генерала Дражу Михаиловића, Шарл де Гол је добро схватио да је Тито био агент једне стране силе, СССР-а, а да је Михаиловић, први герилац у окупираној Европи, жртва савезничких нагодби. Де Гол је Тита презирао, а Михаиловића одликовао Ратним крстом још 1943.

In Tito's Yugoslavia the glory of France began to fade. Why?

Between the two world wars, the friendship with Serbia slowly dissolved into French-Yugoslav relations, although it was really about the closeness of Serbian and French people. After 1945, people would tell me, the French would meet some other Serbs, raised under Tito's regime, whose behavior differed substantially from the glorious traditions of the Solun front, described in interbellum schoolbooks. In Tito's age, this friendship was compromised. Charles de Gaulle understood well that since he had indicted Draza Mihajlovic falsely, Tito was the agent of a foreign power, the USSSR, while Mihajlovic, the first guerilla warrior in an occupied Europe, was the victim of the Allies' deals. De Gaulle hated Tito, while he rewarded Mihajlovic with the Cross of War already in 1943.

(...)

Током деведесетих дошло је до страшног поремећаја, јер је Титова Југославија у Француској уживала велики углед у левичарским круговима, као алтернатива совјетском моделу. Један део бивших троцкиста и маоиста (тзв.„нови филозофи“) пресвучених у утицајне браниоце глобализма, нашао је у Србима колективног кривца за све балканске несреће, изоставивши кључно разликовање режима и народа. Митеран је покушавао да посредује, али је било нереално, с обзиром на аутистичну политику Милошевића, да због Србије, Париз окрене топове према Берлину и уђе у сукоб с ојачалом, тек уједињеном Немачком.

The nineties were marked by Slobodan Milosevic and French intellectuals, who despised Serbs more than De Gaulle despised Tito.

During the nineties there was a horrible disturbance, because Tito's Yugoslavia enjoyed great respect in the Leftist circles of France, as the alternative to the Soviet model. A part of the former Trotskyists and Maoists (the so-called ''new philosophers'') dressed up as influential defenders of globalism, found the Serbs collectively guilty for all Balkan misfortunes, omitting the crucial differentiation between the regime and the people. Miterrand tried to mediate, but it was not realistic, given the autistic policies of Milosevic, to expect Paris to turn their cannons against the newly-strengthened, unified Germany.

HOW I WAS SYSTEMATICALLY RUINED BY AN IDIOT

2011-05-20T23:47:00.000+02:00

Zdravo readers!

Just back from my annual trip to Belgrade. Upon landing at Eindhoven airport, the lovely meat and cheese specialities that my mother prepared as a taste of Serbian culture were confiscated by the Dutch customs. You see, dangerous food bacteria come from Eastern Europe, and the goodies had to be INCINERATED. Obnoxiously, limited food import is allowed from Croatia, despite general Gotovina's indictment.

There isn't much by way of cultural uproar in Belgrade: a Shakira concert, an aging Joe Cocker trying to make a buck, boring 3D movies in multiplexes, and Dusan Kovacevic in the theaters. The best you can do is re-visit the brilliant heritage of Serbian black comedy from the 1960s-1980s period - on DVD. I just (re)discovered Slobodan Sijan's 1983 masterpiece, HOW I WAS SYSTEMATICALLY RUINED BY AN IDIOT (KAKO SAM SISTEMATSKI UNISTEN OD STRANE IDIOTA).

In the movie, Babi Papushka (Bata Stojkovic) is struck by the death of Che Guevarra, who represents the virtues of socialism for this idealistic guerrila poet.

It is difficult to describe Babi, as played by the immortal Danilo Bata Stojkovic: he has something of Le Colonel Chabert's conspirational lunacy, but is too INNOCENT to be compared to that Parisian whore. His combination of low-key anxiety and malignant corruption is the work of sheer genius. I cannot point to a single Western actor who would be able to hit these kinds of comedic chords.

Wandering through various socialist conferences in 1980s Belgrade, Papushka meets an urban tart (Seka Sabljic) presenting herself as an Orthodox Marxist Russian. At first it seems the two poets will become soulmates, but the tart takes the first opportunity to get fucked by an obnoxious avant garde sculptor. (She hilariously responds to Babi's accusations that she is betraying socialist ideals by calling him ''patriarchal''. When Babi later complains that ''he saw how the sculptor's penis entered her cunt'', the tart answers that ''she was holding it in order to prevent him from penetrating'')

As Papushka continues his useless pilgrimage, we notice the deep hypocrisy of ''really existing socialism'', which has now become a functional bureaucratic system (not unlike the European Union) without any particular need for ideals, revolutions, or critical thought. Yet this social criticism isn't quite the point of the film.

Rather, the point is in the film's disjointed black comedy, characteristic for Slobodan Sijan, but more generally typical of the entire Serbian cinema. This, readers, you won't find in any other Eastern European production, and the stuff currently being made in Hungary (like TAXIDERMIA) actually follows that Serbian style, pioneered in the 1970s by the likes of Sijan. I need to wait until I have seen recent USSSR productions, to be able to tell you whether my proud nationalistic comment can be extended to the cinematic output of the Ruskies.

In Sijan's universe, it is quite possible for Papushka to simultaneously occupy the position of the Orthodox-Marxist idealist, and a total paranoid malignant cunt, who will sell his grandmother for some beans, as we say in Serbia. There is no way you can either accept, or condemn Papushka comfortably, for he evades all attempts at categorization. And there is something uniquely hilarious about this situation, which makes for the character's delightful singularity. Perhaps the only Western equivalent I could think of are the protagonists of Jim Jarmusch's films. But these films are too sweet, and nice, in comparison to Sijan's relentless wit.

There are other fantastic details - such as the scene where Papushka and the Russian tart are walking the streets of Belgrade, and you notice that the socialist stores are just as stacked with goodies as the new (capitalist) ones. Quite apparently the production of the old Yugoslavia didn't need ANY GODDAMN WESTERN MULTINATIONALS, and Yugoslavia was broken up in order to release the market for Western consumption.

DR SINTHOME AND THE OBJECTS: THE RECKONING

2011-05-08T08:29:00.001+02:00

Readers, as the Egyptian Temptress is feeding the poor abandoned kitty Tamarayanaya, the Diva's beautiful mature breasts are on glorious display under the bright Cairo sun.

Tamarandidina bites hard on the Temptress's nipple, but the Diva appears unperturbed. She seems to be remembering...

... the time that she used to hang with her little tentacles on the Partial Object. This is where the Temptress's Withdrawal Trauma began, as she began to realize that one day, she will have to detach herself from the Partial Object.

Over in Texas, dr. Sinthome is experiencing a deep chronic depression - something that as you know, strikes the cat seasonally, and usually when her narcissistic feline ego has suffered a low blow. In this case, readers, the blow is twofold: not only did the cat develop an unforgivable pot belly as a result of lying on books the whole day; she also heard that she may not be the only cat in town to draw the Temptress's undivided, and hard-to-win, attention!!!

The Parody Center decides it's time for a celestial intervention; the Center doesn't like to see the cat in this condition, readers. The Center traverses the multiverse in order to pull dr. Sinthome from his depressive slumber...

... and bring him to a veritable bathing paradise in Key West!!!

(to be continued)

THEY SHOOT SERBS, TOO, DON'T THEY?

2011-04-26T06:59:00.000+02:00

Hey readers, even though I've been just PREOCCUPIED with news about Dr Graham Harman's kitten (watch out dr. Sinthome - there's a new cat up the alley!)... I did manage some time to report to you, that the International Kangaroo Court in The Hague sentenced some Croatian generals to 28/18 years due to their systemic expulsion and attempted genocide of Krajina Serbs in 1995.

Here is a good link from my new parody correspondenteuze in London:

Gotovina and Marcak were accused of taking part in a “joint criminal enterprise”, the purpose of which was “the permanent removal” of the Serb population of the Krajina region of Croatia during the August 1995 Operation Storm military offensive, which broke a United Nations-monitored cease-fire.

Their crimes, involving “deportation and forcible transfer, plunder of public and private property, wanton destruction, murder, inhumane acts and cruel treatment”, led to the deaths of up to 2,200 people, half of them civilians, and the creation of 200,000 Serb refugees.

Now let's face it readers, the ICTY only made this decision because in 2011 it doesn't really MATTER anymore to establish the Nazi origins of Croatian (or Slovenlian) independence, because most of the projected targets have been hit, and Serbia & Croatia are now both cooperative statelets in the employ of the Roman Empire. So now there is room to philsophize about international justice, and the like.

Still enormous wicked FUN to observe the shocked reaction in Croatia, where it seems ninety percent of the population thought they were leading a ''liberating war''.

I checked the Trotskyist sites, readers, for comments, but there's nothing on Komrad Leninini-nuni, Komradesse Nymphomania, Kamarad Hatherley-Pyzik, and most disappointingly, not a single mention on Komrad Zizek-Fisher. I suppose these clubs are going to maintain the myth of Serbian nationalism even after ICTY has given up on it!

Long live Comrade Tito!

RIO

2011-04-22T00:27:00.000+02:00

Readers goddamit I almost became not only a full-fledged socialist, but also, a FEMINIST, after watching this gorgeously made, yet utterly spoiled piece of 3D animation - it was THAT INSULTING!!!

While it's certainly true that animation, per definition, operates on the production of cliches, the cliches in RIO are so geared towards the (projected) tastes of White Anglo-Saxon Protestant audiences, even Tito had more respect for Serbian minorities in Croatia.

The movie first preys on NERDS, that specifically American trope concocted for the purpose of suppressing intellectual dissent. The star nerd is the blue macao parrot Blu, who fell out of his nest at a young age and never learned to fly. Blu is even voiced by last year's celebrity nerd, Jesse Eisenberg (who played Zuckerberg in Fincher's SOCIAL NETWORK), and he sounds a lot like Ben Stiller in MEET THE FOCKERS, another uber-WASP nerd for middle class audiences.

With the typecasting firmly in place, the authors needn't have reminded us that Blu's one redeeming feature is his BEAUTY. You know all along that even though he can't fly, the parrot will ultimately overcome his social anxieties, to become - what else? - a STUD.

(Against the backdrop of Rio de Janeiro, the film-makers have opportunity aplenty to blame the Southern races for this bit of American machismo; while most of the Latin characters are ridiculed for their exaggerated masculinity, Blu is the one who gets to become the enlightened American stud: kind and sensitive to women on top of being physically fit)

The fate of BLU's love interest, however, is much worse. She is first presented as a strong-willed BIRD WIRMAN, much more independint and resourceful than Blu. But it is only at the point where she acknowledges her beauty, not her brains, as her strongest asset, that she resolves her troubled relationship with the nerd, transforming into a woman.

Throughout the entire movie, the makers are desperately trying to convince us that they care about the weaker side, readers. They even show the shantytowns of Rio de Janeiro, and how the little Latin urchin didn´t have no other choice but to steal, because he doesn´t come from the same privileged background as his American counterparts. And so on.

But have no doubts about it - the corrupted core of this film is yet another exploitative tale about the superiority of North America to the backwaters of South America.

I have absolutely no complaint about the animation in itself, it is truly gorgeous, and the 3D aspect of it works surprisingly well due to the fluid shapes of the models and the brilliant pacing. However this only makes the film´s rotten manipulation insidious, on top of being fairly insulting.

ENTER THE VOID

2011-04-21T00:00:00.000+02:00

Readers, Gaspar Noe apparently belongs to the same rank of young film directors, like Serbia's Mladen Djordjevic, who are busy with ''visceral cinema''. I guess we should applaud the emergence of a good movement. Unfortunately, though, Mladen's work is around 3 million light years more advanced than Noe's, and I can't say, readers, that I experienced the same enthrallment watching ENTER THE VOID that I still experience after my 215th viewing of THE PORNO GANG.

It's not that THE VOID isn't interesting: it manages to create a visceral and hallucinatory, organic mushroom trip atmosphere that lingers on for a few days after the viewing. Thanks to Paz de la Huerta's amazing performance as a fragile youth struck by grief, the film is often touching and tender, melancholic and disturbing, impressive and surreal. And so on and so forth, readers, rent the goddamn DVD, don't put me to unpaid WURK trying to tell you how you should feel. Just FEEL IT.

Alas, the whole construction flops due to the underlying Tibetan philosophy of reincarnation. While in THE PORNO GANG redemption is corporeal, taking place in THIS life, THE VOID imagines people can save their astral bodies by choosing to reincarnate through their sister's uterus. Practically this means there is no suspense in the story, but philosophically, the film neatly dovetails with Western New Ageism, the world of psychedelic abstractions from ''The Space Odyssey'', and the promise of an easy, ecastasy-fuelled salvation.

While both the pain and the beauty in THE PORNO GANG are so real and palpable, they make even the wildest fantasy appear instantly real, in ENTER THE VOID, all you really get is drug-fuelled anaesthesia, presenting bland Western characters as if they were suffering, instead of being hopelessly bored. I suppose the ultimate motive is to offer some kind of a therapeutic cinematic experence, but all I felt was intense boredom, readers.

SCREAM 4, OR: ON THE SHITTINESS OF MOVIE REVIEWING

2011-04-20T20:26:00.000+02:00

Readers, I'm not going to say that SCREAM 4 is a great movie - the original SCREAM wasn't a great movie, merely a good one; and besides, Wes Craven never really made anything great after A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET and the vastly underrated DEADLY FRIEND. Yet SCREAM 4 is definitely not a bad movie, and it's one of the better things in Wes Craven's opus.

But nothing, and I mean not even a bad movie, deserves the shitty mediocrity of the global press, which all seem to consits of the DEKLINE OF SIMBOLIK EFIKASY theoreticians, lamenting the fact that Jesus is no longer the No.1 pop superstar, and without Him, there is no stable meaning; we're slidin' into the Hell of the Sliding Signifiers, where a fate of sexual inferiority is going to get us, just as it got dr. Jodianne Fossey, who is now surrounded by all kinds of Turkish studs at various sociology conferences but still can't get a decent fuck, readers!

(The example I linked, from ''Reverse Shot'', is just one of the many - as usual, Roger Ebert leads the wailers, and ''Variety'' - once a decent newspaper - isn't lagging far behind)

In the case of SCREAM 4, the ´´criticism´´ is even stupider than the work of Warszawa Klein, because:

1) A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET, with its biting satire of the patriarchal father, practically announced the Dekline of Simbolik Efikasy - in any case, long before Zizek started scribbling about it;

2) Craven has always been a moralizing cunt with ambitions to deliver ''statements'' on the life of the youth, and in SCREAM 4, the meaninglessness of Web 2.0 gets shoved in your face relentlessly;

However, the best accomplishment of the movie is precisely that it elevates itself beyond its own lament on the dekline, in order to embrace parody for the sake of parody. At that moment, it finally becomes the SCREAM that it wanted to be from the beginning.

But the New Puritanical press of Halliwud - writing in the style of Joan Didion - remains gravely concerned about the loss of meaning in the world.

Well they fucking DESERVE THIS FRANCHISE, readers!!!

ABYSSES OF PASSION

2011-04-20T19:56:00.001+02:00

left to right: Madeleine Elster, Nikki Land, Desiree Disgusto

PARODIC ENGAGEMENT CODA 2011

2011-04-12T03:52:00.000+02:00

1. Under no condition shallt non-abusive, polite, humorless or lamely humorous comments be condoned at the Cultural Parody Center, and the Center by all means reserves the right to delete comments meeting these criteria;

2. Commenters at the Parody Center willingly accept the risk of being insulted, ridiculed, hurt, fucked, raped, stalked and made emotionally unstable in all of their transactions with the Parody Center;

3. Trolling, grey vampiring and bisexual roleplaying is condoned and actively encouraged by the Parody Center.

MEAT

2011-04-09T14:15:00.000+02:00

Speaking of horror, readers, this clip beats that whole generation of tortutainment movies from the Quentin Tarantino factory, most notably because it's such a nice illustration of object-oriented philosophy principles.

The production machine being deployed here to slaughter the animals works quite independently of the humans, in fact, it is perfectly NON-HUMAN. Despite the film-makers' attempts to humanize the business by showing how some employees of the grinder deploy needless excessive cruelty against the pigs, it is the decapitation machine that takes center stage in the clip. She hacks off those chicken heads in a way that is simultaneously withdrawn, and an impeccable demonstration of the network-actor theory. I didn't recoil from the fact that there are sadistic motherfuckers in the world; rather, I recoiled from thinking that in the current system, we, too, are going to end up like the chicken.

Was I convinced to turn vegan, readers? Difficult question. The vegan bottom on the site's ''toolkit'' certainly didn't convince me. I really love animals, and all of their innocent, fluffy, endearing qualities. I fully believe that they have a soul, and aren't just collections of Darwinian instincts. But I also love MEAT, in all varieties. Furthermore, individual efforts to maintain vegetarianism aren't going to stop the meat machine - it's not a structural solution, as they say. Would socialism remove the desire for devouring meat? Highly unlikely, readers, for the entire economy of Yugoslavia was based on PORK CHOPS.

I guess the only rational thing to do would be to somehow force the meat industry to kill the animals in a more humane way, using tranquilizers, making sure the suffering isn't protracted, or insane. But now that we're increasingly encircled by the hydrae of object-oriented philosophy, I'm afraid ''humanism'' won't be er...EFFICIENT enough, readers.

FOR MADELEINE

2011-04-09T02:05:00.001+02:00

''You're not even looking at me, Nick. Somewhere in here I was born...and there I died. It was only a moment for you, you... you took no notice.''