There is, I believe, a distinct over-use of the term (not the word) ‘face’. Perhaps most notably we have the insult that a friend is likely to give: “So’s your face!”.
Forgive me for mentioning it.
“In the face”, “directly in my face” and…”face” are all similar examples of the over-use I am referring to.
But why is this? I have an idea, and this is, I suppose, a view on current society and for that I am surely some sort of pretentious prat that deserves to have his blog ignored but for the sake of my self-esteem I am going to have to face….damn. Well, I guess that at least means I’m a part of the society I’m talking about. How pleasant.
Again. Why is this? The dawn of the company named ‘Facebook’ was massive as it began, but the prominence it has now gained is beyond the term of ‘household name’ as it has passed into the population’s mind to the degree that the lexicon is altered. The ubiquitous state of Facebook has earned it a place deep within our latter generation, though without permission, so that ‘face’ has therefore trounced other words in the race from the mind, to the tongue, and so out into our world for us all to hear- regrettably.
How else? I will also suggest that the means that Facebook reached us- the internet- has dragged us dancing into a world in which all the information we need is ready and waiting for its it’s pining-for by us. The information is both great and terrible at once, and it can have a habit of hitting you full-frontal and without mercy. In other words, you receive a face-full of this information and the directness and impact of it, encompassing everything you need to know at that precise moment is therefore able to be described by a term from which we previously drew all the information we could: the face.
Now for slapstick. I wouldn’t say that slapstick is improving by any means- as only the appreciation for the humour can be said to have changed.
“Directly in her face”. Here comes the unfortunate use of the term, the use that comes with the assumption of originality and hilarity. The physical side of this slapstick is actually miniscule, though reasonably funny owing to it being slapstick and therefore we are human. But the alternative side, the telling of the tale afterwards- with some friends and some beers, is the worst this situation has to offer. This side demonstrates to us that presence of originality, courage, intellect and pity can all be removed from the comedy of the moment and be replaced by the simply insertion of the particular terms. Should one go about a story based around the play of “Insert ‘face’ here”, then their success is assured, and the battle is lost.
There is also a change in the meaning of the term ‘face’, and this is to mean ‘utterly me’. If something happened to/in/at your face, then it was complete and total. Your face is your identity, you are your face, therefore if something happens to your face, it completely happens to you.
And finally, the act of the ‘cum-shot’ onto the face. Why the face? It is complete, final and personal. Your face is you and ‘you’ are covered in cum, and that is all.
I think that fairly well sums up what is going on.
It’s Christmas time. That is all. Leave me be. Don’t call me a miser because it’s hardly going to give me a bad name in the community. Rejection of national social conventions to find a little peace of mind? Good for you!
And do not bullshit me about the offering of peace to all mankind:
Christmaestro: Peace to all men!
Bit of a dick (the more-righteous part of the penis): Actually I don’t celebrate your contemporary interpretation of a pagan festival so please excuse me from your cultural dialect this winter.
Christmaestro: WHAT?! You can’t disrespect my Christmas wishes like that by not being part of it! SEIZE HIM! SEIZE THE MISER!! Beat him with brussles, Cain him with candy-canes, and fuck him with an elf.
But the worst part is the assumption that I am part of this celebration- of which I am not, but I can hardly say that all advertisements do anything other. Wait, the main point I was making was that there are now several television adverts so far this Christmas, and each of them focuses on the family in the holiday and, in particular, the mother.
Last year there was an advert for Littlewoods which focused on children singing a song in a pantomime, in which they praise their mother for buying them and their family various expensive gifts from the store whose name and logo inevitably materialises by the end of the advert. This advert was widely criticised for being materially focused, not too materially focused, just materially focused- full stop. As if these people complaining were going to abstain from the ritual of purchase, wrap, and exchange and would rather go about the true meaning of Christmas which is to squeeze out a messiah in a shed. People don’t tend to practise the latter, but buying and ‘passing over’ is the point- full stop (or rather- ‘exclamation mark’).(!)
So, with the market having learnt its written-in lesson, it is this year giving the point of the family and the mother a priority. Weird. Obviously, this is to offer the viewer that feeling of family closeness and the enticing aspects of being warm, fed and wealthy that are typical of nearly every all adverts. “Behind every Christmas- there’s mum” (says Asda), and that the very idea of Christmas is stress and panic but that ultimately…aahhhh…at least we have Tesco. Morrisons offers the exact same situation, offering the same sympathy for the mother and the focus that family matters, and that this is how Christmas always has been and always will- so sayeth Morrisons (here ends the Christmas lesson).
The ultimate point however, is my curiosity as to whether people really do identify supermarket stores as being the life-saving, stress-free best buddy that they portray themselves as. The lead characters seem to smile knowingly as though saying: “Asda is my best friend as a working/middle class mother- I simply can’t get by without them, You should buy their products- they’re only selling them to ease your burden”. They’re not selling them to ease your burden, but rather selling them so as to have their products bought. Bought with money. Bought with money by whomever they have coaxed in via the most obvious selling point of cheapness and quality, rather than some preposterous image of Asda ‘being there for me’ when I’m low and need someone to talk to- which is something they do sell- through the screen of our televisions and at the considerable expense of my patience and trust in their motives. I don’t like to turn my back on Asda. I get the feeling they’re pointing and laughing at me. Luckily enough I look good when being mocked, so it’s not so bad.
I know that their goal is to sell things, but do they think that by simply putting one set of happy images together (a family dinner, a humorous scene, a budding relationship, or an infant laughing) and then showing their logo as though it is the cause of all this joy and the purchasing of their product will bring the same to you, will actually be accepted by the massive masses? Ah. Maybe they do. Ah. Maybe the masses do too. Fucking masses.
This I call ‘association advertising’, where a company puts some form of…something (several of which are listed above)…to give their product an image that their target audience can identify with. So, by associating themselves with a certain form of…humour, or fashion, or class, or situation, or animated dog, that they can then cram their company name into the next frame and sit behind the backwards mirrors of their supermarkets, anticipation drooling between their talon-like teeth, perfectly white. Rowntree’s Randoms are not run and operated by a group of the wackiest people you’d be cheered to meet. If Sainsbury’s had the chance, they’d steal your mother and then make an advert making mothers particularly enticing for this time of year, and then sell her back to you at a heightened cost owing to the time of year and her breeding.
The only exception is, in my own and I’m sure many other’s opinion, Lynx- which shows lynx users spraying it on, and then very almost fucking every attractive female since 1991. That’s what lynx does, perhaps exaggerated, but essentially not a misrepresentation of what they do. Lynx is not my friend, but I am it’s customer, and as such I appreciate the link between what it shows me in an advert and what it’s actually selling. A nice, decent bit of practical association advertising. Not the other kind.
On the whole though, if an advert comes on- just walk away. It’s healthier. And if you’re an advertiser, just either stop it, or at least say ‘please’ more.
Of course, I don’t actually have a fascist inside me. No. Of course not. If I did then he/she wouldn’t allow me to blog about it.
However, opinion-wise (maybe not ‘-wise’, more…’opinion-esque’) I have to say that fascists always seem to be the way to go for me. Removal of free-will tends to mean that things gets done.
Let’s look at the Nazis. Apart from the war and the moral side of things, they were tremendously successful. Happy families, smart uniform, and a jolly rally every now and then.
Then there’s China. A super-power with little going against it apart from everyone else, yet everyone’s money is very much so in China’s favour. They’re doing rather well these days. China, you may have heard of it? It’s usually Eastwards. Unless you’re Japan…in which case IT’S COMING…
It’s a pleasant change to be able to say that WW2 Germany and China are good examples of anything apart from Ming pottery, black leather, and very, very neat hair, amongst other evil and pointless things, so this shows just how good they were/are at fascism and that’s not something they teach in schools. There’s no ‘Fascism 101′ in which you turn up to class the fuck on time, have your shirt tucked all the way down into your shoes in case it should escape, and do your homework to avoid being blindfolded against the wall and shot whilst your parents are glad to be rid of you, you rebellious little shit. Hmm. Taking a nasty turn with the allegory here. Maybe this is another negative side of fascism. Unpleasant allegories.
But I want to focus on the fact that if any of us become ruler of the world; we would want to run it our way, according to our opinions and abilities. With the world’s resources behind you, the only people against you would be the rest of the world that wants their resources back unless you’re pleasing them, an odd thing to try to do unless you’re ruler of the world.
However, no matter what, someone will be against your way of running things, and here is the crux of the matter. If you were to simply take a leaf out of Nike’s book of slogans and say: “Just Do It”, then maybe, things might get done. And all you need after that is time. And maybe bare in mind that Nike are being really rather rude and insistent. You don’t have to do it if you feel like it, unless of course you’re being told to do it by the local fascist, in which case you’d better remember that they can be pretty determined. And that you’re just a rebellious little shit.
Some people will become freedom fighters and terrorists, and all you have to do is outlast them. Gradually, people will forget that they are under a fascist state and will assume that things are as they should be, and that’s all.
I say, just take power and then fuck ’em. Now I’m prepared to give this a go, but don’t do it if you’re evil, that’d be extremely unfavourable to my game-plan here since people will assume I’m encouraging you. Unless of course you’re a fascist and think I’m being rebellious. You’d better oppress me before I get out of hand.
How would we take power?
Well, normally I’d suggest T-shirts, you walking propaganda you. Wear your political mantra and strut. If people begin to throw things, let it get stained with battle-wear. The red of the Union-Jack represents blood spilt- I hope your new stains will be just as romantic. Otherwise…umbrellas.
Umbrellas, rather than towels, are what I feel Douglas Adams should have recommend all travellers should never be without.
They can be propaganda, they can shield you (unless being it with anything harder than water), they can be brandished– yeah- brandished…before wither being used to fling, strike, thrust, adorably poke and, of course, gesture with. All this, and they are terribly English. The English do wet hair- we do wet-woollen shirts in summertime ponds.
Right. So there you go. Umbrellas and fascism: it’s probably been done, but at least you have something to do now. You fascist.