Friday, April 28, 2006

"Think Surface, Wallpaper"

And that's the situation with the magazine business in Phoenix, all expressed oh so confidently by Desert Living editor David Tyda, who was trying to elucidate what kind of fill goes between the ads at his publication.

Print journlalism in America is so far removed from the First Amendment it can scarcely raise a mute defense against "surface, wallpaper." The skin-deep marketplace dictates all. Economic forces shape the printed word in order to appear before the overpopulated media frenzy to promote "surface, wallpaper."

My first thought, immediately looking at the "wallpaper" round the offices of Desert Living, tucked into the rococo renaissance of gilded logos at the Esplanade, where even Donald Trump gets shown the door, was to ponder what kind of lives go on there for those covered in wallpaper. If I cared to take the time to do a study, I would examine what kind of flora adorns the Esplanade: As above, so below, the sages say. The desert has been eradicated for many miles, so this shiny coated surface is a curtain of death, for all I can ascertain. The "surface" and "wallpaper" represents everything sucking the planet dry.

If you had read this far, certainly, you need little convincing of this. But it's worth railing on, all the same. That's because behind it all, there's something to live for. There's something valuable to know behind the notice that you can't drink from fountains. There's something valuable in casting a review of the song cast by the Vampire, who's sucking sounds ring loud and clear.

The Biltmore shopping mall, across the street, is one big mirror of surface and wallpaper. Notice the mall-dressed manikin chicks as they glance at themselves, half secretly, in the window shop reflections. To see my own reflection is to live in a kind of torment myself. I can't even laugh at the shallowness of "surface, wallpaper," if that's all I'm looking for. So trying to figure out how to fill in the spaces between the ads is a pretty pointless event, I see. Anyone with a global conscience is going to feel that way, if asked to observe the surface of high-end consumer paradise, and by swimming in these dry environs they will no doubt be likewise lost in the despair, hopelessness and banality cast by the controlling mechanisms of the ruling cast.

The Vampire sings: "Think surface, think wallpaper." All platform surfaces are even, yes, safe for high-heeled beings, but there is nothing eternal about the surface of concrete. And this is really, really valuable to know. Forget about trying to keep up by putting on new Euro-trash clothes. Forget about getting a free drink of water. Realize that if you are thirsty, you can always slip into some men's room and cup your own hands in the sink, like Pilot, I guess, and drink from the basin bowl of "surface," enjoying the "wallpaper" as you blow your hands dry on the electrified blower (this is the desert, there's not a free water fountain within 10 square miles; and you would think we could save the juice and let ourselves dry naturally.

Somewhere in the Middle East there's a bunch of crazies dreaming up a way to crash this surface and burn the wallpaper. But they are no better than the guys dialing up dollar digits to make sure the enemy surface, doesn't gain supremacy so that they, themselves, can cover it with their own name brand style of "wallpaper."

So sip from your tippy cup, sweet babies, and hope you are born with the right pattern and style on your faces. Hope your fathers won't turn their backs on you. Hope the bread and water you are fed doesn't toxify your brains. Drink up the gasoline on the car ride to buy more wallpaper. Tip the cup of vampire blood. Drink. Drink. Your mangled engines may wine and dine, and the pretty glossy sweet dalllied lies may glint for a month on your tabletop surface, but seek no truth there, just empty descriptions of "surface, wallpaper."

Yeah, it's all vanity. We know. We know. But if you see beyond it, there's the sun behind the artificial sun, eh?


Post a Comment

<< Home