E = mc^2

In my less than scientifically rigourous and not necessarily physical formulation of a particular variation on "Relativity Theory," well, the formula in the title can be interpreted as:

Entertainment = misanthropy (times) cynicism (squared).

With that in mind, I present unto you:

The Wall

or

The Philosopher King (For a Day)

If I had my way, I'd have all of ya' shot.

Now, I don't care what "race" ya' are, what the colour of yer skin is, or what yer appearance and features are in general: we're all human beings.

And I don't care what religion you practice (or not): we all have ways to make sense of the world, our place in it, and a means to create meaning from an otherwise seemingly meaningless existence.

And I don't care what you do to yerself: smoke pot; take drugs; drink; do yoga; eat only vegetables; drink too much coffee, man; or whatever else. We are each free--if indeed we are in any sense "free"--to make our own choices regarding our own particular lifestyles insofar as those choices effect (mostly) our own being (and here the qualification of "mostly" because simply through relating our lifestyle choices may effect others, but that is a whole 'nother "can of worms"--let's allow a degree of simplification here--for entertainment value--thanks).

And I don't care what yer sexual orientation is or what kinks you have: see above regarding "what you do to yerself." So long as what we are doing is consensual, well, everyone else can mind their own fucking business and stay the fuck out of another's undies (unless, of course, there's mutual consent there, then, go on, dive right in).

And I don't care what yer position is in the social hierarchy: good, decent people can be found within all the socially defined (however so) "castes."

What I do care about is how each and any of us relate to other people, and this can be often expressed specifically via our "profession," or "career choices," or "jobs" in general.

And I do, more or less, agree with Shakespeare:

Let's kill all the lawyers first.

But of course, we can't simply generalize over all the lawyers, 'cause at least some of them are going to be good, decent human beings who use their profession as a means to help and assist others, so:

Let's kill some but not all the lawyers first.

Get 'em up against the wall.

And then there's the politicians. Again, it's going to be some but not all.

'Gainst. The. Wall.

And some but not all religious leaders.

Get 'em up against the wall.

And some but not all (but probably most) bankers.

'Gainst. The. Wall

Actually, let's do the bankers second--right after the lawyers.

And the landlords: some but not all.

Get 'em up against the wall.

CEOs and other board members, well, most of you, I'd reckon:

'Gainst. The. Wall

War mongers, military chiefs of staff, generals, and people who command large groups of other people to kill yet other people:

Get 'em up against the wall.

My, it's getting pretty bloody in here, isn't it? The air is thick with the smell of gunpowder--let's make sure we are all wearing respirators--and I do hope you are all also wearing protective gear for yer ears.

And what are we gonna' do with all these corpses? I suppose incineration will be the most practical solution: fire up the furnaces, comrades!

I am sure I've left out some other general categories of people as defined by their professions. This is merely an initial sort of modest proposal and we can hash out the fine details as we incinerate the bodies, OK?

Now, the important part, obviously, is coming up with a fair and reasonable criteria that can--much more often than not--separate the "some" from the "all."

How do we do this? It is a tricky affair to be sure, and, well, we're likely gonna' have to break a few eggs, now and then, if we want to make an omelet. Sorry families and friends of the wrongly put down: we'll make sure you are well compensated by the redistribution of wealth this endeavour will certainly entail. Simply think of it in the same light as when you mash a mosquito that hasn't even bitten you yet: there'll always be more of them along that will bite you.

So, the criteria.

I say, as yer pretend philosopher king fer the day, we let people draw the line themselves and then wait for their own hypocrisy to make them cross it.

Yes, each of us is free to be as helpful or not helpful with regards to everyone else as we so chose, but when we take direct action and willfully engage in behaviours that harm others, well, that's gotta' be a strike against us, yes?

You want freedom of speech? You want freedom of thought? You want freedom to express yourself? Have it. Have it all. Stand on a soapbox in the market place and cry out your hate, your hardship, your pain, your frustration, and whatever else: I don't care.

Act on those same things in ways which harm others, well, that's gotta' be a strike.

Paint pictures, make movies, build monuments, write manifestos and tracts, create whatever you want: I don't care.

Take advantage of others via whatever means in order to exploit them, well that's a strike.

Three strikes?

Up against the wall.

It's simple, really: "treat others as you would have them treat yourself, and do not treat others as you would not have them treat yourself."

And, yes, that itself is likely too simple, but, hey, everything looks better on paper--even digital representations of paper--then it does when put into practice; regardless, this is all only entertainment anyway: I have little interest in cleaning up the mess--hypothetical or otherwise.

That said, let's start with the lawyers: get 'em up against the wall.

Always Forget

I was out at the local market to do some hunting and gathering--OK, mostly gathering--when I spied none other than Kurt Cobain on the cover of this month's Rolling Stone. Some story about little Frances Bean (who, I suppose, ain't that little no more) trying to find her long dead father, whatever that is supposed to mean. I reckon you can just listen to his records, Frances, he seemed to put a lot of himself into them, or so it seems to me.

"Ah yes," I thought to myself, "it is that month, isn't it?"

I always forget the day and I came home to look it up and the anniversary of your death was on April 5th and that was--can you believe it--twenty-one years ago. Wow. I remember when that Nevermind record was the shit. Spoke to and for a whole generation of slackers and Gen Xers and post-punk lost souls wandering in the wasteland of a confusing, unfriendly, and uncaring modern society of idiot fucktards. What's changed, really?

Grunge the media called it. And it invaded the airwaves and help transform the idiot jock fucks into "alternative" cool folks ("he's the one who likes all our pretty songs, and he likes to sing along, but he knows not what it means"--oh the sarcastic irony of it all, Kurt), and brought the hip subculture--or some faction of a hip subculture, anyway--into the pop culture, and the rest is a tragic sort of history. Spawned a shitload of shitty fuckin' bands that sound like Theory of a Dead Nickel Creed.

And I hate that band. Well, "hate" is a pretty strong word. I guess I'd simply be much happier--or, perhaps better, wouldn't have to be bothered to care at all--if they all died in a tragic bus crash or something. Maybe all the masters and copies of all their songs could simply vanish from the face of the Earth along with them. All those bands that are that band--y'know what I mean.

You know, Kurt, that record isn't even all that good. I mean, I happened to put it on the other month and, having not heard it in years, well, it simply didn't do it for me anymore. Sure, there's still some good songs on it, yeah, but it doesn't have the same rawness of Bleach, say, and it certainly lacks the maturity of In Utero, and it's just not as fun as some of the tracks on Incesticide. And like I've ever bothered to listen to the "unplugged album" because, really, what's the fuckin' point? So, in this humble listener's opinion, well, Nevermind is the worst Nirvana album. But it does have few songs that were still pretty good to hear. Well, maybe it is less that it's not a good record and maybe it's more that it was a record that needed the historical context to make it as great as it was for a time. Still the worst of the bunch, if you ask me though.

Maybe Courtney had ya' killed, as some people still figure, or maybe you really did kill yourself, or maybe you wanted to kill yourself but were too scared to end it by your own hand--a lot of people with suicidal ideations are: it is a pretty difficult step to actually take, after all--and you hired someone else to do it for you and maybe some of these people actually know this to be true.

Who knows? I mean, I sure don't, anyway. And I reckon perhaps like the assassination of, say, JFK or like the actual events of 9/11, well, most of us will simply never learn the truth of the matter and the truth will fade into mythology over time. To quote a different Kurt, also no longer with us, who also died in April, and also tragically--but with much less mystery--"and so it goes."

And so you're gone now, and have been for twenty-one years. Crazy. And almost every year I forget that April is the month that marks the anniversary of your death. And every year it simply doesn't seem to matter, anyway, if I remember you or not. And maybe that's what you'd prefer, really. "Oh well, whatever, never mind."

But this year, thanks to a cursory glance across the magazine rack at the local market, well, here's a little tribute to you, Kurt. All in all is, indeed, all we all are. And if that's the case, then we'll see you again in the Western Lands.