Jolie Holland is a little more Texas than Texas is, but I like her. I like this cover of Palace Brothers’ “Drunk At The Pulpit” very very much. Find her cover of “Don’t Get Trouble On Your Mind” if you can. That is literally an A+.
I am terrified to allow myself to begin a full wallowing in matters political. I find myself somewhere between Chapo Trap House, Steinbeck, and Mae Brussel these days – an odd thing to try to hold together. On the old blog I think I was a third politics a third music a third “lifestyle” stuff. I think if I take no action in the affirmative that is where this new log will end up. I am certainly going to just empty the spleen today with a pointless rant, and knowing it goes nowhere, I will resist the temptation to go too deep today, but the Mae Brussel side really got mad seeing this little ditty. My verdict: the nation is Palookaville just like the planet is.
I haven’t been in a classroom as a student for 25 years. I am not interested in going back, but I work with many recent grads and try to pay attention to the public sphere to the degree I can stomach it. In that great flow of language, I have heard the phrase “Toxic Masculinity“. I need to read up on it beyond just a Wiki, but if it is what I think it is, I am 100% on board with burning it out of the collective soul. The pedantic little men who obsess over top-down order – always enforced through the threat of violence, actual violence, or in the case of men, being sent to a place where more than violence goes on – have run humanity in one form or another since we came out of the trees 6000 years ago. I think of it as being Palookaville writ large. Liz Phair’s Guyville. Meatheadville. Red state high school. Aspirational betas – suede denim secret police. Might we actually be on the cusp of getting free of it? One can hope. Of course, one can hope into one hand, crap into the other, and there is no doubt which hand will fill up first.
One of the maxims I have picked up lately and am having a love affair with is “those who cannot control their own emotions will seek to control the behavior of others”. This is certainly at the root of Toxic Masculinity & Palookaville. We raise children by lying to them about everything going on around them. No wonder we end up completely fucked up. Can we stop telling little boys they are tough? That they are the best at stuff? Can we never call another 3-year old “Big Guy” again? Can we stop telling everyone that someday this will all be theirs? I bet if we made inherited wealth and power impossible, Palookaville dies. Long live Palookaville
Every male who followed the rules as they waited their turn to be the big swinging dick seems to feel violence is justified if they don’t get what they thought was theirs on the timetable of their choosing. Is there a war on earth at this point not rooted in someone being denied their turn as the head of their local Palookaville? The old adage “if you fail to initiate the young into the tribe they will burn the village down” pretty much explains why so many of the villages are burning down. Perhaps it is time to stop promising them the village will be theirs someday. Do we get all this shit if no one expects an inheritance? Those acts of control which are designed to preserve value for later transfer are really doing us in. The small town jails bursting at the seams are as much a part of this as the twenty-something dolts joining whatever fight it is they think prevents the destruction of their way of life. To the degree this is done to win favor of a mate, I would say it isn’t entirely masculine – but that is best left for another time. For now, while the concept of Toxic Masculinity is having its run in the public consciousness, we gotta act. The reaction to come is going to be nasty. It will need to be resisted on principle – after all, it would be hypocritical to do so solely to protect our gains of today for future generations to enjoy wouldn’t it? Isn’t it generational wealth and power at the root of all this shit to begin with?
Again – I am just ranting. No point yet, but the point is coming. It has been percolating forever. All in due time. Until then, I leave you with Robyn Hitchcock’s Hall Of Legalized Murder: “Isn’t our world based on murder…isn’t our world based on crime?”
finished a new hour of the music of the island chums.