I almost didn’t read this, since I don’t care about Carpenter. I do enjoy MM’s big ideas he embeds in his essays, like this one. There’s also fascinating connections to the military, as usual, and the defence contractor Rockwell of Downey, CA, and of course, Disney. Is America one big military industrial taxpayer funded country? Appears so.
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Music has been one prong of the attack, but two others are the news and Hollywood. Every day you are assaulted with a pile of depressing news and tragic events, most of them faked. And Hollywood is the frosting on this depressing cake, reselling the events in the news as well as making up some of their own.
And the reason for all this fake tragedy? Selling you things. Not just anti-depressants, but almost everything else you buy with your “disposable” income. I have had friends go into expensive therapy and begin taking expensive drugs due to events like Sandy Hook or 911. And in the old days, people did the same thing due to the death of Karen Carpenter or John Lennon. My first lover wore a black armband for weeks after Lennon supposedly died. It affected her for months, possibly years. Of course it wasn’t just a single event: it was a pile of manufactured events, all faux-tragic, all manufactured to depress and confuse.
These things never affected me much, which is probably why I retain my sanity as well as my ability to reason. I remember being accused of being heartless, but as I look back I like to think it was just a radar I had for fakery. Back then, I wasn’t interested in exposing it, I just moved away from it without even thinking. But as it took down more and more of those around me, I began to be concerned, both in an egoistic and altruistic sense. I was concerned for my friends, falling like flies. But what could I do? Like them, I couldn’t even see what the problem was, so how could I solve it? And I was concerned for myself, not from any influence of these fake events, but from the fact that all my friends and lovers seemed to be taken from me.
It really became noticeable to me in the mid-90s, when I began trying to date again. These new people I was meeting seemed to me to be mentally ill in some way, but I couldn’t say why. I have spent a huge amount of time since then trying to figure it out. And I have had a lot of time to think about it, since I don’t like to hang out with the mentally ill. I am very protective of my own sanity, and so I have spent a lot of time alone. I have been advised by many—including of course my parents—that spending time alone can lead to insanity, but I have found the reverse is true. Spending time with insane people leads to insanity, and being alone is just a smart fallback position.
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