Wednesday, November 10, 2004

Bohemian Ink: literary underground review

What a cool place is this! Amazing where google searches for "Hunter S. Thompson" will lead you. Just a sliver of a taste:
I fell for it. I had the water, the gasoline, the canned goods stocked, a few boxes of shells, the water purification system ready. And nothing happened. Instead of the excitement of apocalypse, I was treated to Bill Clinton's pile of fragrant dogshit neatly deposited on the Washington Mall minutes before the monument lit up in all its climactic phallic glory. I switched stations, adding to the depressing exultation of the moment, the Times Square "revelers" were kept smartly in line by an equal number of menacing cops in riot gear. The TV announcers burbled sweet nothings like: "They thought there might be trouble, but it's been nice and quiet." "Nice and quiet, uh-hmmm" "No alcohol was allowed in the Square tonight." "Well maybe some of them will want to get a drink after it's over." "Only if they want to." "Of course, only if they want to."

The political correctness and good behavior of the celebrations was nauseating. Back in Washington, huge film montages of war and the depression and gee whiz! Black people. I was hoping for rare footage of frontiersmen peppering Indian babies with buckshot. (They did have the gall to show the naked crying girl running from the napalm in Vietnam. I guess it's such a great picture, who could resist?)

And presiding over all these "celebrations" grinning Guiliani and Clinton. What are they grinning about? The soaring stock market? The Internet? The scarily growing world population? The fact that it's New Year's Eve and the temperature outside is suitable for a cold night in May? A NEW WORLD ORDER?

They're grinning because they're in and most everybody else is out. They got themselves a nice warm seat when the millennial musical chairs music stopped. That can be the only reason they are grinning. They are godless, they are unspiritual, political creations presiding over a world of scary efficiency where nobody gets drunk or rowdy or anything. Where the poor get poorer every day, where the air gets dirtier, and where the rich jet from ski jump to ski jump. And no one knows how to have a good time.

-Eric Bogosian
(Bohemian Ink)

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