Dispatches from: The Producers Meeting for the VR Version of Mad Max

She’s dreaming of an electric fuhrer

You’re swearing it’s a soundstage.  just a soundstage

Somewhere in here. someone will screw it up. it’ll be a quick tilt pan and you’ll knock over the green screen

Never ever sung at a high key

You’re in orlando and:

you’re dictating emergency laws

“color blind and gender neutral”.

A government unworthy to lead.

Critic and Cynic.

That’s what they’ll call you when you stand in the way of their White Optimism.

Probably the first and second time he’s ever said LGBTQ.

His total lifetime tally will only be those few times he ever does actually say it in a speech. It’ll tally under 60 but nowhere above 56.

You just witnessed inclusivity being co-opted. A fake moral obligation to your LGBTQ friends and family.

You just witnessed someone laying a ground plan for how to start another world war.

“We don’t want them in our country,” he says to applause.

You’re swearing it can’t happen here. That dark age that was predicted neglected and abandoned by the men trying to do this all once upon a wonder under a table with an 18 minute gap.

Law and Order

You swear you hear a ping.

But he says he hears your voice.

He says it after while. After just talking about stuff he’s just pissed about.

And then everyone else just shouting back with him occasionally hopping in  “USA” “USA” USA” and it feels as he waits for them to stop that he’s expecting that Law and Order now.

Did he think he’d ever see this?

Maybe that one time in a coke filled rum den somewhere off lower chelsea back in the 90s.

The way he talks about police. The way he talks about injustice and no sympathy with the leaders who fail their citizens.

Talking about enemies the way the Sopranos do…

Is this happening here? Are you actually reading this and is it actually something that had to be written down because it’s happening here?

Is she just swallowing that can with that thing called DEMOCRACY? 

The man from Chicago just heard his legacy by namesake being promised to be torn apart.

Did this actually happen?

Are we going to double backwards because “damn, dude do you remember when that ALMOST happened?” is gonna be something repeated for generations and generations every summer and oh my mother loving trickle top ended dick did he just throw in a bone to Bernie people?  yeah shit, those generations stoned out of their minds actually feeling that call back to a history that almost happened and they’ll get it and get it the way Germany finally fucking did afterwards and is that as good an example as you can come up with?

Will we get it, now, once and for all, here next summer because it almost happened here?

These are the facts plainly and honestly because we don’t have time to be Politically Correct

Law and Order, believe me he says again and again.

Is he plagiarizing the show? Or the Stallone Dredd film?

Or both?

No lies, honor the american people with the truth and nothing else.

nothing even close. That viciousness and the spitting. 

the Latino ones.

Maybe that explains Cruz and Rubio? And how he treated them?

That wall. it’s a tangible form of legacy. something absolute. god how he fucking must hate us.

“On January 20th of 2017”, he says to a laugh in a quiet room. “The American people will finally wake up to a country where the laws of the united states are enforced.”

maybe this is why people choose dumb entertainment sometimes. maybe its why sometimes the best thing you can do is choose “smart” entertainment even if it never changes “anything” per se its still keeping everyone who is lookin’ at it In The Present Moment. and just being aware is a lot more than most people can deal with. and that matters a lot more because you guys can tell what’s real because she surrounds you with fireworks on both ends of the city with grape beers and daisy laced smiles in the sparkl and makes you feel the way you always thought it would feel.

he says something about making our country rich again which makes you think of scrooge but then you aren’t listening anymore.

and then yeah of course you hear someone saying you can’t always get what you want with confetti falling and a paper background sunset to crash through right up ahead of the both of you.

The Failure Factory

A Dominican hacker with stories from the Southside of Chicago enters a Hong Kong hotel room wearing a badge that reads “Julian Assange”.

Channing Tatum with no chains on arrives alongside a slew of faux police cadets  a little past two am.

Someone opens the rear window in the factory-plant when the music drops alongside the Kid’s pants.

As the dancing cadets situate chairs, empty and filled between their groins, the beltway on the factory level continues its churn of tasteless marshmallow candies.

The rhythms sync to a carefully curated playlist of R&B while Warhol watches smoking an e-cigarette in the corner whispering to a young Columbian art star.

A Vanity Fair profiler scratches into his notepad in bewilderment of the seemingly chaotic production at play between the hotel scenes and the assembly line nature of the work in front of him.

He writes about the plastic guitar hero guitars, the cement, the videos ripped from YouTube without credit, the stoning of originality, the beheading of professionalism,  and the amateurism.

Philanthropic Amateurism.

Activist Amateurism.

Amateurism as practice in a legal and medical sense.

Amateurism as litigated defense in the 9th circuit of appeals.

There’s another entire section of the factory that remains covered in green exclusively for the moments when Shia Labeouf might come to flex how he really feels after a hard day’s work.

In this particular void, ethical questions regarding appropriation and accreditation to influences are raised.

It’s here where a certain underdog artist spends his weekdays with The Weekend for a time persisting to make mistakes with no gallery space for atonement only to find himself paraphrasing a certain Toronto based rapper.

And it’s there where the bottom starts, where the wolves lose out and drowned out, where late night calls in a turtle-neck sweater meet the rotating structure of a light installation meant to be more than a marketing meme.

Because maybe meaning can’t be attached to all the mistakes made on the assembly line.

But perhaps the mapmaker with lowquat picking habits can step in as curator, degree or not, and rationalize it all into semblance.

And then, maybe the strike will begin to halt production once and for all.