Outside of It
During the past few years, I’ve observed the final collapse of certain publications and media organs that long ago I’d once read or viewed, but not with great enthusiasm in the way that I’d enjoyed The American Spectator during the 1990s.
I was always on the outside of that circle of the up-and-coming, or down-and-going, Writers of Political Thought. That circle has spun on both sides, or on all sides, of an issue, the Political Weenie that got grilled to a charred pulp.
Politics is not where it’s at, and maybe it never really was, in terms of truly living life in the States. Modern politics is a cover-up of what is really going on in America. The globalist media were glibly content to keep the jabbering journalistic jaws going, just as long as their chatter distracted enough people from the behind-the-scenes machinations of the real movers-and-shakers of the financial and commercial domains.
It’s a very sad and sorry state of affairs when the purported representatives of the Fourth Estate are free-lancers of the truth, all in the name of keeping their jobs. The downhill slide of American Media has been in motion for decades, but the overly-paid mouthpieces were in their bubbles, unaware of the changes in their own industry. They have also been unaware, whether on the Left or on the Right, of the steady and ceaseless migration of Americans away from the boob tube and the idiot-wide-screen, the electronic business of the business of “news”.
We now have countless devices of communication and very little accurate information communicated to them, or through them.
Presently, whenever I flip open the laptop, it’s for checking email, or researching retail. The online “event-information” and “news-pinion” websites have gotten horrendously and wretchedly saturated with data disinformation and propaganda, layered over with in-your-face agitprop pop-up ads (in my region they are paid for by the taxpayer, as in Ca.Gov.).
The poet and fiction writer Edgar Allan Poe stated:
“Believe only half of what you see and nothing that you hear.”
With the hogwash use of photoshop and sound & visual editing software to disguise the online obvious of anything, or anyone, Mr. Poe’s advice must be revised to:
“Believe nothing of what you see and nothing that you hear.”
That extreme statement leads one to ask: What is real?
What is real is the gut instinct that automatically tells you whatever truths the digital divas and dudes are trying to hide and disguise. What is real is the personal and private worlds outside of the manufactured media. What is real is the uncanny sense that the fabricated images and the frauds pushing them for profit — are as phoney as a $3 bill.
The bottom lines are bottoming out on those morally bankrupt businesses of information and entertainment. Perhaps they have already bottomed out, and have begun to tunnel. I wouldn’t know.
Decades ago, I read various magazines of opinion to obtain facts and figures about foreign and domestic matters in order to form my own opinions — not to be told what to think about any topic. In those days, those matters were “serious matters”. In these days, they’re sick jokes.
How long can a defunct news industry ride on its own toxic fumes? A lot longer than it used to, now that foreign money injects new cash-life into business corpses that have the look and sound and feel of the walking dead.
When your business model is diametrically opposed to the legitimate needs of your customer, then you’ve slit your profit-wrist. What still astonishes me is the expectations of U.S. news orgs that the American people will docilely listen to the endless deceitful dogmatic drivel. Perhaps those pawns in the press really do not expect anyone to listen anymore; they pump out their shrill palaver purely out of spite and hatred and the vile vengeance that incarnate a loser in the game of life.
A person has to be well outside of that snotty cadre of highbrow attitudes to fully understand that Americans do not like being told what to think, much less what to do. And, if there is one thing that upper-middle-class Americans know how to do, it’s to pontificate their skewed, stuffed-shirt interpretations of life to other incorrect and insular stuffed shirts in the name of advising Americans how to think and what to do.
The attitude’s been noticed, especially by those of us outside the group of the influencer-loop.
To wear a blue collar is to be infra dig. To work with your hands is so 19th-century.
In a nation where colleges have pumped out ignorant and intolerant fuss-pots by the millions, the Elitist Opinion-Spouters, who emotionally have never left college, thought they had an endless supply of subscriptions and viewers to their smarty-pants publications and on-air programs. The American scribblers in the New World Court of Louie 14 looked down upon the gritty laborers of the grand commun who cannot comprehend such august thoughts, and they sighed, heavily.
Yes, it’s a burden, bearing all of that genius that the great unwashed simply cannot appreciate.
Witnessing the pathetic online pleas for funding from the pompous intellectual windbags, I feel a moment of déjà vu — because I’ve already been there and long ago envisioned this inevitable tacky ending to Beltway Productions and Potomac Press.
With online info searches, the déjà-vus can never end! Some are even inspirational, elegant and tasteful.
Last night, I tooled around online at the Official Site of the Palace of Versailles. I’ve never been there, physically. I thus decided to wander through the various rooms, especially since there is no one there at all! Not a single soul in sight!
Malheureusement, the Palace has been forced to engage in its own Go-Fund-Me portion on the website since Versailles has been COVID-closed for at least a year. This Emergency Campaign is no doubt being carried out in the style of the great Napoleon.
The Hall of Mirrors, the most famous of rooms in the palace, must attract millions of narcissists!
The War Room, as expected, pays tribute to the military victories that, as expected, led to peace treaties. Those pacts were the Treaties of Peace of Nijmegen of 1678-1679, which thereby put an end to the Dutch War. That war was waged in three phases, from 1672-1678, by King Louis XIV to establish French possession of the Spanish Netherlands, or the Dutch Republic (now the Netherlands). France gained advantages in those peace negotiations by dealing with each of her enemies separately, and arranging terms to her advantage with each country.
Not a bad strategy for any nation or person to undertake.
Way back in the 17th century, France was triumphing in what moderns would call the Art of Geopolitics. Journalists of their glory days believed they’d invented that term!
To return to The War Room, which, to this day, is still called The War Room. In the USA, the Department of War became the Department of Defense after World War II. I do not know if political correctness, or a heightened sensitivity to our national image of going to war and helping other nations to win those wars, prompted the change. The French nonetheless adamantly hold true to their military past.
And what a past it was!
The walls of the War Room are covered with marble panels decorated with six trophies, and with weapons in gilded bronze. That would be weapons of war.
The wall that is adjacent to the Apollo Room features a sculpture in bas-relief. That textural art depicts Louis XIV, the Sun King, on horseback, trampling his enemies.
Without a scintilla of regret too!
During the past two decades, I’ve heard more than a few American political pundits snidely and callously mock the French and their attitudes toward waging war and winning war. Those uppity twits purposely ignored any real history of that ancient nation, all to make a cheap and perhaps personal jibe at an ally.
In point of fact, by 1776, the military prowess of France was reaching its apex — just as the Continental Army of the newly-formed United States was attempting to realize any military prowess in its battles for independence against the British Redcoats.
Political squabbling and jockeying for proximity to the powerful perch of General George Washington had led, by the autumn of 1778, to hastily improvised battle plans, ineffective decisions, and venally ambitious loudmouths and cranks. The arrival of aid to the American cause came from King Louis XVI, initially, in the form of Vice Admiral Count d’Estaing and his fleet of ships (which were 5 feet too deep for New York harbor).
The Vice Admiral was, in fact, Jean Baptiste Charles Henri Hector, le comte d’Estaing. He was fearless, pursuing exploits and seizing them in the War of Austrian Succession, and in the Seven Years’ War where he became a British prisoner-of-war. D’Estaing would later be executed by guillotine in 1794 during the Reign of Terror. His sympathies were with the bloody revolutionaries, but his loyalty was to the French royal family. That divided stance, no matter how artfully expressed, did not work to the advantage of this aristocrat of military achievement and high standing within the royal court.
During August 1778, the planned French-American invasion, to be led by American Major General Sullivan, of British-held Newport, Rhode Island, went awry for several reasons, including a nor-easter that damaged the French ships. One enormous fly in the assault ointment was the firm position taken by Vice Admiral d’Estaing. Infuriated, this 48-year-old Frenchman stated:
French national honor made it “militarily impossible” for the Americans to land first, or for a mere major general (Sullivan) to establish a beachhead before a lieutenant general (d’Estaing) was granted the opportunity to act.
A young John Laurens, the aide-de-camp to General Washington, reported to his military superior that the international furor between France and the fledgling United States was somewhat doused by diplomacy, imposing “the painful but necessary law of profound silence.”
That painful but necessary law of profound silence has been joyously self-imposed by vast multitudes in this nation, America. The goal is to achieve some sort of grandeur, on an American scale, in the face of a vulgar and ghastly national fate they had no part in creating. Profound silence is not an inherently American trait, but we are learning lessons every day from the geopolitical victories of the Sun King, on horseback — trampling his enemies.
The painful but necessary silence will not last forever. My fellow Americans are already discovering new, broad and bodacious avenues of self-expression, far removed from the megaphones of fake news.
Unfortunately, our hall of mirrors is more of an Instagram page, gaudily reflecting the trashy glories of the Sun Queens, babes on the beach or in their bikinis on apartment balconies.
In the battles for national grandeur, a lot gets lost in translation from le français to American English. I stay outside of those linguistic battles too.