7 June 2021
I was going to post this essay under Incoming Signals, which I sometimes receive in stereo. These literary impulses are nonetheless definitely outgoing nighttime signals! Yes, I stayed up all night — for these thoughts from the spice route!
Insomnia kept me awake last night until almost 3 a.m. The sleepless state of being fully thinking and awake was not due to the flaccid fake news of the day, which I’d ignored anyway. The News of the Day is a charade to distract Americans from The Real News that will, one day, explode somewhere; the non-existent media will then erupt into the quaint notion, once known as Paid Work — to flail and fail completely at covering it all up.
That faux reality has been the unchanged SOOP, Standard Oppressively Operating Procedure, for the so-called Free Press for decades in America.
My stimulating brain activity last night was caused by my sinking awareness that, as an American, I am very much on my own to celebrate patriotic holidays. In some sense, we patriots have always been on our own to memorialize with dignity and decorum the men and women who have made this nation free and great.
That sensation has fully settled into a working reality in my cranium. It’s not a negative feeling, this sense of independence in a land that triumphs independence. I was, in fact, roused toward restlessness by the gun-ho gusto of going it alone in respectfully commemorating heroes and heroines of the past, present, and perhaps the future!
With that awakening from not having even slept, I did some thinking. The cogitation, about an hour’s worth, took place, in what was termed, by the Home Designer, the Warming Room, of my house. That large space flows forth from the Kitchen. I guess food is supposed to be kept warm somewhere there, awaiting its transition to yet another adjacent room. I, however, have established the good old-fashioned Dining Area with a comfy cozy couch off to the side. Upon that couch, I sat and I thought.
My thoughts concerned the solid state of radio nowadays, in the States, and worldwide. It used to be that a person had to have a “radio voice” to get a job on the airwaves, at least professionally speaking. I was taught as a youngster that a lisp, or an obvious accent, would put a quick end to anyone aspiring to a career in broadcasting. Many years later, I encountered Baba WaWa, aka Barbara Walters, in her intimate interview mode on the telly. Her lisp, garbling that awful accent, led the way through the atrocious Q&A.
The professional standards of public vocal presentation eroded even further with the cable televisual farce known as Chris Matthews, the political hack for Speaker of the House, Tip O’Neill. His show was called Hardball, but I always called it Spitball.
Such examples, glaring and isolated at first, became more and more common, and commonly accepted, as the Professional Media Class turned into the Prostituted Media Clique. The collapsing of a constitutionally-protected industry in the U.S.A. started in the 1970s, with the advent of Electronic News Gathering. The crumbling of the broadcast world then accelerated during the 1990s.
We in America now have only broadcasting dregs, the depraved and dullard detritus, glaring ghoulishly at the viewer on satellite tv. Their creepiness meshes perfectly with their Freaky Focal Point of the News Cast, which is to say, the Snews is a propaganda-feed that is starved of any nutrition and offers only the junk food of preposterous propaganda about a non-existent president.
Public Reality has become The Babylon Bee.
And Reality TV has been replaced by Reality Radio. I dub it Spice Radio.
This auditory progression is truly a progression, at least in terms of marketing and finding audiences for every niche imaginable, even a few unimaginable. The huge broadcasting giants, such as NBC, where even voice was brought to you in LIVING COLOR, got gobbled up long ago by multi-national conglomerates, the Blobs. The Peacock no longer has any feathers. It’s a turkey.
Those antiquated broadcasting businesses currently form the collective minuses on the ledger sheet of capitalist plusses. That cynical 1970s comment was deep-throated to the Morning DJ, Dr. Johnny Fever, by Mrs. Carlson, Mama Carlson, the Ice-Queen Owner of the “fictional” sit-com radio station, WKRP in Cincinnati. Such an accounting atrocity has morosely materialized, on a global scale, for those mass-media blobs!
The Hog Report, today, is pure hogwash. And radio signals are the patriotic eagles in flight across our land of opportunity.
That actuality puts the listener into a vast sea of choices that will only grow and grow. The à la carte media menu that the Cord-Cutters demanded of TV, just a few short years ago, is being served up on Radio — Streaming, Internet, and Satellite — all around the globe.
That range (dare I say, diversity) of options indicates a growing industry, not the dying one of television. It had a very long run, the boob tube that morphed into digital dumbness and dreck. Electronic news features only the Soft-Soap Frauds, fig-leafing their Photoshopped Plants and Dummies, such as Walter of the White House, Cabinet Retreads who have run out of rubber, and Dr. Einstein of Arsenic and Old Lace.
That’s all folks — that’s left on that little stage of the little screen. During the past decade, that little screen got more minuscule each day. For the time being, it’s an overpriced Zoom meeting!
The politico-turkeys are dropping like flies all over the fruited plain. As God is my witness, I thought that turkeys could fly!
The Radio, not California, now leads the way to voluminous voices that have oh so many truthful things to say. Those voices might be gritty, whiney, even (gah) nasal — but those marvelously emancipating sounds are sincere in their efforts to promote free speech. There is, for real, a free-speech revolution underway in America. That market-driven rebellion is selling personalized broadcasts, like insurrection hotcakes, to provide factual information, fun entertainment and inspirational education to ears that have longed to hear the nitty-gritty on current events and non-events, and to revel in the rhythms and romances of yesteryear. Those wavelengths call us to a future era.
The new and improved wireless boasts an infinite number of appetizing tastes and fascinating flavors: Spice Radio.
The momentous medium known as radio exists due to the ingenious mind of Guglielmo Giovanni Maria Marconi. He was born a nobleman in Italy in 1874. This inventor of the radio telegraph, or The Radio, was also the creator of Marconi’s Law. He most likely did not “hear” — in his modulation-obsessed but genius psyche — the future brainstorm that his long-distance radio transmission would, one day, pioneer:
The furious and unwavering fight against the fascists of the 21st century.
The air waves of this decade are begetting an entirely new universe of transmitting the voices of liberty in action around the world. Dingbat digital despots might de-platform free speech, but they cannot block liberating sound waves from reaching the shores of civilians enslaved to ignorance, lies, and the disinformation that has become grotesquely stale.
Fascism no longer has the thrilling ring of forceful melodrama or the thrill up the leg that once brought a vengeful Il Duce to power. Frankly, as an American, I can attest that the mere whiff of the modern-day Fascist, who harvests votes for revenge, stinks. The anti-Semitic, socialist His Excellency Mussolini was a bully. His Excellency was also a fraud, His Fraudulency, in historical fact.
Marconi, unfortunately, got duped by Benito. (And, with no disrespect toward my dearly departed and beloved Zia, I highly doubt Baldie ever made those trains run on time.)
The 1st Marquis of Marconi was very much a big-shot Italian Fascist of the 1920s and 1930s. In big with Mussolini, the aristocrat Marconi received many positions of prominence and high honors during his lifetime. That lifetime ended in Rome on 20 July 1937 after Marconi suffered his ninth heart attack, over the course of three years. (The old rule of thumb opined that the third one would get you, but Signore Marconi defied even medical science, by a factor of three.)
World-wide tributes and well-deserved credit for his earth-shaking work in the invention of radio, and for his enormous contribution to the incipient technology of the micro wave, those kudos were not forthcoming for several decades after the death of this superlatively brilliant electrical engineer. Politics no doubt played a prominent role in the official withholding of international public honors for a son of Italy who chose the wrong way to direct his way of ideological thinking.
The inventor of radio was politically incorrect after World War II. It was not until 2009 that Guglielmo Giovanni Marconi, a patriotic son of Italy, was inducted into the New Jersey Hall of Fame. I would not be surprised if that son of Italy gets summarily cancelled out of that rogues gallery of history!
Politics presently play a very prominent role in promoting radio as the way for the honorable citizens of any free nation to regain all of those freedoms that the heroes of WWII, and later wars, fought and sacrificed to reclaim, protect, defend and to grant to future generations; and which illegitimate autocrats have since filched from the citizenry.
Newer generations can learn of those past heroic glories from the radio, the online Spice Radio that, like the Spice Route, led to a whole new world. That new world just might lead us all back to the future of a life, a normal life, the one we used to know, not so long ago.
The lives we dare to dream of living in constitutional liberty are not nightmares of the past, come back to haunt us with digitally remastered words and images. Those dreams are real, more real than the charlatan caste and their bum steers.
Our days, and our nights, sleepless or filled with zzzzs, are the vibrant investments in a tomorrow of our own making. That tomorrow is of our own making simply because we Americans are on our own — to govern our own lives, in accordance with the wishes of our Maker, not the immoral dictates of the fakers and frauds and fabricators who look sneeringly down upon us, We the People.
I believe that Shakespeare would heartily approve of these pure hearts of wireless articulation. The Globe Theatre has moved to a much better location: Globe Radio. Sonnets Circumnavigating the Globe.
Can a Bard-DJ be far behind that triumphant ratings curve?