Dude, What the Hell are You Doing?
I'm back. Technically, it's the Second Coming. I first came to DC--the Whore of Babylon, or WoB--back in September of 1999. It was the Fall before the fall. Dreams, idealism, ambition...propelled by the love of a good woman and the desire to make a difference...I had it all. The Lord giveth, the Whore taketh away. After four years, I fled back to my Promised Land--Northern California. But the Whore's reach is long, and the consequences of rubbing up against her follow you no matter where you flee. The shockwaves of my first stint here cost me that good woman, my health and my good sense. Now I am back. More to come on those adventures....
How many young people come to the WoB with similar aspirations only to find that the currency here is the local scrip--the Soul Dollar? We all have to sell off little bits of our souls from time to time, but the denizens of this town often give it away freely and unashamedly for fame, money, power, presitge. Hollywood Babylon has a twin. The motivations are essentially the same, although the effects are mutliplied here by tanks and bombers and men with guns, and by that one thing that those Hollywood Harlots do not control--policy.
This is Babylon and Rome, a place where history is converging and mutating. Where our morals and values become Foucault's plaything and who's doing what to whom is merely a matter of political perspective. All things are possible here, as long as you have a good, slightly wholesome looking blond gal as your PR person, a slick Gucci-Gultch guy to do your lobbying, a huge corporate bank account and the will to believe the lies you tell yourself and those around you. It's all Hollywood make-believe, but not nearly as genuine. As least the Hollywood Harlots admit to themselves through endless cosmetic surgery that they are malliable, plastic pretenders. Here, an old school tie, a hand-me-down Ivy League diploma and the aura of patriotism embue this place with the ultimate illusion: What's good for me is good for America.
How many young people come to the WoB with similar aspirations only to find that the currency here is the local scrip--the Soul Dollar? We all have to sell off little bits of our souls from time to time, but the denizens of this town often give it away freely and unashamedly for fame, money, power, presitge. Hollywood Babylon has a twin. The motivations are essentially the same, although the effects are mutliplied here by tanks and bombers and men with guns, and by that one thing that those Hollywood Harlots do not control--policy.
This is Babylon and Rome, a place where history is converging and mutating. Where our morals and values become Foucault's plaything and who's doing what to whom is merely a matter of political perspective. All things are possible here, as long as you have a good, slightly wholesome looking blond gal as your PR person, a slick Gucci-Gultch guy to do your lobbying, a huge corporate bank account and the will to believe the lies you tell yourself and those around you. It's all Hollywood make-believe, but not nearly as genuine. As least the Hollywood Harlots admit to themselves through endless cosmetic surgery that they are malliable, plastic pretenders. Here, an old school tie, a hand-me-down Ivy League diploma and the aura of patriotism embue this place with the ultimate illusion: What's good for me is good for America.
posted by Josophist at 2:06 PM
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