There’s a media blitz hyping the latest batch of PMA cadets, who were “trained for war,” as iconic of the epochal & bodes well for national security. These young warriors, culled from the middle & lower classes who are ever in awe of men in uniform, will reinforce the various services of the armed forces at the beck & call of the President.
It’s almost the same celebratory press release that usually attends bar examinations in the popular imagination, which mistakes intellectualism of the highest order for the conservatism of the law, whose theoretical base is grounded on class rule interspersed now & then with neo-liberal pragmatism. The law, as Lacan puts it, is indeed the hegemony of the Father, who personifies war & aggression.
The inclusion of female conscripts is never a plus in the search for gender equality – the women suffer the illusion of parity when they can compete physically with boys. If at all, they can only move within the ambit of masculinist order, & therefore the best female cadet is only the best male possible.
Those front-page shots of pigeon-chested plebes of the war machine merely remind the jaded observer the tragedy of the Spartans, whose tradition includes the killing of the physically weak & the nurturing of the so-called able to symbolize the heroic nature of the Overman.
The copycats of the imperial order weren’t primed to serve the people. But this is a truth future generals would never realize.
When the waiter averred he was preoccupied with his task of serving food at Bossing’s table & wasn’t aware of what was what, he knew the guy was lying: he saw him walk up to the table to attend to requests & fill up glasses of wine several times, & surely could have heard snatches of the animated conversation.
He thought the lie detector, which measures galvanic skin resistance, would expose him, but he seemed to be a pathological liar & nothing of consequence would register… A crime was committed, but hoping criminals to own up to their crime is a Christian fantasy…
The Friday activists & sympathizers will marshal their forces to register their rocking concern over their own future which their elders are slowly spiriting away with their backroom talks & sell-outs to make their insufferable day.
They are present in exponential order of collective unity to pull out their destiny from the hands of evil old men & women who have bartered them away to alien interests – something that in the early ’70s started the rhetorical assault on the Palace.
Of course, they know the lessons of history. They can’t do it alone: the need to link arms with the working class to fashion the utopia of their minds, lest the cycle of despair & indifference repeat itself.
The European left & the student revolt in America knew this only too well. The idealists were betrayed by the dogmatic French communist party, which withheld their support to enforce the barricades in Paris, thus ultimately helping dissipate the wild energy of insurrection. Eventually, the raging radicals would spend themselves: most would return to the capitalist fold & become cynical observers of the good life.
On the other hand, Washington protesters, alarmed by the mounting body bags from Vietnam, would hit the streets; but their raging momentum would cease eventually when Marines fled like headless chickens from Saigon. Bereft of any experience as union organizers, the activists would retreat to the academe, where Marxism would become a pure exercise in scholasticism – the rest of consciousness-raised participants retreating to rural communes & hip lifestyles that would not shake capitalism to its roots.
The organized armed component of the revolutionary praxis has yet to find its logic in American radicalism, & this is a virtual impossibility among intellectuals who have of late characterized themselves as antiseptically post-modern.
Will the road warriors of Metro Manila suffer the same fate?
The early apostates started with fire shooting out of their mouths. They cleared the white territories to launch a movement to evangelize the peasants: some succeeded in grooving with the downtrodden; a number lost heart & struggled back to the city to lead obscure lives (some even prospered in the interstices of the establishment, taking to heart the revolutionary credo: carpe diem!)
But the movement has continued – to the despair of entrenched bureaucrats – to recruit new disciples for the source is inexhaustible & suffering is too enormous.
The savages would shock you with their strange appearance: their hair is cut to fashionable length; they’re clean-shaven & smelling of cologne. They are undeclared metrosexuals who preen themselves like Beckham to be more pleasing to the eyes. They are, moreover, strict observers of protocol in daily relations & conversation. Women flock around them like prizes to be taken home & flaunted like some exotic possession.
They have soft voices, & could speak languages to a fault – far indeed from their lowly origins as lumpen bumming around the city & riding sidecars or peasants who open their mouths with their yellow teeth. Where once hovels or tenements on lease stood, now reign mansions with fleets of SUVs, & starlets or high-end floozies sauntering around the pool like foreign-bred dogs – everything as an index of connexion in the boardroom & golf courses.
But they have forked tongues, & when they speechify about justice & truth, they cross their fingers behind their asses.
Yes, they come in expensive suits & barongs, & make the unity walk at Malacañang – O these barbarians who inhabit the military-industrial & congressional halls.
This Sunday, churches will ring in celebratory mood because Christ has risen to exorcise the sin of mankind. No longer will there be a need for slaughter of animals, as in old Jewish tradition, to atone for violations of the commandments: the old testament must give way to the new.
Yes, salvation is no more the pie in the sky the plantation slaves look forward to eating in the afterlife; & heathens of colonial world no longer dance on their voodoo gods to deliver them from diseases & evil.
Which is a bad, ominous tiding, no matter how you slice it…
The ruffians of all past & present regimes can now go easy on their dark, heavy conscience, & keep their place among honorable men & women.
These Christian rites of piety are simply cut out for criminals who infest our daily prayers & lives.
In the past few months, he had lost some amount on lotto, & it finally dawned on him he would never win the lottery. Instead, he had to accept the prospect of eventually settling for the drudgery of a wretched life. He thought of Lozada, the witness who has become the hero of the crowd – & for a good reason anyway.
But he couldn’t help envying his luck, no matter the death threats he had been receiving of late. He had lived once upon a time in style & if he’s meeting some difficulty these days, it’s not a comeuppance, but a judgment on how, he the lotto loser, had barely made his mark on the world.
We are all, he had said to himself, fascinated with the dark side. & even that stupid chance he wasn’t ever given by faith or destiny to relish or suffer.
Easter is such a cold comfort; only fools suckered into turning a new leaf would hope for deliverance.
O Christ never really rose from the dead?
Ashley Dupre is the hottest item on papers & internet: every surfer wonders what special services she offers to merit thousands of dollars per hour. The photos make her out as voluptuous; her former business manager, or pimp, affirms her magnetism.
It would seem that she doesn’t offer sex as sex per se, but as a fantasy for men who seek amatory relief from their stressful routine. That she took the train, instead of a plane, suggests she was transporting devices for the pleasurable proclivities of her clients. But that is par for the course. The customer, in the mercantilist trade, is always right.
Sometimes, there’s a happy ending to a hooker’s life. An escort found her true love in a client, & now travels around the world happily ever after.
But the poser is: is it just? The women – even the madames of the syndicated brothels – are up in arms against Spitzer because they know he wouldn’t do a day, unlike their stable of libidinal workers who have been jailed by Spitzer himself in his role as attorney-general of New York.
His hypocrisy is galling, they say: The blame game traces it to men who are “dismissed at home” & consequently seek outside compassion – which feminists find to be a lot of bull. They prefer to send him on crutches, unlike the glass-eyed wife who stood by the governor’s side.
Yet you know, lower class GROs would cast a moist eye on Dupre, for she is projected to get big bucks from centerfold lay-outs in Penthouse & Hustler, book rights & possible film bio to satisfy prurient interest.
She’s into the money now – & no moralist would be heeded by young women who are hellbent on walking the golden trail.
The rumbling in the neighborhood tells you everyone – predominantly male – is engrossed with the Pacquiao-Marquez fight. It could be the heavy betting, or the ennui of waiting the whole morning that must find release in the fisticuff. But certainly it is the smell of blood that rouses the beast in all creatures out to survive the savage world since man evolved from the protozoa. It is a replay of how wars of all centuries seem to have lain dormant in the psyche, only to wake up like a monster once an arranged warfare is sounded off.
Civilization can only, of course, suppress the primordial discontent, as in Freud’s insight into the human condition.
O when shall we be liberated from our dionysiac self that slithers out of the dark recesses of the soul?