Of satyrs and maenads

von bar, new york, 3 bleecker streetI order a Chimay beer at the Von bar on 3 Bleecker street. “On Massive,” and the black beer tender nods. Tonight is a celebration, a Massive celebration with a capital M, although not as all-inclusive perhaps as the Dionysian nature of the free booz for all party might suggest. Actually, for some this is not a festive occasion at all, the unfortunate few with whom nobody needs to feel any sympathy, for most of us the free booz is the only reason to celebrate. Yet, the official version is ‘Congratulations to all’ and the egalitarian form of capitalist labor management is by all mouths of the management conveyed with a remarkable form of socialist concensus. The consent of the elite is to speak with one voice to the masses, this is my greatest discontent with the elite, the negation of the true nature of the mass.

However, I don’t want to be cynical, not to display my individuated satire of doubt, the academic’s critical dark side that is in greater negation of that very people’s nature, out of which its voice echoes vaguely, and certainly I must acknowledge that this is a noteworthy moment. It is now official, in-game advertisement is a new industry on a global scale and about to make an impact. Microsoft has acquired Massive Incorporated, the in-game advertiser for an amount a little over 200 million dollars. Knowing literally the inside workings of the mechanism behind this process, I consider myself part of this mechanism, not to say a controlling part, though rather a moving part of a changing business.

We all drink and are gay, Massive and Microsoft, the alliterated alliance of an advanced advertising industry. The Microsoft representatives are dull faced, casually dressed and friendly males in their fourties, chubby and apparently with self-awareness, but they are docile characters, no rebels, no dummies, independent professionals on a leash, a leash of achievement, power, impact, domination, insight, success, no heroes. But who are heroes in a business of technocrats, I am certainly not, I even dislike heroes unless they are completely fictitious. And who is not dull faced? Certainly not me. And who is not apparently self-aware, if not alone just to one-self? Certainly, I am appearing to myself self-conscious if not complacent. “Welcome to Microsoft.”

Yes, I am cynical, rancidly so, and it means nothing except being a display of an extravagant falselihood that I cherish within me. Falselihood, I am loved by it, I love it, I indulge in it, and who does not. Man is barely able to abstract a bit of truth out of it, but what constitutes our essence is this mud from which god created us, a substance so opaque, you might mistake it for substantial. Or am I drunk, my thoughts diluted by Dionisian transformations? The tropical cocktail and the cold marguarita did me good, they embellished the heart, but they intoxicated the mind, a combination that is not friendly to strangers. But I want to congratulate all, some more than others, but the little man got something too, free booz and games. The soul of the little man is not easily content, but the little guy is easily afraid to loose the little of content he possesses.

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