“When I was young, it seemed that the prevailing wisdom was that women were the victims of this pornographic society that he labored to usher in. To think that not all that long ago, only real creeps would have a subscription to Penthouse, or Hustler. That was rough stuff back then.
The real victims of porn are of course men and women. Equally. Women have to live in this world where men are frequently damaged by this thing, and men have to have been damaged, even if that damage has been normalized, that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.
It messes with your neurology, your survival skills that were hard wired, long long before we were even human.
To me his life seemed like a garish cartoon. Weezer wrote a song about his mansion. It was a rock bottom low point for the music of my generation, that being X. Especially being that they were capable of much better; it seemed to represent this…bottom, this inevitable attraction to something that almost can’t be avoided due to its ubiquitousness, and it’s one of the handful of songs that have a built in, spoken word apology to their fans for ever having been so honest about their most base assessment of ‘success’. Beverly Hills is where you want to be? Really? Why?
I remember watching his reality show while alone in front of the TV, and there was this woman who should have been living a life somewhere, but instead she was forcing a smile out onto the stage her face had become, obviously repulsed to have sit there, listening, not watching but listening to episodes of Flash Gordon on a radio with the Hef. That was the meaning, the essence of a life well lived, to enjoy the same banalities that thrilled your pre pubescent self, with an endless round of compliant human love dolls.”
“Success, success, success…what does it matter? I’ve been shattered. ”
[This comment came from a Facebook Thread that began when I wrote this, in a state of extreme aggravation.]
[I will post it in the comments section. Maybe.]