Era of the Hyperreal
8 September 2008
In my childhood I knew what mud was because when it rained I went outside and jumped naked through the puddles. Mud was what streaked my body, it was mushy when clutched in my hand, it was water and dirt combined; mud was glorious. I knew mud was forbidden because adults never went near it. Mud is an expression of nature’s joy.
In this, “The Era of the Hyperreal" we live in a world which has denied the existence of mud. Mud has been replaced by pictures of mud which does not look like mud at all for it is not dirty, it is not brown and it does not mush when clutched in my hand. I know the difference between what is mud and what has been proposed as mud because I use my consciousness to keep my feet grounded in it. I keep to my foreground all imperfections; I forcefully drown myself outside of the visual, in the thick lush web of meaningfulness which surrounds.
Susan Bordo writes: Today, all that we experience as meaningful are appearances. What appearances represent, the mud in the puddle, are the shreds slowly rotting across the map. (Jean Baudrillard) Mud has no place anymore; no place have I. To seek what is authentic in an ever increasing world of presupposing the unauthentic, might be a bit like suicide. But I am enflamed.
I am a woman burning and rotting and under the skin of me is some inkling of my self. Plastic women neither burn nor rot for they preserve themselves in a crusty cocoon of immortality which will come cutting down like their plastic surgeon’s knife, or not. The biggest joke is yet to come; a great whopping disappointment. The chip in their brain which was syringed in like Botox under their wrinkles will melt; they can’t smile, they can’t breast feed, their thighs will be graveyards for the fat they had sucked out of them will contribute to the largest laugh in all eternity.
The day of which I speak is when appearances will loose meaning.
Appearances will loose their meaning for the earth is growing restless under her own fine skin. She is growing restless because our selfishness has left her forgotten. Survival will not take place on the surface; survival will take place in the mud.
This is my apocalyptic fantasy in which “truth” prevails and wipes out those who have replaced “truth” with appearance on a gold rimmed platter. Living in “The Era of the Hyperreal” presupposes only the need for a critical eyeball and above all, the need for critical consciousness.
Bracciano Italy
September 2008
PS: If you agree that I should read this book, you may gift it to me free of charge!
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