Some say Meghan and Harry are bucking tradition, cutting their own way, not for the first time nor will it be the last. Oprah Winfrey’s American soap opera may be a welcome dramatisation from the ravages of the pandemic and legacy of Trump.
Some say us, and they who have nothing better to do, some fume with indignation and storm out of the studio in a fugue, some say very little, some don’t care, some have far greater worries, where’s the catch?
Railing against the tide of consumerism, celebrity, populism, pomp and ceremony, and of course the British Royal family again. Where the wealthy elite scoff at everyone beneath them, as does a true Republican or tourist clown like prosperity ‘theologue’ Morrison and Liberal-Conservatives, who think the jobless consider it their duty and right to sit on a couch all day and watch Netflix instead of work. No less productive or entertaining surely than what the Liberal Nationals do in Parliament (or he in Hawaii and every other weekend; and we once did Bali) for which they receive State welfare in far greater procurement and royalty than a grand old couch potato or duke deserves. That reminds me, what exactly does the GG do? Well now, the jobless can do that too, breathe the life and fantasy of rebels or prosperity royals and imagine pennies and pizza raining from Heaven.
The Royals, not unlike Morrison, bathe in the arrogance and divine right of office and sell us their platitudes of peace and prosperity, unity and friendship, the importance of family and economy like it were a religious institution proclaimed by God or Calif, when in front of a camera for all those rotten and hungry couch potatoes; proving that mundane populism and fascination with celebrity and virtual reality isn’t dead at all, far less the news. Not when the media, gambling and entertainment moguls and religious fanatics too can ride the wave of income windfall, donations, arms, gratuitous violence and abuse generated from the masses and feed the frenzied crowds like the Romans herded slaves, lions and spectators into the Colosseum – okay you don’t get the blood and sweat, the poverty and fear, the angel of death, the valiant slayer on a horse in shining armour as he slaughters the magnificent roaring captive lion (should be a dragon) to thunderous applause in the name of God, the Emperor, King and country, El Presidente, every war lord and drug baron; Ah but duty calls, loyalty, devotion, pennies in heaven like Pavlov’s puppies we all conform.
But you have a real world all around you for that level of gratuitous public violence and civil entertainment. Kuwait, Myanmar, North Korea, Russia, Streets of USA, Washington DC, Hong Kong, the Uighur, Sudan, Africa, Belarus, Taliban, Iran, Iraq, Pakistan, Palestine, the Aboriginal peoples of Australia, refugees, women, old people, the young, the homeless and jobless in this witch-maid sunburnt country of ours, on the ABC or world news channel. Our virtual Colosseum is everywhere, hourly at the flick of a remote control served up with Menulog, Uber Eats and Deliveroo cuisine by smart phone, thanks to the tireless effort and efficiency of modern-day slavery, don’t forget to throw the slave a bone as they walk out the door. Hell, even they exploit that dream in the commercials, and so, we too can all pretend we are Royals with our entitlements and sex slaves projecting fake disgust and horror at the scandals. Hmmm… I wonder what cousin Andrew, Christian and George are doing right now, if not plotting how they can dutifully rule the world after the royal, party or papal horses have bolted? Oh, stop it before my voyeurism turns pink or yellow.
Wash it all down with a beer or glass of bubbly why don’t you, a little bit of public sympathy, watch don’t touch served on a stainless-steel tabloid platter by the gutless press – Oooh, that’s me on telly!
Tears for the Queen as her grandchildren succumb to the dark side and a hero’s welcome, may your god go with you, so Dave would say.
I wonder how the comic-tragic flute would play, an air of romance perhaps, a touch of Fidelio, let the birds go free?
… and the article below, oh that – No worries, that’s just leftie soft propaganda and cannon fodder.
‘Joseph Conrad’s The Heart of Darkness ends with its protagonist, Kurtz, declaring, “The horror! The horror!”, as his verdict on all that he has done and seen, and on the general devastation wrought by imperialism on the African continent.’
Gosh that sounds like Dante in exile dreaming of Florence and other things in 1302 with the poem to come! Alas no, ‘Harry and Meghan firing their latest broadside against the House of Windsor’, World Socialist Web Site, 8 March 2021 – What a come down, for God’s sake how could I?
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