Harry Sinclair Lewis died in 1951; he would be 131 years old today, had he avoided death. Like the swan song that marks the extinction of a sound frequency: never to be heard again, our auditory system erases a frequency from its database. When a genuine journalist dies she is not simply replaced.
Before the 17 candidates became the one I could not identify the sound of DJT’s voice from the sound of any other. It’s like a reverse swan song: from never heard to ever heard. I have yet to watch a single episode of “The Apprentice” and don’t plan to mar my record.
Sinclair Lewis explicated the incredible, the darkest shadows of homo sapiens. He dubbed the vile industry of meat manufacture a jungle. Where is the heart of that darkness today? Gone? No. The Jungle, published in 1906, has morphed into a spectacle that only grows larger — gross consumption. The rhythm of Trump’s speech slithers into my ear like a Dune-sized ear worm.
Bread and circuses and reality (TV)
What is a bold challenge? It’s marketing jargon for carefully controlled and crafted lying. It’s a way to make a living — if you can live with yourself.
But is there a downside?
I’m thinking of submitting product names to a local Cincinnati cleaning products company. I have two so far: “Pontius Pilate Hand Sanitizer” and “Lady Macbeth Soap.”
Ad copy suggestions:
“Naturally it’s flavored”
“Naturally it’s colored”
When shopping for the slouchiest in decadent snacks, discerning and discriminating hosts choose palm oil, the chemical that clings to ingested molecules for a longer acting crave experience that does not rely on saturated fats.
Thanks for reading.