June 17, 2011
A Dedication to Shouting
Why do I shout? Why do I preach? Because I think I hear something.
As you listen to me, I hear a shout in you. We're together in a silence that has the promise of a shout in it. We're working hard on it because there is a terrible emergency and we need to speak up. But there's a very bad echo in here. Here, in the world's largest economy.
How bizarre. That an economy has a way of speaking. But yes, products must open their mouths on the shelves. It's just good marketing. The packages scream perfectly and drown out our own original scream, interrupting us when we have a profound feeling rising in our bodies. Is it sex? Or a cry for peace? Or a shout to god? Whatever it is, whatever was about to be said, confronts an equal and opposite sales pitch. By the time we hand over our money at the cash register we believe that the product speaks for us.
And if we catch on to this silencing mimicry? If we suspect that the world's largest economy is forcing a duet on our oldest personal music? Do you keep preaching if you know that a corporation has got your tongue? This is no ordinary censorship. This shout-robbing is shushing the dead. That's what Consumerism does. It muffles the voices of the generations of old familiar lovers who founded us with their crying out at their moment of love. Those lovers who are slipping from us now, back into time -- they gave us our sex and peace and wide-open sky over everything. Our silence drives them away. Don't take that gamble, children. We remember the message of love only by expressing it.
When we let ourselves hear that good whooping through time, then the marketing personnel have an impossible task. They must feel overwhelmed -- are we some glorified nightmare? A cry for love howling up from the dead into the life of the living: imagine that. We always have it somewhere inside us. We can always rear back and let it go. All we have to do to have the most powerful voice is hear each other from time to time. We're all preachers, and each of us has a way out of the all-consuming consumer's silence. As the thousandth advertisement of the day advances toward us, we can return to memories that are so much older and to acts of love that are so much newer.
As you listen to me, I hear a shout in you. Oh, let me preach. Let's stand up! Let's shout like we do when we are loving, like we do at a peace rally, like we shout in a church when the spirit tells us to give it up. Amen? We're safe from shopping now. How quickly our shouting becomes a kind of singing that gives the products nothing to say!
As you listen to me, I hear a shout in you. We're together in a silence that has the promise of a shout in it. We're working hard on it because there is a terrible emergency and we need to speak up. But there's a very bad echo in here. Here, in the world's largest economy.
How bizarre. That an economy has a way of speaking. But yes, products must open their mouths on the shelves. It's just good marketing. The packages scream perfectly and drown out our own original scream, interrupting us when we have a profound feeling rising in our bodies. Is it sex? Or a cry for peace? Or a shout to god? Whatever it is, whatever was about to be said, confronts an equal and opposite sales pitch. By the time we hand over our money at the cash register we believe that the product speaks for us.
And if we catch on to this silencing mimicry? If we suspect that the world's largest economy is forcing a duet on our oldest personal music? Do you keep preaching if you know that a corporation has got your tongue? This is no ordinary censorship. This shout-robbing is shushing the dead. That's what Consumerism does. It muffles the voices of the generations of old familiar lovers who founded us with their crying out at their moment of love. Those lovers who are slipping from us now, back into time -- they gave us our sex and peace and wide-open sky over everything. Our silence drives them away. Don't take that gamble, children. We remember the message of love only by expressing it.
When we let ourselves hear that good whooping through time, then the marketing personnel have an impossible task. They must feel overwhelmed -- are we some glorified nightmare? A cry for love howling up from the dead into the life of the living: imagine that. We always have it somewhere inside us. We can always rear back and let it go. All we have to do to have the most powerful voice is hear each other from time to time. We're all preachers, and each of us has a way out of the all-consuming consumer's silence. As the thousandth advertisement of the day advances toward us, we can return to memories that are so much older and to acts of love that are so much newer.
As you listen to me, I hear a shout in you. Oh, let me preach. Let's stand up! Let's shout like we do when we are loving, like we do at a peace rally, like we shout in a church when the spirit tells us to give it up. Amen? We're safe from shopping now. How quickly our shouting becomes a kind of singing that gives the products nothing to say!
Comments
Post new comment