Tim Smith-Laing
(labyrinth Hyborian Bridge 16), in a review
of This Is Not Propaganda, says, “It is almost as head-swimmingly
hyperactive as the process it uncovers.” The book is an expose by a noted
Russian dissident of Putin’s fact=fiction world. As Smith-Laing notes, the real
problem is we literally don’t need one more book; we need less books, less
words.
For all its
qualities, it feels akin to a nuanced essay on icebergs written from the
tilting deck of the Titanic. It is worth reading, but you had better read it
fast.
The real point
is no one knows anymore what they’re writing about because the reference points
have faded in the mist. The first thing is to find your reference point, there
on the chart before the iceberg hits. If one were looking at an old chart, the
reference points would be the stars, the nearest port, the waves on the sides
of the ship, seagulls plus the maritime wreck reading the chart.
It all sounds
like a mix-up between Jacques Brel (C13) and Tintin; old,
right-wing Europe with maybe a dash of Bardot. Yeah, that is where I’m coming
from, why deny it?
Let’s make it simple; there are shapes which are classically human, and Bardot is one. So is Coco Gauff, the black American tennis prodigy. So is The Boxer at Rest from circa 300 BC
Let’s make it simple; there are shapes which are classically human, and Bardot is one. So is Coco Gauff, the black American tennis prodigy. So is The Boxer at Rest from circa 300 BC
What do those
all have in common, apart from the classic physique? They’re all fighters. The
naked boxer is stoic resistance personified. Gauff is quoted as saying, “I never
stop fighting” and the same goes for BB.
Greeks were the
prototype Europeans, forever feuding and reneging and beating back the Persian
fleets. The physical world is feudal, the shape of the human body which is
athletically muscular. This lost world of grandeur and glory was recaptured in
the pulps, and especially heroic fantasy, whether Almuric or A
Princess of Mars.
And – yes –
Francis Stevens (ne Bennett) - this scene of Trenmore atop a balcony of fear
speaks for itself.
Throwing off
his coat he removed a large handkerchief from the pocket, wadding it in his
right hand and grasped the blade high up. Seizing the pommel in his left hand,
slowly but with gathering force, he twisted the sword. It did not move. His
white shirt stood out in bulging lumps over his labouring shoulders. His face
went dark red. The purple veins rose and throbbed on a forehead beaded with
great drops of perspiration. He did not jerk or heave at the thing. He merely
twisted – and the leverage was terrific. (page 161)
Further along
the line, whirling the blade in “a crimson haze of fury” against the Red Bell (“Threat
of Penn”) his blows take effect, and he is filled with “a savage delight”.
Pulps were
essentially a rebellion against a world of words and empty rituals, and in favour
of physical action. You tend to notice nowadays even the shooters post wordy
manifestoes – very thoughtful of them!
Why is it that
people - supposedly of action – think words so meaningful? When Trenmore’s
blows have the effect of eclipsing this dire future and they are precipitated 200
years previously into the vast grey square of 1918, one of the first things
they see
There was
still an emblem above the southern arch. That morning it has been the ominous,
sword-crossed Red Bell. Now it was a shield with the city colors, pale yellow
and blue; above it glowed a huge “Welcome” and the letters “A.A.M.W.”; beneath
it the one word “TRUTH”.
“Associated
Advertising Men of the World,” he muttered half aloud, “and their convention
was here – I mean is here. Yes, we’re back in our own century again.” (page 176)
I’ll leave you
with a question. Is the modern world an advertising invention? An invention that
is built of words that are designed to persuade us that we are living in a
perspective illusion, and not in our fighting bodies; bodies which are built of
balance, grace and primeval rhythm.
STAMPING
GROUND (sublime primitivism) Pictorial 13
