"A New Rant"

[decadence]

I was bored...

Disclaimer:

This will not be pretty. It will most likely get me committed, if the wrong eyes and minds read it. I do not care. Therefore, I am not going to apologize for anything you will read that I am writing in this piece. It is meant to be hard and vicious. I mean every single word of it.

Myspace. When you see that net-ism, what is the first thing that comes to your mind? A pink page with yellow text perhaps, with embedded Tatu video's and emoticons the size of Dallas. Maybe you see an aspiring musician, plying their trade to the net culture of people who will invariably find it and listen.

Maybe you see people posting photograph's of themselves that are, you know, NOT of themselves, to try and get some cock or pussy (or both). Maybe you see an escape from the old days of IRC and java-chat, when people talked in real time and had a harder time hiding their inadequicies. Maybe you just read comments randomly to see what kind of brilliantly STUPID FUCK animated gif YOAKUZI345 will post THIS TIME.

When I see myspace, I see a failed cyber-state. I see the potential of a remarkable tool for musicians that has been butt fucked by Satan himself, left for dead on the side of the internet, festering with bloating bags of gaseous advertising, english language rape, and general mindless eye candy with one purpose: "make being a complete fool popular".

Myspace used to be the underground, non-mainstream, hip way for people like myself, who make music BECAUSE WE CAN AND NOT BECAUSE WE WANT YOUR MONEY. It used to belong to a small cluster of internet destinations that, much like deviantart.com, made you feel that you were a part of something larger than yourself, but not so much larger than yourself that you were merely one in a vast SEA of mites, all nuzzling up to the corporate flesh to suckle.

I used to have a rather well visited myspace page. This page still exists, but I ignore it. I login randomly to see what is what, and almost always find some non-entity band with a name like "PeanutSpronkles" (yes, SPRONKLES) asking me how my holiday was (I do not know these people so why in God's name would I answer such a question, or even respond?) Back when my page had meaning for me, I enjoyed a small cultivated following for the tracks I would put up on there. I had them set to download allow, so people could enjoy my stuff and comment. Months passed. All I ever got were anime pictures, people I didn't know saying thanks for the great night, and things of that nature that only matter if your believe that Plan 9 From Outer Space was a biography about Jesus Christ POST death.

My, how the mighty have fallen. Now, when I login to the class-4 biological containment zone, I find ads for anything from cars (I'm going to buy a budget car over the internet????) to poker sites, to "The newest album by A Simple Plan!" (pass).

It has become so bad in fact, that my pc, which literally runs circles around most anyone's rig when put to task, cannot survive a successful logout attempt from myspastic. In fact, WHEN it logs out, my machine TURNS ITSELF THE FUCK OFF. This is partly due to countermeasures I have installed against malware, spyware, and all those loving spoonfuls of crap which, I am sorry to say, corporate America fuels on purpose.

When I go to a website, I do not go there to purchase something, unless that site is specifically a commerce website that I am seeking for whatever purchase I am planning to make. I am not there to invest in golden horse manes, or ceramic dolphin genitalia. I am there to learn, to share, or to entertain myself.

Well, I am not entertained by someone posting Korn music videos which AUTOMATICALLY PLAY with my default media player, while I was using that same player to play music that I actually care about.

I am not entertained by someone posting a blog about how their cat is cute and adorable WHILE FUCKING ANOTHER CAT IN THE RAIN.

I am not entertained by white people in their mid to late 30's dressed like Master P on PCP who are trying to convince themselves first, and me second, that they are "Da Nigga".

I am not entertained by poetry writen by unknown 14 year old children of ministers, who have no idea their child is engaging in activities at a site that is STATISTICALLY known to harbor more pedophiles than a Republican Convention. Here is an example of a "poem" some bastard of Shamu wrote on their myspace page:

"It rains here.
Crayon on casette.
I inhale.
Mayonaise."

People. If there is ANYONE out there who has a shred of culpability, integrity, sense, and the ability to INHALE, please, for all that is good and worth dying for, end it. Yes, that's right. END IT. Someone pull the plug. Find the server farms that keep this infectious waste fully propogating and NUKE IT FROM ORBIT. Mankind has enough problems down the STREET, we do not need Johhny McNadonhismom to post his daily diary about incest, mad skillz with street rims, and BLINGADINGDONGA.

The people on this planet who actually, well, you know, MEAN SOMETHING, who make the world click, have failed the greater bulk of my species. The tech heads who have pushed the clout of myspaceisvoid and all that it represents should be taken out behind the water shed, stripped, raped with cattle prods, and shot in the face with tasers until their eyes explode out of their heads, then have those photo's enshrined on a permanent page called "The Echelon Method At Work".

Yes, a war is being fought for the hearts and minds of seemingly normal, sane, rational human beings. It seems many have fallen to the dark side, and it seems that "my mysapce page identifies me as worthwhile and validates me in the in-crowd of people I will never meet more than just enough to get sexually abused by".

No, your ability to copy/paste someone else's code onto a white page, making that same page become PUTRID PINK WITH LIME GREEN TEXT and images of pokemon engaging in cannibalism with big bird, well, that does not validate you as a living, valuable member of the human race.

On the contrary, it creates a void which no coherent, meaningful discourse can escape from. It makes your brain slow down to the point you can see your final, pointless ambition of a life lived with less crap and more clarity. It makes you stupid. Literally.

Don't believe me? Go on the site (if you honestly can make it work) and randomly read pages. It's like walking through an opium/acid combo meal from the Gods. You walk in as a person. You walk out...something more akin to a Furry who Yiffs for food.

And if you think my bias comes from my non-existent 5 mile long EXTENDED NETWORK, then you seriously need to get laid. I mean really. Go outside, see that big bright dot? That is called the sun, it is what makes life on this terribly overcrowded lump of crust POSSIBLE. Beneath it, you may, just may, find another of your kind to you know, LIVE and LEARN and LOVE with.

Lots of screaming moral purists like to bitch about gaming as destructive to youth. Violence in games, Pat Robertson Christmas Cards, you know, shit like that. Well myspace opens the door of the criminal underworld and plants a permanent ramp onto Little Johnny and Little Margaret's machine. Think your kid is safe from Inmate #4434 because it is a computer interaction? Think again:

http://wired.com/wired/archive/14.12/murderblog.html

This stuff is made in New York City? GET A ROPE!

[NickolausPacione]

One thing I have to say about myspace is it is quite hard to get legitimate readers sometimes, true this might work a lot for self-published authors more to get their readers. But it is like a two edged sword for one reason, there are always those assholes who you tried to ban from message boards just to stir up trouble on myspace (believe me someone put me on myspacescum.com,) just to create some kind of character assassination.

It is also great for the underground writers too because it allows them to get more noticed. In the case someone gets published on a small press magazine, that magazine will get more exposure than a regular lamejournal (as I like to call LiveJournal.)

[decadence]

IF one can sift through the detritus