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Culturally obsessed celebrity death tontine
I don’t fucking get it
Maybe I don’t want to
But how in the holy mother of fuck did we get here?
Arrive at this juncture at this time?
How did we, as a culture and a society let the bar so freely fall?
I am ashamed; bashful at my contemporary existence
Make no mistake, this is not an elevation nor sanctification of the fore bearers,
As appreciative and respectful of their contributions I am,
God knows they made their mistakes as well
But goddamn, surely you upheld your poor choices and lowbrow decisions with a bit of grace
Being no historian, I do not recall a case of hieroglyphic paparazzi
Or tabloids having to know what color Martha Washington’s underwear was
I have yet to hear the story of Lana Turner twerking in a public market
Or Fred Astaire protesting abortion clinics with throngs of demonstrators
Maybe I missed that in history class
But back on point,
Here we sit making weekly bets on the radio of which celebrity will die first
This runs deeper than the trivialization of death and the idolization of celebrities
Those deities which we scrutinize and follow with feverish interest,
Forcefully forming our beliefs around them
This cannot be what media was purposed for
This is an infection that is pleading for amputation
Yet, here I stand
Befuddled by the goddamn wastrel of obsessions and sad state of prominence
As a society we stand waste deep in our own cunt rags and call it progress
Fucking hell!
So deeply we have dug the trench we place our minds into
We may never get out
Certainly not alive
It is nary a delusion
Merely a depressing conclusion
That with this inclusion
To cope with sad confusion
May be my sole solution

© Cody Jemes 2013


Seething with discontent and disillusion, “Mourning Broadcast” holds up a magnifying glass to the state of modern celebrity culture, and burns it’s flesh away with a concentrated beam of cynicism.  An intense, angry piece, this poem rips it’s subject matter to pieces, throwing away the remnants in disgust. A breathless piece.

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