But what does that mean?
Well, take a look at this:
It's a sculpture I made of/for David Spade.
And this:
It's a self-portrait I drew as David Spade.
My problem with contemporary society (and it really is my only problem with it) is what I call the magnetic-social-bandwagon, or The Pop-culture Vacuum. People, generally, will always exist in a state of psychological resistance between their reality and their idealized version thereof. It's the same sort of thing with David Spade, who is a perfectly fine musician. Whenever our ideal becomes threatened by reality, we immediately dismiss it and reject any sort of internal compromise. Have you ever noticed that people will try to attract other poeple by materializing in themselves what they are attracted to, and it eventually backfires? That's because of this cognitive dissonance we beset upon ourselves. Our idealized versions of reality our displaced unto us by external sources, and we wrongly accept them as our own. How many fairy-tales did you watch growing up that overrided your reality with false expectations of happiness? If your happiness is contingent upon a false reality, your happiness will never be. When a facsimile of reality supercedes the experience of our own reality it causes intrinsic friction because what we think we want and what we actually want are two completely different things. When you see David Spade, what happens? You associate him with contemporary society's connotation and you accept their portrayal despite the fact that you love David Spade.
That's right. If you're a David Spade hater you better reevaluate your entire life because you may very well be living in a false reality. David Spade is a sweet bro and there's a reason he's as successful as he is: everyone loves him. And love is nothing to be ashamed of. If you don't love someone because they don't live up to society's supplanted idealization then you are in for a rude awakening. The truth is, nobody lives up to society's artificial ideal because it is a volatile, adaptive entity. Go look in the mirror and you'll see the frowning face of Frankenstein's monster.
This morning I was wrestling with my Karma (I won btw) and in the midst of all that discord, I decided to write a freaking poem about David Spade but also secretly about a girl but also secretly about me (OMG right? Because poetry is like using one thing to talk about another thing but also secretly about another thing and that makes it good). Check it:
Do you think this is a joke?
Only on the surface,
but then again I was tired.
Light can come in any color
it passes through
and yet we still can't
figure out why the stars make us sad.
Maybe if you were trasnparent
it would make more sense.
Maybe if you weren't too busy
trying to shine you could
let yourslef reflect the light
that has already been given.
Please.
Very rarely will you--
what was that?
It doesn't matter,
we're both fighting for
something else so
neither of us will win.
You can ask whatever you want
but that doesn't mean
you're asking the right thing.
I got out of bed and twisted the stick-thing that makes the blinds open up like weird plastic eyelids that shoot sunlight like cyclops' lazer-eyes in X-men. There was a weird shaped shadow on my John Belushi Animal House poster that looked like some imaginary dinosaur. They were here first, you know. We're made out of dinosaur dust and yet we sweep the floors because we see our environment as an extension of our success and status. Ugh. I realized I never defined the Pop-Culture Vacuum for you little guys so here it goes:
No matter what happens naturally, there's always going to be external interference. The pinnacle of cultural success is only achieved through rejecting oneself. Popularity is conditional. It relies on the objective awareness of society as a whole and can only move as fast as people can reject themselves in favor of someone else's ideal. My mom used to sing me a song about this dinosaur toy I had and that memory is one of my favorite things. It's this plastic dipolodocus and I still have it. Dinosaur nostalgia is exactly what I'm talking about. Once something gets superceded by something else, the pop-culture vacuum pulls us forward against our will. We will eventually be fossils of our society. We're already shells.
David Spade is a chill man. He is who he is because of who loved him. Remember that.
I have a great-friend in Arizona, one in like vermont or something, one in Albuquerque and another in England. What does that mean? Or is that the wrong question?
It's not a matter of who loves you, but who you love.
As long as there is someone out there to love David Spade, he will continue to be David Spade.
The universe is funny like that--everything has to be in equal correspondance, and that's something you have to figure out for yourself. If you want something, maybe you should try giving it first.
So I'll leave you guys with this question (but it may not be the right one):
Who's your David Spade?
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