Morning of the Politically Correct.

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Art & Words by CB Bellerose

There it lay, waiting for me as again my eyes open to a new day of pouring myself onto fresh sheets of Bristol board and self assurance that can only seem to be found on the electronics that have already cost me so much financially, emotionally, and even socially. Just the other day I had explored far past my usual creative boundaries and produced a small writing on the death of David Bowie, not knowing that today in the early hours I would be alive and burning with the idea that he himself as an artist and a man of a changing time in our world championed across mass media as a total. The diversity, equality, and right to freedom being demanded by the people must be met with the equal if not greater amount of the same in where they seek to listen and be heard.

The first cigarette of the day never kills anyone. I tell myself that lie and take it as truth but ignore the possibility that my coffee is adding to whatever silent killer my be lying in wait. I have bigger things, important things to tackle right now. The mistake of reaching for my phone and starting with Facebook notifications should have been corrected, something told me yesterday that I should have let my batteries all die out sometime in the middle of the night so I could free myself for morning activity with my Jack Russell, Lego. Maybe enjoy internet porn of some sort, be it unlikely tentacle rape or the newest must-have gear for disposable income. It’s all the same.

No, this morning I’m faced with just a line in a small box addressing the concern over disagreement over the harsh nature of a photo with words across it, a meme. The bastard son of political cartoons and object laziness. This one in particular I still haven’t seen, but understand it had to do with the idea that there’s humor in suggesting heroin dealers should face a death penalty of some sort. It’s all I need to know. Take the time to laugh at yourself now. You too get impatient when your high-tech coffee maker seems to keep you shackled to it’s side for that two and a half minutes it takes to brew your cup. The feeling that a few dollars more could have shaved at least thirty seconds off the injustice.

Assurance that creating something and pleasing at least one other person out there was granted the day man decided to spit berry juice and mammoth dung onto a cave wall. Also born at that time was the simple truth that at least one other human was going to decide it was upon them to make sure they voiced their distaste for such an image. Simple enough to kill the artist then perhaps feed their corpse to the animals, evolution of laws and social norms prevent such an action today but there’s the same emotional undercurrent just the same.

In ancient times the name for this breed of backlash oriented individual has been quite lost amongst the ages, more recently emerging in the American vernacular quite simply as “PC Asshole”. The coffee was too sweet and about as satisfying as that lone smoke seemingly hours ago. Ten minutes, no need to push it before breakfast, there’s time to put towards limiting my elderly years later in the day. Lego tap dances under the table, demanding that I release him to the yard as not to catch hell for shitting all over the kitchen. I imagine Joe Schmuckatelli and Edith Cuntscum out there somewhere, thumb typing their righteous dislike for a five minute creation by someone who had a specific group of people In mind to be entertained with it. Joe and Edith in their limited existences would never get to know any of these people, or even remember what it is that caused them to step up and voice their own distaste so emotionally.

Returning to typing “Amen” under images on their feed depicting young girls with half of their faces blown off and the barely recognizable stillborn gore shots, praising whatever sick God receives his faithful on social media, I imagine the future where these are the people who gain control of what is said and written, sung and illustrated… A nation of perfection in their eyes where all citizens are truly equal, limited, and devoid of all need for emotion or creativity. The fire dying in our minds as we shuffle through pastel lands of brightness and cute little ponies and other nightmare marsupials who provide our entertainment for us.

I have to admit, I prefer a time when attacks like the massacre at Charlie Hebdo are possible to a time when all is loved and accepted. Not for the loss of life, let’s not go too far into the dark here… For the simple fact that it is worth the perils of offense to create. So few things we can truly bravely endeavor to find the edge in, and what a terrible thought it is to limit anything out of fear for tact. Political Correctness is an idea that maybe one side is right, or has the right, to monitor and oppose any form of expression that morally intrudes on that which is holy or sacred to a group of people. Be it words or images promoting a limited view against a sex, race, or any perceived disadvantage in society. Which is all fine and good given certain venues for such expression. Arguments to even this statement can and should be made.

The next cigarette is ready to help me restart my day, drawings need to be made. I look at the screen and it hits me… this vast corrupted wasteland that is the Internet is the last place the PC Asshole should let themselves free to. Too many caves, too much mammoth shit and questionable plants.

Lego contributed his share under the table as I finished my second coffee and this piece, maybe they’ll get dog shit and tobacco to deal with instead.

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