|Censored by author.|
I did not watch the Superbowl. I can not tolerate football, and the bloated and corporate spectacle of this High Holy Day in America, endlessly annoys me. Though, I did go on Youtube to watch Beyonce’s halftime show. Like the game itself, this bizarre ritual, has become a sort of quasi-religious experience. Last year, reaching an apogee with Madonna, finishing up her set, and going into a catatonic fit, during her song “Like a Prayer.” This year, it all seemed darker, and despite the lack of clothing on Beyonce, and her dancers, oddly unexciting. She started out, by writhing on the floor, and flashing the world. The collective consciousness of the US is over-saturated in porn. Every effort by so-called legitimate stars and performers, to mimic the false eroticism of pornography, makes them all look desperate. Beyonce is a woman with some talent for singing, and was blessed with natural beauty, but, like many of her contemporaries, squanders her gifts, sullies everything and everyone around her, and brings forth only pessimism and filth. They go for the cheap and quick reaction, but such as the population which guzzles Viagra, the thrill quickly dissipates and leaves all involved: unhappy and deflated. After all, this is a woman who became famous singing about her rear-end (not to solely criticize Beyonce, as: Justin Timberlake was celebrated for his ability to get women naked by the end of his song; Lady Gaga made millions singing about riding a “disco stick;” and Katy Perry went platinum with her album in which she repeatedly screeches the word cock.) We have no one to blame but ourselves; for we applaud it, and buy it.