James Parker, Private Homosexual
Tuesday, 1. July 2008, 17:31:30
Regular readers will be aware that the sense of irony on this blog has been increasing at alarming rates recently. Or perhaps it's been decreasing. Whichever it's been doing, it's been doing it at an alarming rate. By which I mean, irony has been making its presence felt in the form of ruminations on irony and the rapid discovery of what can only be described as 'AN IRONIC CONSPIRACY'. The question is, does the discovery of such a conspiracy reduce or augment levels of irony on this blog and in the world?
The discovery of this conspiracy began with certain clues uncovered amongst Youtube comments, as dealt with in this blog post. Although, the truth is, I first spotted such clues at least as far back as this post, about Magibon, in which I listed a number of the rabid anti-Magibon comments, and commented on each in turn, explaining incisively why they were silly. There was one among them, however, that struck a strange chord with me. The comment was as follows:
I think it was the final text-speech babble that gave the game away. 'bbQ'. That's barbecue, isn't it? This person was surely taking the piss. Not A piss, but the definite article.
But then again, perhaps my suspicions that an ironic conspiracy was in the air started even further back, with the hoax circular e-mails I received, one of which I 'blogged' here.
Or perhaps, just perhaps, the conspiracy is something I have sneakingly suspected since I was able to suspect anything at all.
The ironic conspiracy is deeply problematical for me. Although I have never exactly defined myself by irony - I mean, how unironical would that be! - it has played a key part in the formation, and the deconstruction, and the reconstruction, of my identity. But when I criticise the stupidity of others, only to realise that it is all part of an ironic conspiracy, my own irony is converted into earnestness. I am trumped by the irony of others, and my irony is usurped. In the chess-game of escalating irony, being in the know is everything. Those who simply choose the wrong direction and end up going with the backward flow of the yes, rather than the forward flow of the no of the know, lose all irony points. It's as simple as that. You have to choose which way to jump. If you happen to jump with the greatest number of other ironists, your ironic stock also rises.
But is it that simple? The rising wave at some point has to crash. And perhaps those who jumped the other way were more far-sighted. Or perhaps not. As yet, it is hard to say.
For instance, does the fact that I spotted the irony of some of the Youtube comments mean that they were too obvious, and therefore not ironic enough, since being obvious is almost the same as being earnest? When something is recognised as ironic, does it cease to be so? Is irony, by definition, hidden, by defnition, a conspiracy, of which we only ever see the edges, or, in a fluctuating sense, in our own tremulous, ambiguous hearts, the centre?
I shall not attempt to answer these questions. The wave is still rising, and before our eyes it becomes a whirlpool.
For now, I shall simply, and carefully, submit one more piece of evidence in this awesome and ever-shifting mosaic of a puzzle of a nightmare of a mystery.
This clue comes, as forbidden and cryptic things often do, from a dread e-mail sent to me from Justin Isis. In the e-mail, he mentions, almost in a whisper, that he has been reading Bright Shiny Morning by James Frey, and that, "I'm convinced his entire books so far have been ironic hoax books and not actually done sincerely." He proceeds to tell me how he wished he had preserved the text in question, but that, immediately after reading it, he had burnt it in a frenzy, and called upon the name of Yxthahl and Kingsley Amis to protect him from those Other Ironies, beyond the known human ironies of Earth, that sometimes mutter, jeeringly, with an air of prancing vanity and stupidity, beyond the last fashionable rim of Shibuya, and threaten, on terrible mid-afternoons, to break through into the realm of conversation, and make everything you've ever said and thought seem unimaginably absurd.
However, I sense a tone of regret, even of sadness, as of a strange respect at those Outer Ironies, in his communication, when he writes that, "I wish I had preserved the thing, after all. It was... I cannot tell you. If only you knew, as I do, just how ironic it was!"
He then proceeds to quote, from a text seared into his memory, that little part of which he dares to quote:
In some trepidation, I ventured a reply:
For now, I dare not say more. I leave it to my readers to draw their own conclusions.
The discovery of this conspiracy began with certain clues uncovered amongst Youtube comments, as dealt with in this blog post. Although, the truth is, I first spotted such clues at least as far back as this post, about Magibon, in which I listed a number of the rabid anti-Magibon comments, and commented on each in turn, explaining incisively why they were silly. There was one among them, however, that struck a strange chord with me. The comment was as follows:
I dont understand..
I dont like any of her vids.. there pointless and stupid yet.. I subscribed!? OmGWwtFbbQ?
I think it was the final text-speech babble that gave the game away. 'bbQ'. That's barbecue, isn't it? This person was surely taking the piss. Not A piss, but the definite article.
But then again, perhaps my suspicions that an ironic conspiracy was in the air started even further back, with the hoax circular e-mails I received, one of which I 'blogged' here.
Or perhaps, just perhaps, the conspiracy is something I have sneakingly suspected since I was able to suspect anything at all.
The ironic conspiracy is deeply problematical for me. Although I have never exactly defined myself by irony - I mean, how unironical would that be! - it has played a key part in the formation, and the deconstruction, and the reconstruction, of my identity. But when I criticise the stupidity of others, only to realise that it is all part of an ironic conspiracy, my own irony is converted into earnestness. I am trumped by the irony of others, and my irony is usurped. In the chess-game of escalating irony, being in the know is everything. Those who simply choose the wrong direction and end up going with the backward flow of the yes, rather than the forward flow of the no of the know, lose all irony points. It's as simple as that. You have to choose which way to jump. If you happen to jump with the greatest number of other ironists, your ironic stock also rises.
But is it that simple? The rising wave at some point has to crash. And perhaps those who jumped the other way were more far-sighted. Or perhaps not. As yet, it is hard to say.
For instance, does the fact that I spotted the irony of some of the Youtube comments mean that they were too obvious, and therefore not ironic enough, since being obvious is almost the same as being earnest? When something is recognised as ironic, does it cease to be so? Is irony, by definition, hidden, by defnition, a conspiracy, of which we only ever see the edges, or, in a fluctuating sense, in our own tremulous, ambiguous hearts, the centre?
I shall not attempt to answer these questions. The wave is still rising, and before our eyes it becomes a whirlpool.
For now, I shall simply, and carefully, submit one more piece of evidence in this awesome and ever-shifting mosaic of a puzzle of a nightmare of a mystery.
This clue comes, as forbidden and cryptic things often do, from a dread e-mail sent to me from Justin Isis. In the e-mail, he mentions, almost in a whisper, that he has been reading Bright Shiny Morning by James Frey, and that, "I'm convinced his entire books so far have been ironic hoax books and not actually done sincerely." He proceeds to tell me how he wished he had preserved the text in question, but that, immediately after reading it, he had burnt it in a frenzy, and called upon the name of Yxthahl and Kingsley Amis to protect him from those Other Ironies, beyond the known human ironies of Earth, that sometimes mutter, jeeringly, with an air of prancing vanity and stupidity, beyond the last fashionable rim of Shibuya, and threaten, on terrible mid-afternoons, to break through into the realm of conversation, and make everything you've ever said and thought seem unimaginably absurd.
However, I sense a tone of regret, even of sadness, as of a strange respect at those Outer Ironies, in his communication, when he writes that, "I wish I had preserved the thing, after all. It was... I cannot tell you. If only you knew, as I do, just how ironic it was!"
He then proceeds to quote, from a text seared into his memory, that little part of which he dares to quote:
James Parker.
Movie star.
Married to the most famous actress in Hollywood.
Unbelievably wealthy.
James Parker.
Public heterosexual.
PRIVATE HOMOSEXUAL.
In some trepidation, I ventured a reply:
'James Parker, private homosexual', could be the title of some TV drama series. That would be excellent. "The police can't deal with this. This is a case for James Parker, private homosexual!" But, I think you must be right about James Frey, which is frightening. This means I'm right and the Youtube irony conspiracy has now reached global epidemic proportions.
For now, I dare not say more. I leave it to my readers to draw their own conclusions.
WIDGETIZE