barnyard flesh menagerie
Music: Blue Oyster Cult: Agents of Fortune You might be tempted to believe that today's subject is yet another genius punk band name dreamed up by Jello Biafra. Nope. Baryard Flesh Menagerie is a new, soft-core porn movie in the Luddite/Agrarian sub-genre starring a look-alike of the Most Famous Rhetorician Ever: Kenneth Burke (wowwwwnnnn-chica-chica-wowwwnnnnn-nnoooow-chica-chica).
Just joshing.
In the manifesto for that academic field formerly known as Rhetorical Studies, Kenneth Burke wrote that "insofar as the individual is involved in conflict with other individuals or groups, the study of this same individual would fall under the head of Rhetoric." For Burke the study of rhetoric (or "The Rhetoric") concerns the search for habituated and often unconscious patterns of human behavior in order to discern a kind of forecast (akin to the weather, but without percentages). He continues that
The Rhetoric must lead us through the Scramble, the Wrangle of the Market Place, the flurries and flare-ups of the Human Barnyard, the Give and Take, the wavering line of pressure and counterpressure, the Logomachy, the onus of ownership, the Wars of Nerves, the War. . . . one need not scrutinize the concept of "identification" very sharply to see, implied in it at every turn, its ironic counterpart: division. Rhetoric is concerned with the state of Babel after the Fall. Its contribution to a "sociology of knowledge" must often carry us into the lugubrious regions of malice and the lie.
I was reminded of Burke's dialectical understanding of "rhetoric" after reading a story in this morning's Austin American-Statesman: "Iraq war debate flares in Crawford; Sides exchange rhetorical jabs but no blows" (you can read it here, re-titled without 'rhetoric'). Local journalist Patrick Beach seemed to be having trouble filling up his allotted space, but he managed to frame some things in a way that was amusing: "A near-skirmish broke out" but didn't. "At the anti-Sheehan, pro-Bush rally in the afternoon [yesterday], the crowd recited the Pledge of Allegiance—many of them shouting the 'under God' clause . . . ." And Joan Baez joined the "predictably . . . more peaceful" "anti-war" camp (I wonder if she sang "Blowin' in the Wind?" I'm still wondering what the answer is, too). It's clear which camps Beach would locate the "give" and the "take," or "identification" and "malice." I can just see an angry-fisted, cowboy-boot wearin' good ol' boy screamin' "UNDER GOD!" in my face accompanied by a wee bit of tobacco spittle. "Moooooooooo" to you too.
Jump-cut now to a story Dr. M has brought to my attention: This weekend's Human Zoo" exhibit at the London Zoo. Eight humans are presumably on display through Monday to raise awareness about the role "we" play in the ecosystem (what we used to call the food chain). Admirably, the types of bodies range from the portly and pasty to the muscled and tanned, and there are four of each sex, but of course there is a lot to complain about since the politics of representation is thick on these bodies (the sign that not having a black person on display was discussed is the fact that they are all wearing identical, green, fake fig leaves; as Burke might argue, gestures of equality always betoken the opposite). Of course, the Sheenan Showdown in Crawford and the Human Zoo are both obvious examples of the human barnyard, and the lie of each is easily betrayed by the portable: let us imagine that the anti-war protesters were made to play pocket scrabble in the nude, and then, that Joan Baez drove her big black SUV into the London Zoo so that she could play "Love is Just a Four Letter Word" over and over at the exhibit. Suddenly the comic frame widens to reveal the truly tragic: Cindy Sheenan is playing a largely unreflective role in the drama of protest (as they say, "you know how we do . . . "). Of course Joan Baez showed up, but it could just as well have been Bono or the Boss (their roles largely scripted and interchangeable, which leads you to wonder: Joan, why the fuck did you show up in an SUV instead of a Ford Fiesta?). Playing scrabble the peaceniks continue to achieve the same thing: a largely peaceful counter-protest and "info-tainment" style coverage. "Iraq debate flares in Crawford!" reads the headline, but the story fails to mention the "debate" is really about how to properly reckon with the death of approximately 15,000 U.S. military personnel. Sorry to be such a cynic, but in our times the size of the spectacle is usually in proportion to the LIE. Twern't always the case . . . .
And rather than reveal the role of humans in the welfare of "animals," the Human Zoo merely masks a profound inability to laugh at ourselves with an exhibit that presumably reflects the human capacity to laugh at ourselves. For their promotional photo op the caged humans decide to behave like primates, picking through each other's hair in search of imaginary bugs. The tacit Darwin joke is appreciated (remember, Joan Baez is playing Dylan tunes at the zoo now), but it also underscores a kind of speciest arrogance that relegates the AIDS epidemic to those other human animals on the darker continent. Baez's imaginary sob-singing in this context would demand a eight emaciated, starving, HIV-infected children in the cage . . . .
But back to the comic: I commented to Dr. M Londoners should just re-title the Human Zoo "Wal-Mart" and get it over with. I think that if you truly want to see humans engaged in the malicious "Wars of Nerves" plant yourself in a Super Wal-Mart on a Sunday afternoon after paper readers have had a chance to see the circular. You will see a range of people of different races and creeds, mostly clothed in middle and lower class symbology (sometimes you get treated to a real amazing exhibit: a very very large human jetting around in a scooter with little more on than a fig leaf!), and behaving like they are in a barn. If you venture into the aisles, be sure to wear steal toed shoes or boots, as Wal-Mart humans have been known to remove toes with their steely carts on wheels as they make their way, blindly, to the super-sized American flag car magnet display so they can stock up for their anti-Sheenan protest-going down in Crawford this afternoon. A new slogan: "Wal-Mart: The Rhetoric in Action."
I'm in Sunday ramble mode. Sorry peeps. I should get to Wal-Mart for jambalaya supplies. Oh, but a word on Hurricane Katrina: I'm worried about my peeps in Louisiana. Apparently I escaped Louisiana just in time; I'm so used to hearing hurricane warnings this time of year that it's very odd to experience the buffer in reportage. Buds in Louisiana: I have room plenty for guests if you need a place to stay, and I'm only seven hours away . . . .