There’s a fresh abomination perpetrated by the advertising industry seemingly every day (whcih the Wall Street Journal of course duly reports) and it’s hard for me to summon the venom to continue to recount them. Today it’s under the A-hed, a story about how advertisers are trying to destroy once and for all the distinction between pop song and ad. I haven’t digested it all yet (it’s hard to swallow and pretty indigestible, like a thirty-pound Tootsie roll) but I wanted to pause to make this apocalptic remark: Advertising won’t stop until it has co-opted the human being’s enthusiasm for life itself in all its various manifestations and put a price tag on it. The industry won’t rest until all excitement is for sale. Consequently, when critical thinkers want to preserve what is truly human, they are forced to adopt the awkward pose of having to reject enthusaism for living, lest they be mistaken for affirming all the blather and brouhaha that ads froth up and spew in our defenseless faces. Ads have made it such that to think at all you have to be in a permanent snit of negation, rejecting all signs of life, the flowering of springtime itself, because it has so thoroughly been saturated with ad hype and phoneyness and exploitative designs. Every expression of human creativity seems suspect now, because lurking behind it is the crafting of false manufactured desire and the covert guidance of that desire to unworthy, profane ends. Ad culture has sucked the soul out of life and marketed it back to u sin the form of sugar cereals and luxury cars and it is now incumbant upon those who cherish the human soul to behave as though they haven’t got one until the village that is mankind under capitalism is torched to the ground.