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Even for a Naked Hippie Like Me

SK O'Neal
23 January, 2015

It is one thing when an avant garde rock band takes an occasion to go on set naked, but under the implied restraint and moderation of civilized cultural decorum such as a fashion show there are expected qualitatively different messages and purposes [1].  With drugs there is saturation, an ever rising hurdle to achieve the next thrill or shock.  In comedy we see the last resort to sex jokes when the reserve of talent is finally spent.  In fashion, we now see the pander of last resort, in a completely different coliseum from the expressions of cultural protest and candidness of the truly sincere rock artists in the buff, but both shattering the status quo with their divergent purposes.  Next up on the walkway will be a line of spotty sex clothes, and then after that a demonstration, in vivo.  After that, they will have to put cameras inside body parts.

For a number of centuries such obtuseness was never resorted to, though lingering under false chastity of religious oppression within its own vulgar assault upon mankind.  But now we see a terminal phase of indiscretion that also harbors the mentality that invades every codicil of domestic policy and as well, our weapons of war.  Clearly we are now become in large part a society so mentally denatured as to not distinguish the humor of violence in a cartoon from the real thing, or to understand the long term ironic jading effects of prostituted art.  Kerouac decried this apparent leaching of the soul of society in 1958 [2].  These ailments of the skin unveiled under the false shadows of refined cultural pretext are the bellwether of the disease inside, and we have a litany of old empires to draw our prognosis from.

One has to wonder also, if, in these moribund days of dikebound empowerment, that the real occult purpose of this final frontier in fashion is simply the ultimate demeaning of men, and replacement of the father with the authority of the State.  In the more sophisticated venues of social engineering, the pervasive crescendo of shocks to the social mores under sanctioned tints of legitimacy and synthetic terms such as "multiculturalism" and "diversity," closely akin to torture and breakdown technique used in brainwashing, are but preparations for major decompositions of a society for purposes of absolute control and integrated agendas of de-population, and for the incarceration and murder of those who cherish the spiritual and artistic fountainheads of natural tribal identity, the only legitimate refuges of diversity, wherein our differences fertilize a greater joy and earthly accomplishment, and ultimate coalescence and meaning, of our one-ness.

As for the baring of our souls that we may soon occasion, those of us barbarians-apparent who have been touched by the genuine and loving phenomenon of, for instance, the Grateful Dead, are, in the final analysis, perhaps the most alive of all, and a plethora of ironies my unfold among those who are unafraid to reveal the naked truth about mankind, and the living bones they shall unearth, to dance once again.  Naked is a beautiful thing, but only when done honestly.  It is time that those of us who know the difference gather en masse under a fuller definition of enlightenment to declaw and uncloak these absynthine kings who parade us before their court as cattle and horses.  It was Jesus who first called them by their true name, "whited sepulchers, all pure and white without, but old bones and corruption within."

In the end, it is better to be dead but alive, than alive but dead. For who understand the riddle, there elegant solutions as we dervish 'twixt our precious pursuits as free and loving people, souls and occasionally bodies uncloaked and unfettered by the sycophants and minions of earthbound kings and their perverted ambitions.