More Reflections on the Bobo Art Hive

In the intellectual and creative realms, we've been caught up in a bobo art pop hive for a long time. It reached the peak of its colorful indulgence in the 90s, and across the 00s it turned gray and full of shadows. Some sense of… surveillance… the surfaces no longer charming enough to conceal the mechanism.

The yuppies gentrified a bit too much and by the 2020 maven elite youth came to question it all, returning to the americana imagery of recent decades that had been thrown into the junkpile: old fishing gear, vintage tees of athletic teams and blue collar work, zany cartoons, esoteric racisms. All reconsidering lost forms of scruffiness, industry, hands on reality.

We see the dominant zeitgeist is now in advanced decay. It's acting senile and clumsy. It doesn't remember the recent past, it lacks that youthful spark omnipresent in 1970. Once the universities collapse in the next couple years, we will see a Reverse Woodstock.

Let us pray it’s a reversal to Christianity.

For a long time, I've thought it my duty as a student of cool to endlessly archive fiction and art from pop culture, and from there to all culture and history in general.

Prince among Utopian Scholastics. Educated in the fading aura of 90s pop sophistication. Doring Kindersley. Dead Poets Society. Harry Potter Medievalism. Harold Bloom. Mortimer Adler. Our house... full of random! A very fine house.

Canonicities upon canonicities.

This has an unfortunately hivelike aspect to all of it. Tracing endless ripples in a world of 'vibes.' A vast fungal growth that has been growing like a secret brain under the floorboards of your house. No head, no center, no proportion. An ever swelling mass of flesh that quietly gnaws at dying things.

You cannot simply endlessly catalogue artificial epistemes, cupboard up 10,000 subreddits in your brain. In life you need a hierarchy of poetic knowledge. A symbolic system. It must be prophetic and fruitful before it is comprehensive. It does not need to come to you from a library or a machine, but from the careful accounting of God's providence and the movement of the spirit of God within you.

Why then collect scriptures and letters and all these monuments? Not to be a burden on your back, but to throw them up in the air. The playthings of the godly rain down as judgment on the ungodly.

What enormous wealth. We huddle in the afterglow of a celestial explosion of mass consumer goods that were so incredibly excellent many assumed the world had reached a permanent nirvana of commerce. America was paradise. Read inspirational literature from the 90s like chicken soup for the soul and you'll see they betray this sort of implicit cosmology. Prosperity praying your way up the ladder, just to hoover up as much of American paradise as possible. And to deny anyone in the world access to that suburban dream was satanic, the work of a racist demiurge trying to keep people trapped in a false matrix of hatred that could be dispelled with the hiss of a vending machine, the blooming of one college campus after the next, a glide through libraries and crackling cable channels and that funny new type of picture book we call the world wide web.

Liberal bobo values have infiltrated every building like a psychedelic fungus.

According to the biblical law, once mold gets into a house, you have to deal with it. You either need to scrape it and plaster it over, and if it still keeps coming back, you need to tear the whole thing down.

The time is drawing short.

We’re all in this together, in our weakening web.

In the story of extinction.