When did it happen that we were so satisfied with war? I guess war has always been a mostly personal issue but when the person becomes or acts counter personal it is then that we call for some interventions. Obviously, many people use intervention as an instrument to cause more violence or hazard. Why? The nature of the bully vivisected seems too much of a generalization. Many bullies fear, have inferior complexes and thus try to “nurture” away these discrepancies with type of sadomasochism. How? Simply because the bully applauds insults and hurt and craves to do more damage. No, a warrior loves the heat of battle for purposes that are not only sensory but a chance to meet kindreds and equals or equivalents she or he does not cough of blood with an erection for more slaughter mindlessly in fact she or he has codes of conduct. That is why the gladiator arena is much different than a fight because the gladiator is a prostitute of blood and action and can only finance himself/ herself through sensualizing murder and anchoring the most hated or spectacular killing techniques. It’s a bad form of burlesque really for in burlesque the flesh is made to stand out with concentrated colours as though it were a surreal jungle of not merely enticement but an art from God. The burlesque of the gladiator is non-choice, non-concentrated for contrast it is just a abyss; a bowl of blood. Think how Ed Gein made soup bowls out of human skulls — that is I feel an appropriate symbolism for gladiator rings. Just perverse.
And — nowadays, the whole world is that soup bowl gladiator crater of blood. It is ample madness and all the news channels are just extensions of the viewing arenas and balconies. Sometimes an opera singer comes quietly to chirp in a little bit away from the chaos, that’d be a mainstream news reporter, trying to pitch in good notes and exclude bad notes while the maestro operates the scales. Only do some journalists sing better forms of this opera with innovative scales but they are rarely heard. They do not dress up like an amateur Moulin Rouge they just come in like the Scream painting and try to tell you things but their frames get muted by gaudy adverts of pinching bums and pretty body parts. We are so used to cannibalizing others in entertainment that we treat blown body parts as pictoids rather than reality. The fictional Hannibal Lecter is actually mostly attuned to our natural state of the world — hating him would be hating this cultural war frenzy which we dress up as rights, self-defense and even empowerment; Hannibal is Wendigo dressed in a suit rather than hunting out in the woods. Dressing up war in a gourmet armour does not mitigate the meat of it.
War is some wicked carnivale where the clowns eat the guests, the mirrors explode, the strong man hurts you and the manager comes to you and whispers, “Your life or your life.” and if you scream like the hollow painting in horridness the manager smiles and states, “We need money for our show.” All the material riches of the world cannot bring back the world. After all, in the end a gladiator ring is a makeshift cemetery and if we are content with wars of today we are content with the idea of being in a living cemetary.