Oil companies pocketed $93 billion while the government is repaying hundreds of billions in tariffs deemed to be illegal by the Supreme Court—mostly to corporations, even though it was consumers who paid the bill.

The United States is a business, it’s completely profit-driven, and until the people are willing to utilize economic strikes to keep from being completely swindled by literally anyone in power—be it the state or private corporation—we’re just totally fucked, transferring money from employers to landlords and businesses.

Chris Hedges said it best:

The final stages of capitalism, Karl Marx wrote, will be marked by developments that are intimately familiar. Unable to expand and generate profits at past levels, the capitalist system will begin to consume the structures that sustain it. It will prey upon, in the name of austerity and government efficiency, the working class and the poor, driving them ever deeper into debt and poverty and diminishing the capacity of the state to serve the needs of ordinary citizens.

As time marches forward, we’ll see less and less of a government and more and more subscription-based business models with tech companies intervening into increasingly necessary, and formerly public, services. Just a couple years ago here in LA during the wildfires, billionaire developer Rick Caruso hired private firefighters to protect his home and his mall. Meanwhile, the entire Pacific Palisades burned around these structures. This is the future we can expect, especially with the climate crisis fast approaching.

Defector has the right tone when talking about Tom Dundon and his recent acquisition of the Portland Trail Blazers:

Fans of the Portland Trail Blazers should prepare themselves for a very unpleasant time. Tom Dundon, the team’s new owner, is digging in. Arena renovations would improve the value of his property, and so he wants arena renovations. He is simply and resolutely refusing to commit any of his own money to the project. If Portland refuses to pay for stadium renovations, and the stadium thus goes un-renovated, Dundon will have an ironclad pretext for packing the team into a U-Haul and moving it to Las Vegas, or Nashville, or—the monkey’s paw finally directing a shriveled middle finger at the world—Seattle. That’s how investor ownership works, and why it is fucked: The franchise has been in Portland for almost 60 years; Dundon bought it four months ago, and it is entirely and irrevocably his.

…

There’s a handy lesson in class solidarity. Dundon, wielding Hankins like a sock puppet, is putting tax dollars on one side of the scale and private investor wealth on the other, and arguing that because private wealth was previously spent by a member of Dundon’s billionaire class, the class has already contributed its share to the pot. It is now time for the tax-paying public to pitch money back at the billionaires, goes this argument. Dundon will simply collect this payment on behalf of his tribe.

The great irony about the rich is that they demean socialism, or honestly anything to the left of fascism, but expect taxpayers to foot the bill as a collective class for what is owned by private investment. ‘Socialism for me, not for thee,’ is basically the motto of the rich. (See also: Elected officials receiving healthcare benefits that amount to federal subsidies covering 72% of costs.)

Billionaires like Dundon should be driven out of places like Portland with pitchforks and vats of tar and the team reclaimed by the city with force, and given how much Portland loves the Blazers, I could almost imagine something like that happening. John Fisher notoriously moved the beloved Athletics out of Oakland instead of selling the team so they could stay in the East Bay.

The rich care nothing about culture or what things mean to the people who create and support it; they see only numbers, bottom lines, and profit margins in everything. Capitalism is a cancer on humanity—and I mean that in the most literal sense. It destroys what we are able to create with our minds and bodies for the sole purpose of money (another invention) to a select few beneficiaries and will eventually lead to the destruction of the planet. These people are barely human—grotesque obsessives hoarding wealth and we’d all be better for it if they were collectively disposed of.

There’s a pretty decent interview with Jordan Harper where he talks all things Los Angeles and he’s got some great one-liners (“This city is such a ball of contradictions—I love that we aren’t hidden from the violence of the world, but we also aren’t hidden from the beauty of it.”)

I think my favorite though comes toward the end when he’s asked about the nature of LA—

I just think that Los Angeles is the most American city. It is kind of the culmination of everything we think about ourselves and the truth about ourselves … New York, that’s a European city, they just happened to land here. People in the Midwest want to think that they’re different than us, but they’re captured by the same things: it’s real estate and money and guns and cops and sex and violence and dreams. This is the place where American dreams come from. Nobody talks about the American Real, they talk about the American Dream … This is America dreaming itself, right?

I wholeheartedly agree and I think that’s why I’ve always gravitated towards LA—even before I moved here I’d visit often and enjoy every moment. Even though most of my personal views are antithetical to much of what the city represents, underneath the Hollywood sheen does lie the foundations of what the United States is, for better and worse, and that’s a fascinating thing to observe while the empire is in a rapid state of decay.

If nothing else, Los Angeles is the cultural hub of America. While New York might represent the ‘Art World’ more, artists in LA have always had to clash and compromise with the world of entertainment—which is just art with its neck under the boot of capitalism. So much of culture in LA is representative of the class war being experienced nationwide—corporate movie chains struggling while independent theaters flourish, taco trucks having lines as long as fine dining wait-lists, the homeless encampments underneath apartment complexes where a one-bedroom is $3800 a month, Oscar winners grabbing In-N-Out. The contrasts are on full display, everywhere, all of the time—here, you can’t ignore what America truly is, how the push and pull between the everyday people and the ones in control ebb and flow, the way you can in a suburb where the center of town consists of an Outback steakhouse and a Whole Foods.

That, and the weather is perfect like seven months out of the year.

The new Polaroid anti-AI, pro-real-life-interactions ad campaign is pretty great. While advertising in general is a menace of a media system, any dialogue we’re having in public about AI—or digital addictions in general—is important to keep front-and-center, as we seem too eager to stray from the idea of our basic humanity being at stake. (It is interesting how some responses to the campaign discuss the ‘low-hanging fruit’ of data centers and how any corporate dialogue against AI is hypocritical, which is understandable but I feel on the wrong side of the subject.)

The AI debate as a whole kind of annoys me, but I do find value in dialogues centered around our collective humanity and what that means, because I think it should be the central focus of all this. The potential impact of AI (or advanced LLMs, whatever you want to call them) could touch on just about every aspect of modern civilization—but there’s no way I’m gonna trust those who could profit from this saying it’ll all be, ‘for the better.’

On the industrial side, it’s not that automation is usually a bad thing in regards to pushing civilization forward, but when it comes to economics, it can create turmoil if the system society exists within doesn’t look out for its people. If computers run the show and we still live under a capitalist system, how do the economics work out as jobs could disappear from media to healthcare to shipping? Silicon Valley openly jokes about a permanent underclass, but that’s a very real possibility if the current economic model remains as all resources are funneled into technological development as opposed to human services.

Creatively speaking the whole thing is a fucking joke. The outright theft of the collective cultural history of humanity in order to create heartless visuals and sounds is criminal—both in the law of the land and the law of nature. Anthropic destroying rare books because it’s the easiest way to scan them to train AI models is so on-the-nose evil it wouldn’t make the script of a blockbuster movie. The things that make us human—the tangled relationships between ideas, labor, production, and objects—are being completely disregarded for this idea of creating a future that embraces a new era of subjugation and control instead of growing into a state of egalitarianism.

I think that’s the most enraging part of all of this. Regardless of what part of the AI debate is being scrutinized, the human benefits are largely abstracted and obfuscated—there are quips about the end of money or a complete reformation on how we work, but no dialogue about how those processes might actually work to benefit people. No one can convince me that those who are fully invested in AI as the future aren’t some of the most evil people to have ever lived, looking out only for their own stake in a hyper-violent, automated future and willing to dispose of not only everything we’ve collectively created since the dawn of time but also a majority of the lives on earth for the sake of a few dollars.

Man, Emily Wilson sure took Chris Nolan and The Odyssey to task in her review and I am all for it. If you’ve seen the film, the entire piece is worth reading—but the conclusion really brings her point home:

Nolan’s Odyssey lacks many of the elements that make the poem great. It has nothing convincing to say about time, memory, history, war, or about the relationship between one warrior’s glorious return and the lives of his family, adversaries, comrades, friends and neighbours. It lacks psychological, emotional, political and ethical depth. Its narrative structure is gimmicky. The writing is abysmal. None of the characters has convincing motivation for their actions or words. There are no sex scenes, and all the food looks horrible.

The most troubling ethical problem with Nolan’s Odyssey concerns the decision to film part of the movie in the occupied territory of Western Sahara, thus normalising the ongoing violence against the indigenous Sahrawi people. It is particularly galling that Nolan used this land simply as a visually striking backdrop for a film that centres, aggrandises and redeems the hero of a territorial war on account of his belated and partial acknowledgment of his own guilt.

For far too long, Chris Nolan has been relatively immune to criticism for reasons unknown. Perhaps it’s the striking imagery he’s been able to create—the black hole in Interstellar, the folding cities of Inception, the bomb in Oppenheimer—or maybe it’s that a couple performances have been Oscar-worthy (I would say Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight is the only truly great performance in a film of his, though). Whatever the reasoning, he’s considered critically by many journalists and social media cinephiles alike as one of the premier directors of this generation and I am absolutely dumbfounded as to why (I find Interstellar and Oppenheimer both to be as overrated as The Odyssey).

Good writing is the foundation of any cinematic achievement and none of Nolan’s films have had an above-average script. Worse still is his direction of conversational dialogue, which is often choppy on top of being drowned out by sound design that favors background environments and nonstop scores. His female characters are often hollow and disposable (and even the men are largely one-dimensional). He excels in aesthetic scale but consistently fails to deliver on any emotional, human level. It raises the questions: What are modern audiences looking for in a film, anyway? Why are these movies considered among the best of our time?

I can’t help but think this is less about Nolan being a bad director than it is more a sign of what art means to a society so molded by the vacuous, profit-driven ambitions of capitalism. Humanity must be stripped from most endeavors or people might feel guilty about the collateral damage that ensues from endlessly prioritizing financial well-being over that of the communities this economic model ‘serves.’ Under this ideological weight, art is chipped away at until it becomes nothing more than shallow entertainment—unchallenging to the audience or the interests behind the scenes that fund it. Consequently, we get these grand films of empty rhetoric which, more than anything else, become statements on the decline of our appreciation for the potential of culture in America.