"He was born in the wrong era, on the wrong side
of the river, with the ability to do anything
and finding nothing he wants to do."
Rumble Fish

The Pablo Smog Foundation is a fish tank posing as a think tank in the pet shop of the world.  The main objective of the Foundation is to provide subjective interpretations of cultural artifacts from a narcissistic, self-absorbed perspective.  The overpaid idlers at the Pablo Smog Foundation can superimpose any interpretation they like onto any form of media, as long as it brings the audience closer to an appreciation of the work of Pablo Smog.

A recent rewatching of Rumble Fish inspired the agenda-driven analysts at the Foundation to shoehorn a whole 'nother narrative into the interaction between Motorcycle Boy, Rusty James, and the Siamese Fighting Fish trapped in the fish tank of an artless, postmodern society.  Motorcycle Boy shows the Rusty James the fish floating around in the tank, which symbolize musicians and who are separated by the owners of the pet shop into race, ethnicity, and genre.  He tells Rusty James that "These are Rumble Fish.  They'd kill each other if they could."

Here's the allegorical Christ figure and His disciple contemplating the sad state of humanity, trapped inside the devil's fish tank.

And here are the musicians, going to the show on the only form of transportation they can afford.

Will the fish escape the tank?  Will Motorcycle Boy give his life for the fish?  Or will the artists in the tank continue to hate each other while staring darkly through the glass at their own reflections in the mirror?  Is the red pill kind of blue, or is the blue pill really red?

I won't ruin it for you, but I would like to encourage you down the path of a traditional awakening.

In the video below, the narrator mentions people who have "taken the red pill in the traditional sense," a statement which amuses me greatly.  Hearing that elements from a sci-fi film released when I was in my 20s are now considered "traditional" elevates my soul to levels of existential hilarity I'd never dreamed possible.  While it may be a great relief to discover that there are people half my age who are not only smarter than I was when I was 23, but are arguably smarter than I am now, it remains unclear whether or not the narrator understands that Kind of Blue is part of the cultural red pill, and that Red by Taylor Swift is a musical blue pill.  Considering how smart he is, I'm disinclined to worry about it.  Whatever the case, the particular vintage of amusement from which I am now drinking is exquisite.

Aging is a trip.

What the narrator doesn't understand is that to establish a feudalist hippie art monarchy in the postmodern fish tank of the world, it is necessary to have a personal relationship with the owner of the pet shop Himself.  If the Owner of the pet shop is not your personal Lord and Savior, you will find yourself forever trapped in an aquarium of perpetual war and loathing.  Your society will be divided into segments, like a projection of the disparate, irreconcilable elements of the disembodied worm of life, writhing deep within your soul.

Like this:

Fortunately, the Owner of the pet shop is sympathetic to our plight.  He can see that we are doomed, even if we occupy multiple cubicles within the hateful fishtank of the world.  In His providence and love, the Owner sent a Savior in the traditional sense, symbolized in Rumble Fish by "Motorcycle Boy," the cool older guy everyone looks up to, and who has a tendency to stop fights just by walking in the door.  Motorcycle Boy even went to California, which is like a metaphor for our whole society, and was disturbed by what He saw.

“California is like a beautiful wild girl on heroin, high as
a kite and thinking she's on top of the world, not knowing
she's dying, even if you show her the marks.”
Rumble Fish

It is my sincere hope that you see the marks, and join me in preparing for our imminent liberation from the fish tank, so we can make it to the Sea.  As many as will come.  The catching up of the fish by our Savior in the traditional sense is nigh.  Taking the red pill in the form of a classic jazz album in favor of the blue pill symbolized by fishtank-culture icons such as Taylor Swift is the first step on what I sincerely hope is a traditional awakening for everyone who reads this.  No matter how many killer tunes are pumped out by the feudalist hippie art monarchy, the fact remains that a significant percentage of the other fish in the tank will remain hostile to our cause.  The art will never save us.  Neither will the brains.  For all we know, the excellence to which our drowning hearts aspire may just be another block of concrete.

To which Heaven shall we chain our underwater wings?  The ocean of light shining far above the surface, most of us don't even believe in?  Or the heaven of unfulfilled desire burning like an empty pair of boots at the bottom of the sea? 

There's not much time to choose.

So... which is it?

Red, or kind of blue?

"For whosoever shall call upon the name
of the Lord shall be saved."
Romans 10:13