The objectification of women is everywhere, but it is not something separate or distant from modern life — it is a sewn-in aspect of how television, movies, and music are usually made. Think of it. How many shows feature a skimpily-attired woman for no real reason? Why does the shot linger here or there? Why does the narrative continue into the bedroom, literally past a closed door? And while it is true that occasionally men’s body parts are seen, it is most frequently women who must show something as part of playing the role. It’s debasing, of course, to show to the world and preserve for all time what modesty asks you to conceal, but how else do women achieve their dreams in media? How ambitious are they? Do they dare turn down a part? How will they afford their luxuries or support their new habits? So it’s goodbye to mom and dad, goodbye to where they came from; leaving is not an option, so they debase themselves, and console themselves with substance-fueled parties, multiple partners, and all the treasures money can buy. Such is the price of fame, yet fame is fleeting, and eventually everyone ends up in a static page for random people to abuse their now-unfashionable works. So much is given for so little.
This life that they have achieved looks Hell-like — chasing highs that leave you empty as you become older and less able to handle them, year by year, watching even that temporary satiation flee from your grasp. That must be a kind of torment made only bearable by the fact that it is entirely self-caused; of course, this is why suicide (or murder made to look like suicide) is also a part of this lifestyle. When all pretenses can no longer be maintained, even with Botox, and control slips free at last, then it is time for the final dramatic act.
Who benefits from this? An audience of moralless men, first. Second, those who become rich at the expense of the actress — usually men, who then turn around and spend their money in abusing women in other ways. “Come and die, and look beautiful for a while,” whispers Hollywood Babylon, its siren call promising temporary admiration of millions of (male) eyes; “You will be as gods.” Thus it draws in the desperate, the maladjusted, the insecure, the moralless, and the vulnerable. Adulation by all, for they do what others will not do — they live lives of the rebel while they claim a superior virtue (this to hide the effects of chemical abuse and soul scarring). Hollywood draws a certain kind of woman, which it displays, abuses, chews up, and spits out, only to replace it with the next young and hungry thing. The gods and goddesses must be changed at regular intervals — the temple of Venus needs a new coat of paint to keep her ritual prostitution going.
This is the sad and inexorable truth — any society that enshrines an abuse of its own population ensures its own doom. All societies become hollow, bereft of whatever virtues that had animated them, before they fall. It is this hollowing out that permits conquest by outside forces, or the quiet takeover that maintains the appearance of the culture for a while, until all the conquerer’s cards can be played. Either way, the existence of Hollywood Babylon is a threat to the virtue and the existence of the republic.
Save women; secession now.
The Quiet Towers 