Artists have become complicit with the spectacular aspects of commodification. All talents are now coopted in service to capitalistic enterprise.
Fatalistic as it may sound, there isn't any chance for an effective revolution to overthrow this system ... Its roots reach too deep into the collective unconscious.
Inertial tendencies have been inculcated in us since infancy. Everybody's parents and even grandparents were ensnared long before our arrival.
The nature of the beast is that it has already assimilated any resistance to its preponderance.
Dissenting voices find themselves drowning among a cacophony of competing choruses. Yet national anthems define the terms of engagement.
Fine art is presently naught but skillful seduction; a well-polished reflector obfuscated by wispy vapor.
Its finest offerings adorn the towering edifice of traditionalist establishment. Hollywood holds sway over the untrained mind.
Glitter and glamour bedazzle beholders more than Huxley's 'Moksha-Medicine'. Banality brings spectators together, while larger than life superstars subvert their individuality.
Such impressionable peons get grinded under industrial gears set in motion to demolish public doubts:
"Keep your faith in wealthy figures, because surely they must know what's best for all involved!"