Sunday, February 7, 2021

Apotheosis: Lady Gaga Under the Dome

This is an open letter to Lady Gaga "Stefani," her real name (Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta).  I am under no illusion that she will ever read this letter; rather it is a public statement in response to being inundated with media images neither myself or others can remain silent about.   

Stefani, I do not expect you to see or read this letter, but I believe that it represents a large part of those who observe you from a distance, as only we can do.  

When you became an international icon, you influenced our children in the most sensual ways to fight against the establishment.  You displayed your sexuality in shockingly provocative exhibitions.  You marked yourself as one controlled by obvious handlers who want to guide our youth through manipulation to lead an impressionable generation to demise.  

Now, many years later, you have been presented to the nation on the steps of the U.S. Capitol as an image of purity and hope for a better world...a Utopian political dream of a better humanity.

Your serene appearance under the dome appears as a character controlled by the elite in today's popular fiction, The Handmaid's Tale or The Hunger Games, which does not impress us.

Your outer apparel continues to define you, in that you are not your true self, but ever evolving into an image which reflects what you are being told to do and in turn, instruct others what they must do by culturally swaying individual minds into a scripted destiny of dominance that you yourself are a slave of.

I believe I speak for myself and others who are praying for you; Take off the mask!  Not the outer mask, but the one that has you trapped from your need of Jesus Christ and who He created you to be.

I end this letter with these words from Vanity Fair's critique of The Handmaids's Tale:

"Toward the end of this week’s Handmaid’s Tale, a peculiar thing happens: June has a bit of a moment with Aunt Lydia. Faced with a public prayer event in Washington, D.C., designed as a protest—with the aim of getting Canada to return the daughter she smuggled out back to Gilead—June eyes the muzzle she and all the other handmaids must wear.  She has tears in her eyes.  Meekly, she asks Aunt Lydia, “Do you want us all to be silenced?” Then Aunt Lydia—who we’ve always known as a stern, unyielding true believer in Gilead’s patriarchal values—tears up herself as she murmurs her reply: “No. I don’t.”

Aunt Lydia then sits down next to June, lamenting how exhausting the trip to D.C. has been. “When I get tired, I still try to think of the good I can do in God’s world,” she says.  “If I can help just one person, one soul, that’s enough.  I think of you, dear.”  She places her arm around June and the two lean against one another, crying as their foreheads touch.'  There's only one word to describe this scene: baffling." 1