Cigarettes # 1 and 2: If I'm such a fascist, how come I haven't killed you already?

FIRST CIGARETTE, 1:15pm
Walking downtown for coffee
MUSIC: "Two Little Hitlers," Elvis Costello

I need my head examined, I need my eyes excited, I'd like to join the Party but I was not invited.
If you make a member of me I'd be delighted.
Dial me a valentine, she's a smooth operator, it's all so calculated, she's got a calculator,
She's my soft-touch typewriter and I'm the great dictator.
Two little Hitlers will fight it out until one little Hitler does the other one's will. . .

As a right-wing student on a liberal campus, I am sometimes called a fascist. Consequently, I was interested to learn that the original title for this album was not Armed Forces, but Emotional Fascism. Could it be that I'm not a fascist, just an Elvis Costello fan?

So I dedicated my first cigarette of the day to "Two Little Hitlers" and wondering what emotional fascism would look like.

The concept of going beyond one's duty is incoherent to a fascist because he considers duty to be absolute. His life is overwhelmed by 'the infinite sphere of responsibility' (Martin Buber's phrase) whereby he serves the State with the same absolute loyalty that a monk serves God. Not even the smallest action is outside the scope of his duty, which is why privacy makes no sense in a fascist state.

When a man consecrates all of his actions to the state, he transforms his world into a stage on which he does not merely live, but performs. His smallest actions now have symbolic significance. (FASCISM: Your Name Up In Lights!) It's a way of believing in a sacramental universe without believing in God.

Love is the same thing: instead of consecrating every action to the state, you devote yourself to your beloved and begin to do everything for his sake, under his eye, according to your infinite duty to him.

SECOND CIGARETTE, 1:25pm
Still walking downtown
MUSIC: "Take Me to the River [live]," the Talking Heads

Don't know why I love you like I do, all the changes that you put me through.
You take my money and my cigarettes, and I haven't seen the worst of it yet.
I want to know, can you tell me why I love this pain?

With the Talking Heads, a conclusion crystallizes: love is emotional fascism.

(Which explains the historical connection between right-wing politics and sexual frustration.)