The ghouls and goblins of our collective lore are found in the dark recesses of our belief structures. They lurk, latching onto our subconscious fears. The monster stories that dot our history reflect the worst parts of humanity. If we look deeply enough into the ghastly creatures that are said to live in the darker corners of our rooms, we can elements of ourselves. The vampire you invited in is no different.
Vampires are codified into our subconscious through centuries of writing as entities that were titled undead. Though their remains would be shrouded and buried, early reports of ‘the chewing dead’ would eventually spin into more spectral stories of ghost-beings that somehow rose from their grave and were able to prowl around. In some cultures, vampires would feed on livestock – magically retaining life-source from the blood of local animals. In others, these beings would have to target humans. From the plethora of vampire writings through our history, we’ll focus on a few traits of these creatures for the duration of this article.
Vampires have rules.
Folkloric vampires have had a number of common traits. These range from Chinese beliefs that saw any animal jumping over a grave creating the possibility of enabling the undead to medieval European ideas that vampires could be killed by wooden steaks being driven into their hearts. To build out the argument I’m looking to present, I’m going to focus on three tenants of vampire lore.
Vampires must be invited into your space.
Vampires depend on your life-source to survive.
Vampires can be prevented and destroyed.
Whether you believe in monsters or not, there is an irrefutable truth available to all humans; the stories that pair us to some of what we fear have intrinsic lessons built into them. That’s what makes our lore so powerful. It’s carved out of our day-to-day life to help make meaning from the lessons that people in our history have already learned.
The tie-in; The Dracula Industry.
I’d like to make a leap here. To bring some of the stories that made us aware of vampires to the modern era through a meaningful metaphor. I believe that some aspects of modern living can be represented by the vampiric rules we’ve outlined here. The industries behind what we eat, the content we enjoy and the tools we use to engage with life are, I’ll argue, absolutely rife with examples that mirror – you guessed it – vampires.
Before we continue into breaking down this comparison, I want to take a moment to further clarify the direction we’re headed in. Above – I said that some aspects of our lifestyle can emulate these stories. No, I don’t think we’re trapped in some insufferable, one-way trip to apocolyptica. I do think, however, that it’s critically important to understand the relationship we’ve got with parts of our reality that are undoubtedly victim to mechanisms of control that can dramatically sway the way things work out.
We have to recognize that some systems are in-play against our best interests and build out a comprehensive offensive posture to rally in our best interests.
Open doors.
One part of the heretical tales that track through vampire literature revolve around the idea that their undead powers are somehow tied to invitation. In reading about this ‘rule’ of vampire writings, I stumbled into a good overview that hinges on the line drawn between Good and Evil;
According to The Vampire Book: Encyclopedia of the Undead, a seventeenth-century Greek vampirologist by the name of Leo Allatius was “possibly the first modern author to write a book on vampires.” In 1645, he finished De Graecorum hodie quirundam opinationibus where he referenced the need for a vampire to be invited into a potential victim’s home before they could enter.
Leo claimed that the undead would rise from their graves at night and travel from village to village knocking on various doors. While doing this, the vampire “calls aloud by name in a hoarse voice one who dwells within. If such a one answers he is lost; for assuredly he will die the next day. But if he does not answer he is safe.”
The vampire’s inability to walk freely into someone else’s home is rooted in the concept of evil. Evil itself can exist in two ways — psychologically and spiritually — but the point of entry is the same for both. In either scenario, the victim must be willing to accept evil, either into their heart or into their hearths.
Jennifer Tisdale, Distractify.
Presuming Good
The passage from Ms. Tisdale assumes that such a thing as a moral spectrum exists. I’ll take that as truth as I continue here. The crux of this article isn’t a debate on whether such things as good or evil exist as much as what you might be able to do about their influence on your day-to-day.
The reason that invitation plays such a major role here is because it also assumes that the door in this scenario, or, whatever it is actively blocking the bad stuff from mingling with you is under your direct control.
If you don’t invite the vampire in, it can’t affect you.
So, what then, about our lifestyle could be rapping at your chamber door?
For the duration of this article, I’m going to delve into the work of Michael Moss. He’s an award-winning author from Brooklyn, NY. I’ve recently stumbled into his work on the intricacies of the processed-food industry by way of his book; Salt Sugar Fat: How the Food Giants Hooked Us.
I knew shortly after reading the introduction that this book would illicit some familiar feelings for me. I’ve stated before that my upbringing was dotted by punk rock and skateboarding. So, the swell of frustration when I started reading about the ‘industry’ in Michael’s book provided some well-needed fuel to double-down on some of the advocacy toward wellness that I’ve written about here on SIXFEET.
So, who exactly is knocking?
Imagine there’s a door-to-door salesman. He’s got his case full of widgets. When he stops by your house, his argument starts as being pretty provocative.
“These might not be the finest widgets available,” he begins, his straight-line lips eking out every bit of honesty he can muster. “but, we have the best scientists available working to guarantee that once you try it, you will feel incomplete without it.” His smile seems to shroud something. As if there’s more to that, but he stops short of the rest of the story.
He pulls one of the unremarkable widgets from it’s case. As you hold it, the familiar sound of it’s package triggers some old, dusty memory of your childhood. For it’s weight, you can’t believe it could cost so much, but you remember the way it feels when you use it and the cost seems to dissolve.
“What’s it like when I try it?” you ask, cautious but curious. Your eye darts to the widget. In the back of your mind, you wonder what it might be like to believe him.
Watch closely.
He changes. His eyes flutter and start rolling backward. His face wrinkles into a half-frown, inhaling a hissy breath deeply into his pulsing nostrils. Out of some kind of fit, he twitches twice. You take a half step back, closing the door a few inches in front of you has he snaps to attention. The possession that raced through him with your question snaps behind a filter as a well-controlled smile creeps onto his face from the corners of his mouth.
His eyes seem to deepen. He focuses, unblinking, on you.
“It’s bliss.” He replies quietly, feigning normalcy behind a well-practiced facade of marketing research.
His smirk widens just enough to show his teeth. For just a moment – and it might have just been your mind – but you could have sworn you saw something vicious behind his LinkedIn look.
Of course, it’s never sold that way.
What I really like about Salt Sugar Fat, the aforementioned book, is that it’s not just analysis of the compounds that influence our decision making process at the grocery counter (and standing in front of our own fridges), but the systems in place to make those salty, sweet, creamy calls more directly palatable for food industry coffers. Moss offers some insight into the shrouded meeting rooms that create promises of wealth and prestige. The moments where people actively plot against your health. The instants, sinister as they are, that lock down policies toward targeting you.
This sort of thing is easy to discount.
In fact, just exploring the idea that other people want to control you isn’t all that provocative anymore.
Imagine that – we’ve accepted the tactic put forth by the power brokers whose victory dance swells in the development of public health crises.
Obesity isn’t the end-game, it’s the welcome mat.
After all, the measure of success for the industry is volume. They want you to eat more and spend more in a cyclic, never-ending loop. By the nature of that problem, some will therefore encounter the byproduct of this loop; eating more makes you bigger. Now, for some in our circle, that’s the aim – but, we’re not talking about building muscle here. No – we’re talking about a scourge that shows up at every fire hall, police station, EMS station and military base in North America.
In fact, this is a problem we invited by way of our relationship not only with food, but the companies that manufacture it.
The critical thing to remember is that making your life less enjoyable by way of obesity isn’t the goal.
Addiction is their goal.
Do you know how many food companies are owned and operated by cigarette companies?
How much do you know about the way salt, sugar and fat are used to trigger physiopsychological responses when you eat certain foods?
Do you know what the ‘bliss point’ is?
Here’s one – given this equation; P = A1T + A2C + A3U – B1$ – B2H – B3Q, do you know what social consequences are being measured in your decision to (P) purchase?
If you can’t explain your side of the relationship here, you’re woefully uninformed. And, in this case, it really is a race. Your participation is a constant, malignant quest by people who depend on your consumption to convince you to buy more shit.
In the video above, Michael Moss – the author of Salt, Sugar, Fat – introduces some concepts that will help you cross the bridge on this. And, it’s not just the birth of ‘pumpkin spice’ itself that should cause the alarm bells to ring – despite the monotonous advertising that percolates to the surface at the start of September. It’s deeper than that.
It’s not about processed food, it’s about dependency.
Years ago, when I was a kid, I remember the relentless pressures from ads, teachers and society in general to stamp out smoking. It seemed like people had suddenly realized the unavoidable truth.
Even if it feels good, the consequences could be fatal.
Now, the glorious part of our culture lays in the freedom to make that decision. You can, if you want, participate in things like Jiu Jitsu, that may actually injure you if you take part. The same can be said about vices. Booze, nicotine – they’ve got varying degrees of harm directly affiliated with them. But, you can totally take part, legally, if you want to.
I guess, as I’m wading through Michael’s book, I’m left with a specific wonder.
There’s a vampire at the door.
It’s not about getting spooked by the ghouls themselves, either. At this point, we don’t have to address the obvious, if grim, reality of the thing. It’s not exactly a jump scare. There’s a fantastically rich, immensely resourceful, massively ambitious industry that has enveloped our most primary human need – the food we eat. That industry can sometimes take on the predatory nature of the vampire fiends that litter horror lore.
See, it’s not found at the local market so much as it’s seen in the middle-isles in your local big-box grocery store. The soul-sucking, mind-hacking voracious scoundrels that market for your specific addictive tendencies are front and center in the ultra-processed boxes that last too long in our pantries. Worse yet, the campaigns that are thinly veiled as ‘low-fat’ or ‘reduced sodium’ alternatives make us think we’re deciding to be better.
When we opt in – that is, when we offer our wallets to the unfood found in the perfect crunch of a Dorito or the euphoric rasp of a Coke across our tongues, we’re inviting the vampire for dinner. Your dollars make the difference in this case. And, blind participation fuels the problem. Therefore, knowing when and how you can take this part of your person back is instrumental in reclaiming your dietary sovereignty.
This isn’t a call for you to start a farm. I’m not blaming you for indulging.
At the very, very least – you must know what system you’re a part of.
Michael’s book is the first in what will be more reading for me. As I work through the end of this book, I’m looking forward to a chat with him; we’ve connected already and will share a conversation on this topic for publication here to further unwrap this topic.
