Up here in the northern hemisphere, today is the winter solstice…the first day of winter. Which is great. But the reason today is a high holy day on my calendar is because it is the longest night (and conversely, the shortest day) of the year. Since June 21, I have been “patiently” watching as the nights ever-so-slowly started getting longer, one minute at a time, until today. And now, starting tomorrow, I have to watch with slowly building dread and contempt as that wretched star in our sky starts showing up for slightly longer periods each day. Alas. For now, let there be night.
N.P.: “Tone Bank Jungle” – Holy Fuck
What a strange day. But that’s okay,
N.P.: “Lust for Life – The Prodigy Remix” – Iggy Pop
Just time for a quick update tonight, dear reader. Greta Thunberg is still a hypocritical twit, California is still a toxic shit-bog that needs to be purged, and the books are still woefully unfinished.
N.P.: “Centurion” – King Buffalo
Evenin’, reader. As you know, some days are better than others as far as writing goes. Today I just didn’t feel like it. Wasn’t particularly motivated. I got a lot done today, but not a bit of it was writing. I started working on something, got about a sentence down, then just quit. Wasn’t feeling it. Even so, I’m still pretty hard on myself when I don’t write. So I’m in kind of a lousy mood.
In completely unrelated news, a very happy birthday to Keith Richards who turns 107 today.
In other brilliant musical news, a very happy birthday to Ludwig Van Beethoven. Maestro. ———————————————————————————— California is a derelict miasmic shithole that needs to be purged. I was born here, I live here, and I’ll likely die here, and the whole thing is an embarrassment. This state is an abject societal failure. The streets are full of homeless shit, the politicians are inept and moronic, the courts are corrupt, and most of the people are dildos. Okay…I probably shouldn’t have said that: that’s unfairly insulting to actual dildos. Each night I pray to the forces of darkness for the Big One to hit, some Old Testament earthquake that leaves the state cleaved off from all else, sinking quickly into the cleansing depths of the Pacific. That’s the best thing that could happen for all parties concerned. I was going to make a list of 49 states that are better than California, but I need to get back to work on the book. #seeyoudowninArizonaBay
N.P.: “Hyperdrive” – Devin Townsend
Only time for a wellness check, this evening, dear reader. You good? Oriented x 4? Good enough. Gotta run.
N.P.: “Perfect Way to Go” – Ottoman
I’ll be so fucking glad when this dumb-ass decade is over with. Ours is the absolute worst culture in the history of the world, dear reader. And I’m seeing no signs of improvement any time soon.
Greta Thunberg is Time Magazine’s Person of the Year. Which is, of course, a meaningless gesture. Which is, I suppose, apropos given that the “honor” is going to someone for making meaningless gestures. But it really is meaningless. Hell, they named me Person of the Year in 2006, which was arguably my shittiest year. I didn’t want the award, and I tried to refuse it, but it was too late: there was my face, staring sexily back at me from every single cover of Time Magazine that month. What had been done could not be undone. But I’ve never gotten comfortable with the unsolicited and pointless accolade. After all, it put me in some pretty dark company. Let’s revisit some of Time’s People of the Year, shall we? 1938 – Adolf Hitler. Back in ’38, before Time was woke, it was the Man of the Year award, and it seemed to be given to dictators rather frequently. Which is what they did. ’38 was the same year of the Kristalnacht, when Hitler’s Nazis destroyed buildings owned by Jews, and sent more than 30,000 Jewish Germans to concentration camps. Just seems like the staff at Time would not have had to look all that hard for someone…anyone…who would have been Man of the Year. Like, they could have chosen literally anybody else in the world who would have been a better Man of the Year simply because whomever the anybody else was, they would not have been Hitler. Okay, maybe not anybody, because get ready for 1939…. 1939 – Joseph Stalin. So, admittedly, Hitler had really earned his Man of the Year recognition in ’38: not only had he started rounding up all the Jews for his Final Solution, but he also invaded Poland and started World War II. So when ’39 rolled around, with Hitler’s extermination of the Jews was going so swimmingly, there was a faction of the editorial board at Time who wanted to give Uncle Adolf Man of the Year again. But that was considered unseemly. To name the same person Man of the Year two years in a row would be…fascist. And we wouldn’t want that. So they went with the next worst dictator on the list, fucking Stalin. On his orders, Soviet soldiers executed Polish POWs, raped and pillaged towns they occupied, and, not to be outdone by the Reich, established their own concentration camps. Indeed, Time’s editorial board seemed to think, “Here is a truly inspirational individual that we think our readership should look to as an example of the type of man they should aspire to be.” Outstanding. 1942 – Joseph Stalin. Yep. You read that right. It had been a couple years since Time had seen fit to declare a genocidal dictator Man of the Year, so what the heck, they gave it to Stalin again. In fairness he had been responsible for tens if not hundreds of thousands of deaths since his first go ’round in ’39. 1979 – Ayatollah Khomeini. I actually remember this one. I was 10, and even then I remember wondering, “What the fuck is Time thinking?” ’79 was the year Khomeini initiated the Islamic Revolution, made himself the Supreme Leader of Islamic Republic, and imposed Sharia law. In doing so he required women to veil themselves, banned all alcohol, Western films and music, and instituted brutal and draconian punishments on all who did not abide by the absurdly strict religious rules. 2006 – Me. And you. And everybody. They made literally everybody the “Person of the Year,” the rendering the “award” officially meaningless and stupid. So whatever…it is a completely meaningless gesture. But why not give it to someone that actually not only matters? If you’re going to insist on handing the fucking thing out every year, why not actually go for it and try to redeem yourselves? Why not try to make it actually mean something? Why not give it to the Hong Kong protesters, fighting and dying in the streets to try to bring democracy and self-rule to their people? Makes more sense then some spoiled hypocritical viking tweeting from a transatlantic cruise on a 40-foot yacht about her stolen childhood. But that’s just me…Time Magazine’s Person of the Year, 2006.
N.P.: “Hyper Worm Tamer – Remix” – Grinderman
Unfortunately, the ideas don’t also come with the time it takes to write them. It’s unbelievably frustrating.
N.P.: “In Walks Barbarella” – Clutch
There is truly no rest for the wicked, dear reader. Mo bidness today. Not nearly enough sleep. Been going for about 40 hours. Time to collapse.
N.P.: “Choke” – Hybrid
Too tired, dear reader. Got maybe an hour and change last night. For a good reason. I put myself to bed at a perfectly reasonable hour. But as soon as I got into bed, I had a thought that cried out to be written down. Which was followed immediately by another thought demanding to be written down next to the previous thought. I knew what time it was, but there was nothing I could do: these things had to be written down. And but so anyway when I finally laid down and tried to sleep, I was quite awake. Read for a while…nothing. Watched a movie…nothing. Eventually I went under, but, like I said, maybe an hour and change. But tonight’s going to be different, goddammit. Because tonight I am exhausted.
