Neil Young: I am doing this because Spotify is spreading fake information about vaccines – potentially causing death to those who believe the disinformation being spread by them. Please act on this immediately today and keep me informed of the time schedule. I want you to let Spotify know immediately TODAY that I want all my music off their platform. They can have Rogan or Young. Not both.
Spotify: No, seriously…who da fuck is Neil Young?
N.P.: “We The People” – Kid Rock
“Unseasonably warm and dry.” That’s how the weather idiots have been describing the anti-winter doldrums that we find ourselves in out here in Anhedonia County. It was 70°F in Fecal Creek this weekend. Middle of January…70 fucking °s! Not a cloud in the sky. It hasn’t rained in weeks, with no rain in the forecast. Ripped off of another winter again. We are displeased. It just depresses the shit out of me. I should look into moving to Norway.
N.P.: “Pumped Up Kicks (feat. Ralph Saenz)” – John Murphy
Just devastated to learn of Meat Loaf’s passing. A truly legendary musician, singer, and actor, Meat Loaf was probably the first “rock star” to appear on my radar as a kid. He made a relatively rare appearance on American television in the late 70s, and I was floored. I don’t remember what show it was, but I remember the moment very clearly. I remember he was one of two musicians appearing on TV at that time that my dad actually knew anything about (the other was Johnny Cash). My dad told me that Meat had apparently suffered a nervous breakdown recently, which prompted me to ask, “What’s a nervous breakdown?” I sat rapt, alternately looking at the TV screen and my dad as he explained.
Anyway, the world and it’s soundtrack are getting increasingly uninteresting as talents pass and are not replaced.
N.P.: “Bat Out of Hell” – Meat Loaf
I feel like I’m fighting a four-front war lately. Sure, it’s stressful but I kinda like it..kicking the shit out of all four fronts.
There was tentative talk about going to LA tonight for the Kimmel Show, but that’s not happening. Alas.
N.P.: “Call Me Little Sunshine” – Ghost
What an absurd couple of weeks it’s been. Battered on the rocks of what is certainly one of the most brutal existential crises ever recorded, fighting a moronic government, writing books, building a pirate ship (this goddamn ship is going to be the death of me)…it’s been nuts. Gotta get back to it….
N.P.: “Navras” – Juno Reactor
Sitting alone in The Shed, moving from one desk to another, I discovered somewhat painfully that the sun is already getting far enough north in our afternoon skies to shine directly in my eyes at 15:50. So I gave the sun The Finger. Which caused me to chuckle, because I was alone, didn’t do it for show, I meant it. Fuck that sun. Then I chuckled some more, wondering how people I know would give the sun The Finger today. I decided probably none, since I don’t really know that many people, and the people I do know tend to have better things to do than pretending the sun cares about their opinion of it.
For what it’s worth, I did a bunch of other stuff today….legitimate stuff. But I also gave the sun The Finger.
N.P.: “Crazy Black Magic” – Sprayer
What’s crackin’, dear reader. I have nothing of interest to report just yet…I’ve been working absurd amounts, making slow but solid progress on the book. Just wanted to say hey…things should be less hectic soon.
N.P.: “We Want Your Soul (Radio Edit)” – Freeland
I miss having role models. Meaning other artists working at the same time. There was an energy that came with waking up each morning and knowing “the competition” had been up and working for hours. Most likely Prince and Hunter Thompson hadn’t even slept the night before. There were a bunch of guys, writers and musicians, all living and breathing and putting up with the same bullshit and yet still managing to turn something of quality out every day. Theirs were careers whose sometimes unexpected trajectories fascinated and inspired me. But now most of them are dead. And almost all of them killed themselves, sometimes accidentally, but mostly intentionally. Which makes their now-intensely felt absence significantly worse.
I’m thinking about getting a dog.
N.P.: “Followed The Waves” – Melissa Auf der Maur
Holy Jesus, dear reader…wicked case of the running, screaming existential fantods today. Survivor’s guilt coupled with the standard questions of mortality one faces when one looks around and notices rather a lot of people from ones past are now rather dead.
Some days I truly do miss drugs, and this, understanding reader, is just such a day. A nice big bag of drugs would go a long way to change this mood I seem to be stuck in today.
Okay, fuck it…what I’m really wrestling with (and losing to) is the futility and pointlessness of everything. Going through the belongings of the recently deceased, one sees all the attempts at various things a person made during their lives, their successes and failures…and, given the context, it all just seems so futile, regardless of what they may have achieved during their lifetimes.
I really miss drugs.
N.P.: “Goodbye Horses” – ††† (Crosses)
Happy New Year, dear reader. I hope your celebrations were festive. I did a bunch of writing.
I’m looking forward to 2022 much more so than I was the previous year. There are some things that I know are going to happen later in the year that are very cool, and then there are a few plans that I’m hopeful about.
I was bored most of last year, and as a result, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, dear reader, I was boring. In fairness, though, last year, so was everyone else. This year, however, I believe will be different.
This week’s short story is “Polygamoose,” a story about a humble moose frustrated by his inability to mate for life. It might end up being worse that “The Proctologist and The Snow Globe,” but we’ll see. It’s off to a solid start.
N.P.: “Stobart’s Blues” – I Monster