I'm fucking sick again, mucous filling the space between my ears usually reserved for the plotting of new forms of self-aggrandizement, and like my health, it seems that the whole world has gone to shit...
Kurt Vonnegut is dead, and though not a literal tragedy in terms of age (he was 84), it is a literary tragedy; anytime a powerfully-rebellious, original mind is snuffed out, the world becomes just a little less tolerable...
New tidal-waves of racial-ignorance are washing up on the shores of popular-media, with Don Imus getting shit-canned for calling a university women's basketball-team "nappy headed hos", Tony Blair saying, unnecessarily, that recent violence in Britain wouldn't cease "by pretending it is not young black kids doing it", and the revelation that a leather-couch ordered in Brampton will come in a shade of "nigger-brown"...
To top it all off, kind of weakly considering the above bullshit, last night's Peeping Tom show was disappointing...they were under an immense amount of pressure, admittedly, after having opened for Gnarls Barkley during one of the best shows I've ever seen; still, the entertainment value was high, despite the up-and-down sound-quality, and, to be honest, I'd probably pay for a ticket to watch Mike Patton feed animals at the zoo, so I shouldn't complain...
No, I should complain; bitching & moaning has been CLINICALLY-PROVEN to help the healing process....it's a SCIENTIFIC FACT.
Also proven, though more spuriously, is that CAPITAL-LETTERS greatly aid in the GETTING OVER of ONE'S SELF.
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