I've received two emails and one comment (which I accidentally deleted - my sincere apologies, I meant to approve it) in the last two weeks or so alerting me that this shitty blog is now fuck-all shitty to read on cellphones, and contrary to one opinion I actually DO give a flying fuck about this if for no other reason than why would I not want people to read this shitty blog? I was going to post this Sparklehorse song but can't because motherfucking youtube doesn't motherfucking permit posting a motherfucking song with fucked-up in the title, my motherfucking reaction:
It will never stop, the enshittification of everything. I can't confirm the fuck-all shittiness of reading this on cellphones since (a) I hated the internet on my cellphone when my cellphone could actually access the internet and (b) my cellphone currently can't access the internet because I don't know the fuck why and I don't care the fuck why and I'll be damned if I go buy a new phone to read the internet on the phone, which I hate. I have not changed any settings on this blog in literally at least ten years or more, so while I accept the blame for any and all fuck-ups here this particular fuck-up happened without my attempting to change something and fucking it up and in any case if I DID fuck something up I have no fucking idea how I did or how to fix (guggle's AI code recently installed along with no doubt far more sophisticated spyware, not just me, you too) it. This seems to be happening across every motherfucking spectrum of my life, every motherfucking spectrum but two. Have I told you 345,823,929 times we are being reprogrammed? Strangest fucking days of my life. Where's my kind ghost? Hear, more Sparklehouse, this is one of dozens of my favorite five songs ever:
What is there to say other than I am as hot a mess as I am dark as are these the hottest, messiest, darkest, strangest days of my life. I've not had the opportunity to be shot in the face yet by the magagestapo, the bastards are ignoring Moco, I'd have bet they'd be working east of Georgia Avenue by now, I'll be there with a whistle and a camera when they do. Time for the traditional Hot Dark Mess song; this is the first time since Fleabus died that I've posted this, she's on guitar and drums
. . Hey, I pruned the blegrells (or started to then got bored of it and angry at myself for (giving a fuck about this) (thinking it would help dull the hot dark mess) being bored and angry), if you're not where you used to be you haven't posted in six months meaning you probably haven't been here in at least six months and in most cases were never here once anyway. If your blog was dead (all the typepad blogs, typepad died) you were purged, if your blog still exists but has been abandoned you were moved to one of the two moribund purgatories at bottom of blagralls. I'll finish the job or not, hope not, not today. Here, have an angry and apt Robinson Jeffers poem:
BE ANGRY AT THE SUN
Robinson Jeffers
That public men publish falsehoods Is nothing new. That America must accept Like the historical republics corruption and empire Has been known for years.
Be angry at the sun for setting If these things anger you. Watch the wheel slope and turn, They are all bound on the wheel, these people, those warriors. This republic, Europe, Asia.
Observe them gesticulating, Observe them going down. The gang serves lies, the passionate Man plays his part; the cold passion for truth Hunts in no pack.
You are not Catullus, you know, To lampoon these crude sketches of Caesar. You are far From Dante’s feet, but even farther from his dirty Political hatreds.
Let boys want pleasure, and men Struggle for power, and women perhaps for fame, And the servile to serve a Leader and the dupes to be duped. Yours is not theirs.
☝
The traditional Hot Dark Mess gif, deployed for the first time in at least a decade
☝
"I know I’m harping on this but it’s important to remember that when pundits/politicians are talking about “the norms” on stuff like this they are talking about the period when the president of the United States was bombing seven different countries but it’s okay because he told Congress first sorta"
A second thorough, but necessary, Duh: we are the assholes
A third thorough, but necessary, Duh: America Is a Gangster State
"Very important thread on why Trump is targeting places like Venezuela. It makes no sense under a model of Trump as head of a nation-state, but makes complete sense under a model of "neo-royalism" where the primary driver is not national interest but interests of "elite cliques and sovereign rulers."
Meet Paul Singer, the shitlord Trump Megadonor Set to Make a Killing on Venezuela Oil
"Barack Obama’s decision to hold no one in the Bush administration to account for their war crimes because they wanted to be able to commit their own was the hinge point that decided the future of warfare worldwide for the worse"
ICE Plans $100 Million “Wartime Recruitment” Campaign Targeting Military and Firearms Enthusiasts
"Now the seedy interior of what lies within so many structures of power in our country has been revealed. It is not pretty. The weakness, the perfidy, the greed, the racism, the anti-semitism and Islamaphobia, the hatred of women, the perversion and indecency, the disregard for the intellectual, physical and spiritual safety of our children; the choice of nihilism over accountability, the absolute disinterest in the values of democracy"
"The US has couped Venezuela for its oil and for capitalism. The invasion is bipartisan. Obama set the stage with an emergency powers declaration against Venezuela a decade ago. This is what the US empire is. This is what it does"
Once I posted far more birthdays than I do now (for instance, today, December 30th, is both Patti Smith's and Michael Nesmith's birthday, Alex Chilton was born on the 28th, they once would each get songs if not stand alone posts though today they only get this parenthesis) but I still check each day for whose birthday it is as you who follow me at Bluesky can attest. I still do the biggies though occasionally not, not for any other reason than my current relationship with the birthday person, dead or alive, on that particular birthday when the post doesn't feel heartfelt but feels like filler to me. I'm still an attention slut, just not as avid and desperate as once (and/or just as, just more visual than verbal now)
I'd read and added to the grid below in the fifth row from the bottom two smart and debatable articles about the failure of what and whoever constitutes America's "literary elites" to confront Obama's betrayals that aid and abet to this day and tomorrow too Trump's monstrosity the night before Gaddis' birthday. I didn't know it was Gaddis' birthday until the next day, I check for birthdays on the same day. I had tried for months for a 2025 novel, new or old, that would if not break my reading slump at least open an extra sluice or two in my dam, and I'm two-thirds through my 4th or 5th reread of Pynchon's *Mason & Dixon* (why a reread necessary for a reading reboot and how long to find the right one annoys me): I actually think go get the book instead of making myself go get the book and reading it against my will, what a world. Next to my battered copy of *Mason & Dixon* when I went to find it my equally battered *The Recognitions,* the Penguin edition with the van der Goes on the cover, almost as good an object as it is a novel, I have to keep not starting it less I fuck up the Pynchon. *The Recognitions* next, reread number fuck me for counting. Hence Sunday past's Gaddis birthday filler post, my apologies.
Strange days, both more to write about in direct proportion to how it gets more unnecessary to write it: kayfabe broken less fun to write about than kayfabe enabled and active. Everything feels like filler everywhere, everything new is born old, not just here. Paul Westerberg will be 66 tomorrow the 31st, he just gets this sentence. I may or not post George's New Years song on New Years Day. Hear, I've great new music at my Bandcamp, listen there once each album for free
"Very convenient that the rich ruling class techbros solution to income and wealth inequality will be solved by letting them accumulate even more wealth"
"If your president bombs Nigeria on Christmas just to distract from his crimes, you live in a shithole country
Western elites fear a ‘globalised intifada’ because they are its targets, not Jews
"The IMF has told Botswana that if it buys its own diamond mines and thus gains control over its own resource production, it will stop funding Botswana. For the IMF to maintain a relationship with Botswana, the country must keep its resources in the hands of white people
"American democracy has devolved into a humiliation ritual in which we are expected to pledge support for people who hate us so they can steal our property, molest our children, and punish us for talking about their crimes"
"Sabermetrics people need to own up to the damage they’ve done to society, on multiple axes"
➥
In some box in my basement my first edition copy of Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract is molding, as well as his yearly rotisserie paperbacks from a time of Dogzilla Wafers dominance
⮨
"I can *100% assure you* that if this report found that trans people & "wokeness" tanked the Harris campaign, the DNC would release it in a heartbeat"
"I cannot emphasize enough that Democrats were putting this man in charge of writing their version of Project 2025, their supposed north star for future policy priorities. And they did that *this year*"
I don't know most of these but I promise to listen to all that I don't but I absolutely vouch for The Whimbrels
MAKING THE BEST OF THE HOLIDAYS
James Tate
Justine called on Christmas day to say she was thinking of killing herself. I said, “We’re in the middle of opening presents, Justine. Could you possibly call back later, that is, if you’re still alive.” She was furious with me and called me all sorts of names which I refuse to dignify by repeating them. I hung up on her and returned to the joyful task of opening presents. Everyone seemed delighted with what they got, and that definitely included me. I placed a few more logs on the fire, and then the phone rang again. This time it was Hugh and he had just taken all of his pills and washed them down with a quart of gin. “Sleep it off, Hugh,” I said, “I can barely under- stand you, you’re slurring so badly. Call me tomorrow, Hugh, and Merry Christmas.” The roast in the oven smelled delicious. The kids were playing with their new toys. Loni was giving me a big Christmas kiss when the phone rang again. It was Debbie. “I hate you,” she said. “You’re the most disgusting human being on the planet.” “You’re absolutely right,” I said, “and I’ve always been aware of this. Nonetheless, Merry Christmas, Debbie.” Halfway through dinner the phone rang again, but this time Loni answered it. When she came back to the table she looked pale. “Who was it?” I asked. “It was my mother,” she said. “And what did she say?” I asked. “She said she wasn’t my mother,” she said.
