BOW TO THE NINJA WHO JUDGES YOU ALL!Ah Evil Ninja! Be swift with swiftness of the tigress, in your terrible judgement!
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Well...I thought it was funny!? Shut up!
_________________________Kill self?
SAD SAPPY SUCKER29/06/08Depending on what you hope to gain each week – ok, who am I kidding? –, each month from reading this rant, you'll either be pleased or disappointed to learn that I'm in relative good cheer, having passed my cursed driving test just the other day. Further to this, I face the agreeable prospect of a clear and leisurely stretch of fuck all to do until September, this week of which I've spent maintaining a large country home; sitting to write likes there's no tomorrow in a quaint little study surrounded by old books and busts of Soviet dictators – my idea of heaven. Anyway, despite this veritable bliss, I will nonetheless endeavor to present the usual bleak picture that you all so crave. Let us begin.I am, amongst the most tempestuous of my disagreements, adverse to fakery; and so I always shall be. Those who identify the virtue of another and – either by compulsion of the personality or a dishonesty in motive – commit themselves first to associating themselves with the other's success, before then imitating it upon a premise of originality; these individuals are nothing short of cretins, scavengers of human creativity. Those who will blindly follow the pretender in favor of the original source are little better. Let us be clear, when I act I don't need someone to be there backing me up. I need no lieutenant to my proverbial captain; I am the self-made protagonist of my own destiny. I don't consider the act of others imitating me as at all flattering. They may do as they wish within limits, but they progress me no further with their attempts. I am the instigator of whatever success I may reap, I owe no debt to loyal contemporaries. Understood?So, when I am crudely imitated – as if an unintentional parody were being enacted – I find it mournful that whatever infrequent morsels of quality, reminiscent of my tone, are issued hence appear so as an illusion of originality and singularity of thought. What bothers me more is that people follow the pretender – who had invariably introduced himself as the colleague, of all things, of me – as if there were some new insight to be found in the substandard copying of my quintessence. It seems, much to the detriment of my occasionally optimistic outlook on life, that people would rather settle for mediocrity and imitative bastardry these days, in neglect of the originality and resilience of the source. They would persuade themselves of their happiness at adulating a watered-down version of me.With this said, what is to be done? The answer: nothing. I'm tired frankly of the immaturity and fickleness of people. Of trying, in vain, to second-guess the people around me and their latest misguided directions. I leave them to uncover the no-so-shocking truth on their own, whenever they do, if they do. I no longer have the energy to engage in any busy goings on when within three months I will exit the fray unto my new environment. Only one thing keeps me here in spirit, but I fear undue caution from both parties concerned will see it little further. For my part at least, I apologise.
WHAT I’M LISTENING TO NOWADAYS: Sufjan Stevens; Dartz!; Modest Mouse; The Helio Sequence; Chris Thile; Idlewild; The Shins; Capercaillie; Belle & Sebastian; Clap Your Hands Say Yeah; Nickel Creek; We are Scientists; Stapleton; Minus the Bear; Deaf Shepherd; GoodBooks; Dut; Augustana.Much less specifically, anything progressive-indie, shoegaze, americana, post-punk, acoustic, jazz, bluegrass, folk, renaissance, baroque, 20th century, minimalist or experimental.
WHAT I’M READING NOWADAYS: Young Stalin, by Simon Sebag Montefiore; Whit, by Iain Banks; Bad Luck and Trouble, by Lee Child (hell yes); Stalin: The Court Of The Red Tsar, by Simon Sebag Montefiore; The Prophet Unarmed: Trotsky 1921-29, by Isaac Deutscher; The Basic Writings of Nietzsche, translated by Walter Kaufmann.
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