When did the soundtrack at Starbucks get so very dark? Not that I disapprove, you understand, since my musical tastes rarely stray into happy happy joy joy territory. But this morning, having arrived early in work, I decided to treat myself to a latte and a cheese pastry, and was entertained by The Cure’s Lullaby - “And I feel like I’m being eaten
by a thousand million shivering furry holes / And I know that in the morning I will wake up in the shivering cold”; Echo and the Bunnymen’s The Cutter - “Watch the fingers close / When the hands are cold”; and, perhaps most bizarrely of all, New Order’s gloomy 1983 classic Your Silent Face - “The sign that leads the way / The path we can not take / You’ve caught me at a bad time / So why don’t you piss off?”
It’s difficult to avoid coming to the conclusion that the slight excitement I am experiencing over the imminent arrival of my new washer-dryer is, in fact, a clear sign of how empty my brain has become. How empty my mind already is. Surely it’s only the aspic in my cranium that’s keeping my head together now, and that can’t last forever.
“I like flawed people, people with mileage. I like people who know life is mostly gray, that answers are hard, and maybe impossible. I like someone with experience at this point. A little alley understanding, scrambling cur, drug sense, someone who can drink and talk all night and still make their morning appointment with verve, make it very well.”—thunk: ryan manning v sean lovelace
Who even knew that it was still open? Still, it’s a sad loss, and I shall mourn the passing of this ancient and illustrious corner of the internet for about as long as it takes to write this comment. There.
"Vincent Connare designed the ubiquitous, bubbly Comic Sans typeface, but he sympathizes with the world-wide movement to ban it" - and more to the point, look at the picture of him. Look at him. Look. That’s right, yes - he even looks like his font.
What (no idea) Why (because I have to) Who (I no longer recall, but it used to be me) How (just by turning up and breathing) When (there’s no hurry, so stop saying there is) How Much (not enough, not nearly enough)
No, I don’t know why either. Though I suspect that a combination of passive-aggression, self-loathing and utter pointlessness are mostly to blame. You should take part. You could win a sock. You could also win a piece of writing. But it’s the sock you want really, isn’t it?
I looked in Google Reader and found 243 unread items. 243 items craving my attention, my indulgence, my response. I started scrolling. My right index finger managed to persuade the scroll wheel and my attention span to skim through about 100 items, though in truth I think my brain had given up all hope of taking in anything useful from this mass of meaningless words a long while before that. So I stopped, and then proceeded to commit that most unforgivable of internet sins. “Mark all items as read?” Yes, yes, oh God, yes. I feel almost cleansed.
I would like to apologise most sincerely if you wrote something absolutely fascinating over the past few days. Maybe you could send them to me in the post in an eye-catching envelope. Or scrawled on a scrunched scrap of paper. Wrapped around a brick. Thrown at my head.
“I stood there like the opposite of a hug. Everyone passed and left drops of rain on me. I was a vertical mural with biblical scenes made out of drops. The scenes eventually dried and I kept track of each vanishing figure.”—McSweeney’s Internet Tendency: All the Beautiful Flowers
“Ghostface Killah is sure that there are people who do like him. He is sure that there must be a girl who will love him and choose to spend time with him and talk to him. There can be no way to be certain. Ghostface Killah uses a computer to Google search “How can you know for sure?” and finds allergy advice and questions about God and Christians and shit. Fucking Christians. Ghostface Killah writes on a scrap of paper ‘there should be a spray that you can spray on a girl and it turns a different colour if she likes you’. The scrap of paper is pinned to the wall.”—All In Together Now by Chris East
“It’s the [news]papers. And, remarkably, we live in a BBC that listens to the papers. If the BBC holds its nerve for another 10 years, those voices will be gone. But I don’t know if the BBC will hold its nerve for another 10 years. And I’ll tell you another thing (bangs table), all those people who said “Get rid of the licence fee”, they haven’t said a word since advertising collapsed and the entire commercial sector’s in danger. ’Cos then you look at the BBC and think, “This is remarkable.” The trouble is, the BBC doesn’t have the nerve to stand up, because it’s so apologetic. It doesn’t fly its own flag and say, “Look how brilliant we are, and look what you’d lose if you attacked us.”—Why David Tennant and Russell T Davies are leaving Doctor Who - Times Online (via hydragenic)
“What makes me extremely upset is the assumption, usually from people who are entirely well-meaning but sometimes from people who are not, that my situation is something over which I have control, a choice, something over which I only have to make a slight effort and all would be… well. “But you’re so strong…” “I’m sure if you tried…” “Surely someone like you…” It is a pernicious variant on the “pull your socks up” and “snap out of it” approach.”—twisted rib
My life is playing dirty tricks on me. All I want to do is lie face down in shit, piss and vinegar and slowly choke on the filth of my war of words until I’m bloated blue and dead. Instead, I sit in an antiseptic anteroom that feels more like a vehicle repair shop, glaring at anyone who dares to ask me about mechanical knees. I am worried that I’ll swear at them and then offer to gnaw their skull and suck on their eyeballs.