It has finally caught up to me; I’m softening as I age. “Holiday depression”. The relentless assault of cheer, phony and authentic, the bullshit controversies over Nativity scenes and greetings, the sight of a decrepit faith being mauled by Lilliputians, strutting and preening in their phony valor. The fucking loneliness; looking about for the “friends” who so quickly forgot us once ensconced in domestic bliss (may you asphyxiate in it) or withdrawn into their own caverns. The shrill boredom of the hyper-kinetic electronic sarcophagus that is the modern home! Yes, it’s that time again, reader–because no one else is at hand!–for me to say:
Get out, get out, get the fuck out already! Stop picking at this corpse–it feels pain still. Horrid creatures! Avert your dull, expectant gaze; you don’t rate to put eyeballs on me. To hell with you all, slack-jawed, dishrag, hair-ball civilians! Get out of my light. Don’t disturb this stagnant air. Don’t come slumming around here like some tourist. You reek of where you’ve been. Dive back into the Internet morass of plain, glib, literal-minded ephemera from whence you came.
There’s nothing for you here. We don’t craft reasonable arguments here; we don’t weigh sides and ponder, on this hand, but then on the other, but yet again… My God, people! I’m going to napalm the whole massive, tangled circle-jerk that is the blogosphere; dig in, bitches. Oh you precocious, oh you ponderous denizens of the Internet! I’ll lay you to waste as one.
No reader, you are not safe here. This isn’t for you. What you want is to have your biases confirmed, your neuroses assuaged, your angst soothed. You want a pat on the head. You want flattering light to soften the edges. You require one remove, minimum, from reality. You need dark; you can’t get it up in the light.
You laugh at this buffoonery but you know–you can’t do this. Don’t even try. I got skills. Echoes only second the boast–echoes diminishing off into the ether above–like music against your timid, confused din. I stand alone against the lot of you, and like my chances.
I don’t know about you, but I feel better. Let’s cleanse the palate:
“It’s all you’ll ever need…”