There’s something oddly comforting about cattle mutilations, isn’t there? No? Just me? Cows mysteriously and clinically slaughtered, no footprints, tire tracks or evidence of human involvement at all. Like the cows were painlessly Raptured from this stinking Earth and their own servitude that only leads to slaughter by different means. The corpse left there decaying in the son, but their bodies hollowed out by draining, lying there empty and bloodless.
There’s something quite undeniable about the possibility of just… disappearing. You wouldn’t need any reasons, no tragedy or story to worry your family with, you can just – poof! – drain your whole body of all its essence and leave an empty husk in the sand to be discovered by an Idaho rancher.
Protest with love, baby Clap your hands Stomp your feet And if you want to You can shout Hallelujah We found love We found love We found love Protest with love Protest with love
Should we, though? When we are combatting forces so lacking in love, so bereft of humanity, is there really a benefit to having ‘love’ on your side? Will the oppressors eventually down their arms with a shrug, saying “Fair enough, they’ve been the better person here, played an absolute blinder, have to admit when you’ve been morally beaten, fair’s fair”? My first reaction to someone enthusing that we “Protest with love” is picturing those fucking Portland, USA gimps wearing unicorn and frog fancy dress costumes to somehow protest Immigration and Customs Enforcement raids. Fucking liberals! If you’ve bought into the propaganda about politics being a binary choice, and you see one side acting like that?? Whooo! Trump 2028 baby! USA! USA! USA! Seriously, I know next to nothing about Portland, but I know that I fucking hate it!
Another reading to the song would be to protest with love in our heart. Which, fine, listen up liberals, I kinda agree. I would never phrase it like that, because that sounds gay as hell, but I can at least understand the feeling in a certain sense. Again, if you truly believe that politics is a binary made up completely of the right and liberalism (which is centrist, swinging to centre right when capital is threatened) then sure, yeah, whatever, speak of the benefits of your own side rather than just complain about the other. That Blue Sky Heroine Kamala Harris lost an election because her only policy was “I’m not Donald Trump”. The deteriorating shell of the Labour Party currently in power in the UK have only ever used the fact that they’re not the Tories/Reform as a potential vote winner, all the while pushing policies that both of those right wing loony bins might balk at for being “A little too racist“. ‘Not being the other ones’ only really works for the people who were always going to support you, probably because their Dad did and they think politics is like supporting a fucking football team.
Aw, dude, in the future you’ll be forced to eat algorithms, which will be injected straight into your anterior insula and be called “structuralising the framework”. You’ll be able to choose your newborn baby’s sex, race, Twitter handle and initial .README file, and births will instead be called “Day One Updates”. And these day one updates won’t come out your fanny like before, they’ll be shared through ethernet cables and your happy day will be marked by receiving a Steam download key. And and and and and people won’t even have sex anymore, they’ll just… like… merge their Javascripts or some shit. You want to do some shopping? Club Penguin. File your taxes? Club Penguin. Carry out a terrorist attack? Club Penguin. We may currently live in the age of ‘Everything Computer‘, but the future will be Everything Club Penguin. Billy Idol tried to warn us but we didn’t want to listen.
Nigga, I told him it’s all mine, no ifs, ands, or buts (oh) I told my agent I wanna be treated just like a slut (oh) Pay me directly after (oh) Close the book with a folded page to keep the chapter (oh) Told Grandma how much my chain cost, look like I slapped her (oh, mm)
Did a couple roles but in my raps, I’m not an actor (oh) My B.M. ex a straggler, she happy that I saved her My mama in a castle (oh), I love her, so we neighbors (yeah) My sister cook with flavour (mwah), it’s sweet, but didn’t savor (oh) He had a sack, then wavered (oh), my ex think I’m a player (mm) My homies think I’m player (mm)
This post might actually be my last. It’s been fun. Occasionally.
OK, if you haven’t been following the news recently, I might have to give you a quick primer. I get it, don’t worry, it can be a nasty world out there and sometimes we have to attempt to protect our own mental health by not even engaging with the horror, I completely understand if you aren’t up on possibly the biggest story of late 2022. Trigger warning, this might be the most upsetting. Remember a few days ago when I posted my Pusha T post? Fifty second best album of the year? Not bad, right? Sure not as high as the near top five placing that Rolling Stone had (bafflingly) deemed it worthy of, but then I’ve certainly been questioning if it’s actually better than Alvvays, Lykke Li, The Smile or Big|Brave, so… it all works out? I dunno, whatever, that’s where the album fell. Was it a particularly good post? Hmmmmmmnot especially. I didn’t spend anyway near the time on it that I dedicated to Tanya Tagaq or Arcade Fire, for instance, but likely because there weren’t any sexual assaults or cultural genocides to discuss. I mentioned how Pusha’s lyrics often don’t convey what he thinks they do, which I would have liked to delve into more given the time. As a post in general though, particularly when compared to my best work, it was definitely m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m
Yes! It’s getting more and more difficult to use that MJF meme, but – bah Gahd! – I still manage it!
Necessary Evil 