“Ooooh! Oooooh! Two albums on one list! Ooooh! Ooooh! This has only happened once before! Ooooh! Ooooooh! This is historic! Oooooh! Ooooo….!”
Is it historic, though? Is it? When Prince had two albums on the 2014 best albums list, he did actually write and perform both of the records, whereas Ash Koosha’s other entry on the list was largely written and composed by artificial intelligence, sooooooooooooooo… 1.5 albums on this year’s list?
No, no, no, no, no! There’s no way that an album as good as ‘Resolution’ is this low!
Hmmm, this album presents a bit of a problem for me in respect to me writing any sort of a coherent piece on it. I mean, sure, I haven’t really written a coherent piece yet in 386* blog posts, but this one is, like, far less likely to be coherent than most, yeah?
(*actual number, fact fans! Maybe the thousandth post is the one where I live stream my suicide? Considering it’s taken me three years to reach 384, it should take me, what, about six more to reach 1000? I’ll be in my forties by that point, and as a result almost definitely praying for death. Only if I get enough readers though. Make sure you all hit subscribe)
I got a phone call from BT on Thursday that said my internet would have to be shut off later that day because of irregular activity on my account, unless I took immediate action by pressing ‘one’. This, understandably, through me into a nervous frenzy. Cut off my internet!! I would literally be able to do nothing! My entire life, my work , my leisure and whatever the fuck this blog is*, is only rendered possible by being online! If you take me offline, I’d have to read a stinking book or something, like this was freaking 1970! No thanks! Plus, I keep a dangerously low amount of pornography in the house, barely a dozen DVDs and 700 or so pencil pictures of Rashida Jones, so I was worried where my next fifty or so wanks were going to come (pun!) from.
(*it doesn’t earn me any money, I don’t really get any pleasure writing it, I have no idea what the purpose of this fucking piece of shit is. Apart from, of course, leading up to me live steaming my own suicide, but I don’t get nearly enough readers to do that at the moment! Plus, I’m actually quite enjoying life as Alex Palmer: Trainee Immigration Lawyer at the moment, so suicide isn’t really on the agenda. I am so grateful for anyone who reads this nonsense though, and a freaking comment would make me more happy than you could possibly understand. About 90% of the comments on this blog so far have been from my ‘ex'(it’s really, really complicated)-girlfriend, and I would really appreciate comments from people I haven’t had sex with. I will, obviously, have sex with you after you leave a comment)
In a strange way, the influential 2006 documentary An Inconvenient Truth might have unintentionally and semi-ironically doomed us all. It has had very inconvenient consequences, you could say. But absolutely don’t, because that’s a rotten line.
Now, I’m not arguing that An Inconvenient Truth didn’t do a lot of good. I was.. younger… when it came out, and I have to say that, while maybe not a climate change denier, I was probably sceptical of the threat based on my own scientific research uncovering statistics like the fact it snowed a couple of years back and it was sometimes really cold. The film actually convinced me of the facts, using simple statistics and arguments that, if I’m being honest, I was probably too lazy to read for myself. I was a child, I decided that believing that climate change was at least overstated would mean I needn’t change anything about my behaviour, and so only searched out articles and columns that supported the theory I had chosen to believe. I was a child. I saw An Inconvenient Truth and realised what a child I was being. And how stupid I was. I imagine many people had similar epiphanies upon watching it. I was a child, and I still can’t believe how stupid I was. A child,
Continue reading “46 Laurie Anderson & Kronos Quartet: Landfall”
We have to stop talking about ‘The Internet’ like it’s a distinct and separate thing, a place somehow separate to everything else. We need to stop talking about ‘The Internet’ in the same way we talk about that time I wet my pants ‘at the zoo’ or that time I wet my pants ‘at Kew Gardens’ or that time I wet my pants ‘at the UN National Assembly’. Also, we need to stop talking about the times I wet my pants, can we not talk about your day for a change??
‘The Internet’ is no longer this curious and hidden alternative to reality used only by weirdos to secretly find what other depraved people near them also believe that Star Wars was never really that fucking good in the first place*. ‘The Internet’ is now just ‘Everything’. It has no unique facets or distinctive characteristics, it’s just ‘The World’.
Off all the artists on this list, North Carolina’s Wednesday is the one I know least about. You guys, I’m not even sure she’s on Twitter! Does she even exist? Her BandCamp page has a paper thin bio that consists wholly of “@wednesday_gurl ♪┏ ( ･o･) ┛♪┗ (･o･ ) ┓♪┏(･o･)┛♪”
“But Alex”, I hear you cry between crunches of the Tangy Cheese Doritos you’re stuffing into your fat ugly face, “@wednesday_gurl? Her bio has her Twitter handle in it! You are so dumb!”. To which I angrily wedgie you by pulling up the underwear you’re somehow still in at 3pm on a Thursday afternoon and scream “There is no @wednesday_gurl handle on Twitter! There’s somebody who calls themselves ~wednesday gurl~ but her actual handle is @Nos_Qween, has six followers, hasn’t Tweeted since 2011*, and it’s very probable that she was a girl who just really liked Wednesdays.”
Earlier in the year, I went to the cinema with my brother Mizdow. In the 72 minutes of adverts beforehand, one advert obviously aimed at people with no taste included one with that terrible singer* with a hat. You know that one? With a hat? Yeah, that one.
(*I don’t know he’s terrible, only that everything I’ve heard that has definitely been by him has been terrible. Never assume you’ll hate something. Also, as will soon become clear, I don’t really know who he is. I just know he exists and he does things)
We humans, we love two things. In fact, we animals love two things… We organisms love two things. Sure, you might have your own individual things that you like. You, Susan, for example, you really love downloading photographs of ducks off the internet, don’t you? You Google Image search, you right click, you save the duck photo to C:/staff/Susan/PRIVATE/EVEN MORE PRIVATE/SERIOUSLY, YOU SHOULDN’T BE HERE/Ducks, and then… what? You don’t do anything with the 56’963 duck photos, do you Susan? You just like to know that there there, don’t you?
Don’t worry, you’re not breaking any law in liking all these duck photos, and the fact that your office have had serious talks with you about it is more about them being concerned about your general mental well being than any real specific misdemeanour. It’s probably a genetic defect though. Much like me liking the 80+ music albums I’ve named on this fucking list. Me liking music and you liking duck photographs serves no wider purpose, and is really pointless in the grand scheme of things. As living organisms, there are only two things that we really like.
Language is very much like that green growth on my left testes, in that it keeps growing and changing in occasionally unpalatable ways, no matter what we intend and what efforts we take.
Words rarely mean the same thing for too long. ‘Faggot’ used to be a derogatory slur of homosexuals, but now it apparently just means someone whose opinion you politely dispute online. ‘Gay’ used to mean happy, and it seems now many people are so against this shift that they attempt to make gay people’s lives as unhappy as possible. That’s brilliant! I love irony! Sherlock Holmes ejaculated over Doctor Watson many times in the 19th century, and though he would also do so countless times in early 2010s Benedict Cumberbatch fanfic, the meaning was not quite what Conan Doyle had originally intended. There have actually been over a dozen officially recognised semantic shifts that have happened since dawn this morning. At 6:46 GMT it was decreed that the word ‘viscous’ now refers to Beijing Opera. At 8:12 GMT we received news that ‘tableware’ was actually a derogatory term for people of South Vermont. We heard at 11:02 GMT that dogs were now called cats, cats were now called mice, and mice were now called Total Network Solutions. Most confusingly, we were informed at 11:53 that we could no longer call a spade a spade, but a digidigdigdigdigdigdigdigggytron*
(*I had a… different joke there… but I chickened out… Feel free to tell it if you can tell what it would have been, but give me full credit. It it’s funny. If it’s racist, then that’s your fault)
Necessary Evil 