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HOPE.


I have been making a video with young Zef and wading through acres of Doublethink. I am muddy with Doublethink, it drips from my elbows, heavies my steps and burns my eyeballs.

This douche tells me Monbiot is a CIA spook. Monbiot confirms my suspicion that the 90s was the weirdest blip in the history of humanity, a queer period of our existence in which a significant portion of the populace basked in the warm glow of forgotten consequence, and thought themselves to be gods.

That all seems a terribly long time ago now. Now nuclear war is once again our reality. Buses kills you. People carrying stuff kills you. British guitar music is as bad as it has ever been. They’ll ostracise you, or put you in a hole in the ground if you complain.

Big Brother is real! As real as you or I, its populace retarding, soul dissolving, neon visage pumping forth from silver boxes like the most regrettable and dull sex you ever had, forever and ever Amen. The ticker spouts Newspeak, and the victims spout theirs, and girls starve to death on the covers of freakish modern bibles. Nobody notices.

Time has been speeding up, I have noticed. I wonder if that is a brick wall ahead, or one of those paper ones Run DMC tore through in the Walk This Way video.

(When I was little I really identified with Spider-Man, and especially admired one panel in a Todd McFarlane issue where he put his fist through the side of a house. POW!)

I mean, I have no clue. I don’t know Shit about world affairs, and I certainly don’t know Shit about aliens. But this is a lovely piece of writing.

— Wednesday, August 10th, 2005

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