Necrotic Toxicity

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

This may not be immediately apparent to the casual reader, but my dedication to the things that drain you off and drive you off the hinge has already begun to flag. It's not a hugely inspiring rubric, after all; and the enterprise is beset by pitfalls on all sides. Perhaps the greatest of these is the ever-ready availability of the obvious target: thus far, I've expressed my personal dissatisfaction with NTL, Richard Dawkins, the Labour cabinet, Mick Hucknall and Bono, none of whom (or which) is actually liked by anybody as far as I can see. A quick browse through the pages of volume 2 of the best-selling Is It Just Me Or Is Everything Shit? further reveals that the market in grumpy anti-nowism has not only been cornered but pinned down by a crack team of professional whingers and viciously bored to death. Further mithering on my part would seem to be strictly supererogatory; not that the rest of the blogosphere is notably affected by such considerations, but still. I'm different - I'm special - and I need a new routine.

The trouble in any case is not with the present, which is merely the shucked-off condom of the recent past, but with the future; or, rather, with the moth-eaten, musical brocade that's been put up to cover the gaping void where the future ought to be (and, arguably, is). Accordingly, the task of this blog from now on will be to bask in the dark radiance of that void: to bathe in such necrotic toxicity as seeps from the pulsing, oily heart of its black sun. Onwards to extinction!

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