I’d like to say I have a good reason for my neglect. Or, failing that, any reason at all. I don’t. It’s not that I forgot – on the contrary, this poor, hungry blog has been the genesis of no small amount of guilt and shame. I’ve been lazy; that’s for sure. I also tend to psychologically hibernate during the winter months. The fact that any time spent outside in Northern Michigan in winter is spent slowly dying of hypothermia tends to suck the brighter emotions out of the borderline depressive. Unless you ski or snowboard, the novelty of the snow wears off in three days and your passions are replaced by mere survival and the fervent desire one could sleep for five months and both not die and remain employed.
That said, I intend to keep writing about the perfect fucking songs. The power of my guilt compels me. Plus, I want to be doing something besides watching British TV shows on Netflix while developing bedsores on my ass. Plus, there are a lot of perfect fucking songs out there.
Thanks for your continued support.
Fuck Newt Gingrich.