Presented with no irony and I wish to fuck I didn’t have to:
I am running on a rum-and-mistletoe buzz, and am still working off the love residue from the show on Saturday. Believe me, I have an extensive, amazing, and wonderful playlist of Xmess songs. Currently at 371 songs. Ranging from Vince Guaraldi to Henry rollins, and no need to apologize for any of it.
But that song there was a fun, snarky, sarcastic part of the playlist. And like the 9/11 attack makes “Christmas At Ground Zero” mostly tasteless, the guntards have rendered it horrible. And I hate that. I hate that music can be turned into something that makes us feel horrible about something. That’s not what music should be. Yes, it can make you feel sad, and regret, and all kinds of other things; but that is PART OF THE SONG. Boomtown Rats’ “I don’t like Mondays” appropriated an atrocity to make themselves, and us, help us to deal with it. Using a song to inspire murder is an atrocity.
Atrocities performed after the fact, merely associate the songs with horrible events.
So I want to reclaim these songs. They were fun, and funny and they shouldn’t make us cry You know what SHOULD make us cry? That there are thousand of trolls who feel that every shooting death validates their decision to be paranoid and over-stocked with killing machines.
Here’s the Weird Al:
Fuck YOU Al-Qaueda, and FUCK YOU Homeland Security who wants us to feel paranoid every minute of our day.
Oh hey, here’s a bit of punk Christmas:
And here are XTC, keep in mind they also did the lovely ode to God’s greatness, “Dear God”
Here’s a link to BG and Neddie Jingo doing the same song (and others).And here is one of the New Classics:
Fuck these guntard strapped assholes. It’s the end of the year, and fuck me, even this song:
Will now be tainted, rather than a statement of resolve against despair.
Last year, I had no money and so I did smudgey charcoal drawings as gifts. When I got a little money in the new year, I framed them and hung em up. If you have been following the Arc of Zombie, this year is a bit better, and I had less time, so the smudgeys are left out, in favor of gifts that are desired and such as; and my Christmas Gift from the void is a bit of light in the future, and wonderful thanks.
And when light seems to be a real thing, then comes along horror and destruction inspired by the kind of paranoia that is the NRA’s stock in trade, and the specters of 20 mall children allow me no rest.
The only thing to do is let the Dropkick Murphys call the tune:
I am mortally offended that loosely-bolted-together motherfuckers have tainted music that I love. It’s not right. It gives those fuckers more power than they should have. I hate it muchly. Music is sacred, and people who kill children have no claim to it.
I refuse to allow it.
I have been rambling around some of the blogs and discussion boards, the ones that see more troll activity, because I know that those places are where you see the common talking point and mindless NRA gobble gobble splatted; I have been venting at those people there, and it has helped. It has also helped that the discussion of reigning in the KILLING TOOLS has apparently gotten some traction, and like shovel-less mikey says, I dearly hope that the resulting legislation has a decent effect and is not just pissing in the wind.
More painful disclosure. One of our nephews, a precocious adopted youngster who we had much more in common with than his parents, never managed to find his footing and blew his brains out in his parent’s backyard. We never really found out the provenance of the handgun involved, in our pain. But I have a hard time believing that increase levels of registration, monitoring, and regulation of firearms would not have given him a better chance of getting beyond his despair. Not to mention increased availability of mental health support, but in the absence of any guntards seriously advancing full funding of those services…
Further. Years after his suicide, it still makes me cry.
A better song: