questions that bear asking rarely are. in a time, like so many of modernity of late, of rule-following and making-do, we are confronted with the obligation to slap the shit out of our own lazy jowls, and those of our most recent acquaintances, and to ask ourselves why a sort of genteel boredom seems to be the only mode of kickin' it we've permitted ourselves lo these many short burnt days.
dionysos, scorned by such safe and easily-appropriated tropes as mindfulness and not bad, how're you? has left the building without even so much as bothering to douse those 8000K LEDs the management installed and the previous tenants never had the good taste to replace.
a new patron deity of ivresse coalesces out of the various volatiles and distillates re-preciptating on this backwater zoomtown: left holding the bag, regarding the field of fucks, discerning that it is barren. what, ever, were the punks to do?
—the executive cabal, dec 2022