and trying to devise ways of putting clouds and sky behind and above my subjects. It was a difficult time in my life; both my parents had died and I was often overwhelmed with feelings of loneliness; some real faith would have provided solace, but I had to take what I could get, and if that meant peering through the constantly shifting curtain of clouds, trying to discern some meaning or purpose, I can only say that there’s always a lifeline available for anyone, even if they can’t see it.
(PS: I like to make fun of Rumors by going “Hey, let’s all get stoned and fuck each other and break up then make a record about it!” and that such an endeavor has no business being as sound as it turned out to be. All the Tumblr/slash fiction “shipping” aside, there isn’t really any evidence that the Clash fucked each other, but who knows, maybe it would have helped Sandanista.)
Tim Sommer writes:
Deep in the heart of every rock musician, from the most credible to the most commercial, there lies someone whining, “Je suis un artiste! If only the world knew what a deep, tortured soul I am, and how complicated my record collection is!” (…)
The standard line about Sandinista! is that there’s an album worth of good stuff here. Well, that’s not quite true. There may, indeed, be an album’s worth of good material, but barely an EP’s worth of good recordings.
“The Sound of Sinners” also could have been a helluva song, if it had been produced or mixed by someone who wasn’t really, really high; (…)
…they made the standard stoner mistake of not being able to distinguish between the sound effects and the music (…)
“Something About England” is a goddamn good song, but it sounds like it was mixed by someone who just drank a lot of Benadryl and Baileys (…)
Ann Coulter writes:
In the pages of The New York Times, feminist icon Gloria Steinem announced the “one-free grope” rule, specially developed for the Clinton era.
Former Time magazine correspondent Nina Burleigh said of Clinton, “I would be happy to give him a bl*w job just to thank him for keeping abortion legal.”
Time magazine’s Margaret Carlson said Linda Tripp had “lost membership in the family of man” for secretly tape-recording Monica Lewinsky. Tripp kept the recordings not for something so exalted as stopping Trump, but to protect herself from a charge of perjury.
Even when the law began to close in on the horny hick—midway through the second term he won because of the media’s heroic self-censorship—the rest of us had to spend a year listening to liberals say “Guys like bl*w jobs,” “Everybody does it” and “Let’s move on.” (…)
Now the networks are holding casting calls for some loon willing to falsely accuse Trump of sexual assault, so they can hype it like the Duke lacrosse case, Mattress Girl and Rolling Stone’s fraternity rape. Unfortunately—for us, fortunately for the media—by the time the truth comes out, the election will be over.
John Biggs concludes:
I’m from Columbus, Ohio. I live in Brooklyn now. I’m voting Hillary. I’m angry all the time about this election. I wrote this so you can understand what you’re up against, what the people who are voting Trump are thinking. They’re not monsters. They want what we want: safety, security, health, and wealth. It’s not even us vs. them. It’s just us.
At this point in the game I think Hillary won. But this is just the beginning of what my friend Rich Svinkin calls “insurgent democracy.” We need to work together to get these grievances aired and solved, on both sides, or things will really get worse.
Here’s part of what came before — mostly accurate, I thought…
You come into my bar looking for fancy wine or some kind of craft brew when we all know this place serves three things — cheap beer, sandwiches, and conversation. Why are you bringing your shit here? What’s the point? Let me have what I love the way I let you have what you love. (…)
My friends and I are voting in a block. We know the score. We have all the information we need to make a decision about that Crooked Hillary. You have your opinions we have ours. Facebook is a big place and our worlds don’t overlap. I like it that way because you really piss me off. (…)
My world isn’t your world. It can be but not right now. You say I’m fucking up the environment with the coal I dig. You say I’m fucking up society with my religious beliefs. You say I’m killing people with the guns I’ve been taking special care of, the guns that maybe my grandpa carried in France seventy years ago. I’m not killing people. I know who is and it isn’t me or my friends.
David Cole: ‘His reply gave me the opportunity to quote someone in Takimag saying, ‘I can’t be quoted in Takimag”
David Cole writes:
Young Mytheos’ reply starkly illustrates that the reality detachment exhibited by Trump denouncers is shared by some Trump cheerleaders as well. The man actually thinks he’ll survive his endorsement unscathed because he made it in an “intellectual” and nonracist way. Yet he also thinks it could do unspeakable damage to his life to be quoted here. Word to the youthfully unwise, Mytheos: Being quoted in Taki’s is going to be the least of your troubles. No one on the left is going to give a shit that you supported Trump “intellectually,” just as no one on the left is going to cut any slack to the conservatives and Republicans currently jumping ship. You’re all Hitler. You’re all Ted Bundy. You’re all toast.
Gavin McInnes writes:
Some kid snuck in and started putting swastika stickers on the art, which I missed, but I did catch a big fat guy in a Che Guevara hat who was clutching a bag close to his side and acting very suspicious. I asked him if he was a plant and he immediately started panicking so I threw his hat in the pig’s blood, grabbed him by the collar, and threw him out the door. As I was marching him out, he broke into this high-pitched scream that sounded like an 8-year-old girl on a roller coaster. It was one of the funniest and most disturbing things I’ve ever heard. It was also invigorating and the atmosphere at this thing reminded me of early-Giuliani New York when there was a sense of danger and people wanted to get into trouble. Despite the art being so disproportionately faggy, there were tons of beautiful women floating around and they were flirtatious because everyone was drunk.
‘So those tall blond Northern Europeans are happier because they keep their gene pool so pure. Not kidding.’
A valuable glimpse inside the liberal mind, from Penelope Trunk, who has Asperger’s and therefore doesn’t self-censor:
But Denmark, Sweden and Norway are known for something besides hygge/happiness. Exclusion. Even if they are trying hard to be inclusive, those countries are among the most difficult in the world for expatriates. Because making new friends, and adapting to new people is hard. And seeing your own culture reflected back to you in another person’s culture is especially hard – because it reveals new ways of looking at tightly held beliefs. So expatriates are excluded from the happiest communities.
If you are voting for Trump, I don’t need to tell you that. You know it intuitively. Which is why I don’t want to be like you. I want to be someone who strives to see myself in new ways, and puts myself in new, difficult scenarios so that I can grow. I want to grow from doing something brave and challenging more than I want the security of homogeneity and happiness. (…)
But it’s why I’m teaching an upcoming course on happiness. Because it takes an expert to know that happiness the way most people define it makes you do crappy things like keep out immigrants and vote for Trump. Happiness is most powerful when it’s fueled by interestingness — diversity, unmet but engaging goals and real, meaningful choices.
That’s why I’m happy to live in a country where are schools are a mess due to the fact that we have so many different types of families. And we can’t even have cosiness with cocoa because we can’t agree on how cocoa should be made. I like the diversity. I like that it’s difficult. The easy way is not the path to happiness.
Mark Steyn writes:
I can’t really remember why I decided to open the book by clobbering a novelist I rather enjoy. The fact that 99 per cent of all those hysterics raging against the exclusive and relatively sane nuclear club of the 1980s are entirely relaxed about a world in which North Korea and Iran have nukes (and coming soon Sudan and Somalia and Isis) is a point worth making. But, in making it, I think I was just casting Mr Amis as an all-purpose leftie tosser.
If so, I did him an injustice. Not long after America Alone came out, I woke up one Saturday to discover that The Times of London had published a review of my book. This was flattering in that the book had not been published in the UK, and so a review was of little practical use to British readers. Even more flattering, the eminent reviewer was Martin Amis. The flattery ended in the opening paragraph…
…is that she has had to publicly humiliate herself by putting up with her husband’s constant infidelities in order to draft off his knack for political power. She’s rationalized her behavior by blaming society’s patriarchal bias for what she’s had to put up with to achieve maximum power. Lately, Hillary has sublimated her resentment of her tall, wide, fair-haired, camera-loving husband into her rage against her husband’s tall, wide, fair-haired, camera-loving golf pal, Donald Trump.
All of this psychodrama in Hillary’s head is understandable as a way of displacing her anger toward her indispensable husband into hatred of deplorables like you and me.