People think the beatniks invented cool, or Miles Davis mebbe, or Robert Mitchum mebbe, or Errol Flynn even mebbe, but we've never aspired to be cool, always subscribing as we have to Jack Kerouac's belief that it's better to be hot than cool, fevered than distant, Dean Moriarty frantic than bongo-beating black turtleneck "laidback". No reason we should bring this up except to say that even though we've turned into an old fuddyduddy we still despise sunglasses and everything they represent, we've spent our whole life burning out our poor defenceless eyeballs simply because we can't stand it in the shade. We've lived our life in the sun, soaking up its poison. You try to live fast and die young because it's the right thing to do, live fast and die young, but personally we lacked the intestinal fortitude to live fast and die young, maybe we went about it wrong. If you can't go the whole distance the least you can do is live to an impossible age still bitching about everything, finding the whole world insufferable, and making your peace with nothing. That's what deathbeds are for, to make your peace with the world. The world always looks better when you're on the brink of leaving the world, everything looks better when you're on the brink of leaving the world, hell even the Whole Earth Catalog looks interesting when you're on the brink of leaving the world. We're troubled because we want a big deathbed scene but we also want to go out with a bang, in a Moped collision with a train say, and the only way we can think of reconciling these two diametrically opposed desires is to die in a collision with a train while we're on a rolling deathbed, making our peace with the world.
Anyway, we may not post any more for a couple of days, but we thank everyone for reading. It wouldn't be any fun, attempting to turn misery into an art form, without you.