We live in times of GREAT UNCERTAINTY. Who can say, for instance, if the charade we call democracy will even maintain the pretense for another 12 months? If you’re lucky enough to afford to climb aboard an airplane, what guarantee is there you won’t smash into another? Will anyone, besides the uber wealthy, be capable of feeding their families or availing themselves of health care?
The answer to these questions, much like “should anyone pay for a premium Stereogum subscription?” is of course, a resounding I DON’T KNOW.
I DON’T FUCKING KNOW. NO ONE FUCKING KNOWS.
I’ve no time or patience for your prognostications (Wayne Root Jr.) and the only dead solid 100% sure-thing lock around here is that you don’t fucking know, either. Over the course of the next two hours, it is my hope we can all graduate from blissful ignorance to thoroughly embittered ignorance. The only thing I do know for certain is this new Wiccans album is a ripper (owens)
