The Joy Division Christmas Special was a great success; now I’ve got a bunch of their lyrics burned into my brain, in particular these:
Last night I had insomnia again, so I stayed up until 4 AM watching the most amazing film. The. Most. Amazing. Film. It was so good it hurt, and I still feel bruised. I would tell you all about it, but I’m so churned up inside I can’t write about it yet. All my words are stuck together in the doorway of my brain.
But I know you are all curious to see what it looks like outside my window, so here’s the view from my balcony today.
Merry Christmas, you punk-ass bitches.
I need your help.
Last night while I was getting drunk with my landlady, she gave me a dish of something I can’t entirely identify. I’m kinda scared of it.
I’m pretty sure it came from a pig originally, but I’m not sure what part, and I’m not sure how long it hasn’t been refrigerated, or how to cook it, or what.
You decide its fate!
I’m not a holiday kind of person generally. Enforced merriment gets on my nerves. At Christmas I like to lie around on the floor and listen to hours and hours of Joy Division.
If that sounds better to you than a meaningless commercialized excuse for capitalistic overconsumption, you might enjoy this Youtube playlist I created just for the occasion.
Nothing in my house is nearly interesting enough to make a Christmas card, so this will have to do.
I vandalized an innocent picture taken by my twitter pal Richard Jobson, who is still smoking hot after all these years.
This I do for you, dear readers, because I really care.