So, don’t Quit Sugar. Maybe Quit bullshit instead.
And this is not to say “give up! Accept the destiny that the unequal systems of wealth have written!”. Nor is it a moral licence to strap one’s snout to a feed bad of ganja—although, let it be said, there is as much useful life in the vacant eyes of stoners as can be found in the hearts of intellectual property solicitors. It is to say, however, that a little suspicion of the idea of self-improvement as noble or natural is healthy.
I just wanted to bash out these thoughts about the horror of Christmas so that, at the very least, you knew that there is an unnamed community of Bah Humbugs who can trace the approximate shape of your pain.
TweetLoewenstein. Loewenstein. I don’t know whether to send him a Cease and Desist for intellectual property theft or tear him a new metaphoric hole and cram it with acorns. What the blind shit has he written? I agree that western…
In other words, why remember Gallipoli as significant but retain no mental room for Slaughterhouse Creek?
If you fancied, right now you could bugger the Australian Left with a sandpaper-wrapped issue of Quadrant and it would barely stir. In fact, if you tied your junk up in an Awareness Ribbon, it would thank you for a lovely afternoon of violent, non-consensual sodomy and ask you to stay for a Nespresso chai sipped to the smooth, smooth sounds of Sarah Blasko.