Why Making The Zine I Want To Make is Impossible in 2021

That creative fun energy is in jail. I won’t say it is dead, I see from reading a few blogs on here that exhibit that devil-may-care flying against the wind spirit, that it exists on a small personal level. Creativity is on it’s last legs, suffocated by the inability to say what we mean in open and fresh ways. Saying what you want is now absolutely impossible, cancelable. We are stymied by the ‘be kind’ edict, which has become a Moloch-like demonic beast demanding greater and more extravagant sacrifices. It has eaten freedom of speech, creative fluidity; it has chowed down on humor, Truth, irreverence, and spontaneity. Instead of embracing the edict of individuality, world society has wrapped it tentacles around the imposition of herd views. Take the vaccine mandates – the overly simplistic virtue signalling of vaxxed good, unvaxxed bad, forcing the herd government approved view, not allowing any dot joining nor concern voicing, is reaching scarily fascistic levels. Note I say the MANDATES worry me, not necessarily the vaccine – that is a matter of personal choice as far as I am concerned, and something deeply private to each individual. Freedom, baby. Freedom, bodily autonomy and personal choice are sacred and under attack.

I am guarded, but resolute. I remain my own woman. No one will force me to say or do something I do not agree with. …and that means that my dream of a magazine seems out of reach. To get the aesthetic I want, to write the things I want to write, to produce something alive, fun, iconoclastic, vital and honest is absolutely impossible in today’s climate of orwellian doublethink, thought policing and this dreadful virtue signaling. Nothing ever worth reading or listening to was ‘nice’. Nice has no edge, it pushes no boundaries, it says nothing new, and never says it in a way that doesn’t put the reader or listener to a deep and dulled sleep that reads like a state sanctioned text book from some ‘brave new world’ alternate reality that we somehow have fallen into.

The music is just not there either. Rap and hip hop is still doing things which are fresh, but the rest of the music scene is beyond dull and ruled by the husks of freeze dried and pickled rock stars of the 60s and 70s, alongside the relics of the last great rock and roll decade of the 1990s who are bloating and blowing up and not in a good way, boys and riotgrrrls. A few of these relics occasionally excite me with what they are currently doing – Dylan has redeemed himself from the singing-Sinatra-for-cake years and is throwing some new wind and fire into the mix, Roger Waters is not creatively dead, though Gilmour has reached desperate levels of uncool and dire, particularly sad for an old axe-killa like him. Prince is dead, Bowie has gone and no one is taking their places. Post Malone? Give me a break! To be frank, just as my blog is a memorial home for past glories of human creativity, the zine will only be more of the same. Where is The Who? Where is a Led Zep? Do not even dare to mention Greta Van Fleet! And I thought Jack White was Plant and Page rip off merchant! Greta is a shitty little cover band that I would be disappointed going to see on a Saturday night at the Palladium or the Ballroom in the ’80s.

There is no spirit of rebellion that is going to be allowed. It is not commercially viable. It is not socially allowable. To write anything worth writing I would need to have a group of people who would subscribe to Lester Bang’s edict for Creem of “bozos on the bus”. As Jim Morrison wrote in The End “the blue bus is calling us”…..except the Lizard King was free to wonder where the driver was going to take ‘us’, and now we have to be concerned that the bus has been hijacked by the authoritarian and safety-from-terror and-disease-peddling nanny state, and know with a rising feeling of dread in our stomachs that it is driving the dissenters right to the nearest fema camp, that they have set up in some Walmart in the boonies, for a spot of reeducation and bringing to heel. Fuck that!

The only hope for crawling out of the dung heap of modern society which has entangled us in the business of survival using the carrot of ‘normal life’ and the ability to earn a crust and not be hung drawn and quartered by the moralistic majority with their pitchforks and group hysteria and the stick of utter devastation and alienation if you don’t subscribe by the accepted set of views on just about everything, is my hope that there are enough of us who just don’t give a damn. Even I am sitting here and thinking to myself that I don’t think I can go back on the road and live in campgrounds, and to be frank, after the pandemic, I know that the powers that be, The Man can shut down those areas and that freedom just as easily as they can ban people from Starbucks and concerts. So where will be left for those that get thrown out of this society? The desert? Alabama? Kentucky? Heaven help me! That sounds like a fate worse than death! I need my west coast comfort, my sea breeze cool, and I just don’t see it being possible long term, because I, by virtue of my illegality, and left singing along with Dylan, “I just don’t fit! I fear it is time for us to quit!”

Except I don’t want to quit. I don’t want to quit writing, and to be frank, I don’t think I can. I don’t want to quit on my dream of producing my magazine, and to do it in a way that isn’t utter dullsville shit – and now I am on my own there is a hope it won’t be an absolute establishmentarian disaster. I don’t want to quit hoping I can find a way to live in the world that is safe and free and acceptable to me. I don’t want to quit on myself. To be frank I am not sure that any of it is possible, but I don’t need to worry about it today. I figure I will not be able to afford to stay in my apartment, just as I always feared. When my time and subsidy is up here, then it is back on the streets for me and the Boy. At least it is authentic. At least I won’t be a sell out. At least I will be able to roll into the gates of Hell screaming “To mine own self ’twas true, bitches!”

Freedom or bust. I would say Freedom or Death, but heck, nowadays the powers that be take that one a little too seriously….


  1. Time Traveler of Life

    What would be so bad about conforming a little to have a successful magazine? When an author self publishes a book they have to take into consideration the readers likes and dislikes. We all have to conform to some extent. I need to understand so please tell me. Take care my friend. Sending hugs and love to my grandchildren.

  2. rebecca s revels

    It is incredibly sad the point of which we have reached. Creativity has indeed been silenced to protect the few who are hopelessly fragile.

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