Who Am I To Try To Cheer Up the Self-Indulgent Universe

My compulsive response to the deadest Blog Days of Summer ever, exponentially deader than the deadest ever before (I'd like to take credit for here's decline but it's deader and getting deader everywhere), is of course to post an exceptionally self-indulgent autoblogographical bleggalgaze on a Friday, the deadest day of the week every week, and as many angry apocalyptic doomlinks I could collect since the last grid before pushing PUBLISH I used to burn off my extra-manic impulses by pruning the blogrolls of the dying and dead and planting them in one of the two purgatory mortuary blogrolls but I've reached peak Fuck That though I assure you it has everynothing to do with the endlessly terminal ghost-towning of this particular Stringtown - it's not just here shit be dying, everynothing be dying everynowhere- and now I'd just rather bleat and bray, bleat and bray the name of my next bandReminder: each post is a poem and each painting a headshot. In good news for me if not for you, L…