Daily Stormer The Most Censored Publication in History
I don’t review music albums, because I’m not a pretentious asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone.
In fact, I only review indie video games.
What I can tell you, however, is that some music albums are better than other music albums, and Modest Mouse’s “The Golden Casket” (2021) is better than other music albums. If I was going to compare it to an indie video game I like, I would compare it to CRUELTY SQUAD.
My professional advice is DO NOT LISTEN TO THIS ALBUM.
It is repulsive garbage and an attack on the human soul.
It is fucked up and depressing and weird. It is also overproduced but not in the very worst way. But there is something magical and amazing about it, that reminds me of how miserable my life is, and how as the days go on, my life becomes more and more miserable.
My life really is a hell on earth, and the thing about that is, everyone’s life is a hell on earth, and the difference between me and everyone else is that I’m willing to admit it. Others are cowards, and put on their stupid fake happy faces and pretend that life is something other than disappointment after disappointment, regret after regret.
I just try to find the meaning in the pain, because I’m an adult man, not a sniveling little baby.
And I love this song: Japanese Trees.
I never wanted to be an internet Nazi.
All I ever wanted was to burn out on hard drugs and die at 23 from drug overdose and exposure at a rest stop in the back of a burned-out Toyota Camry with indie rock playing on a 1980s boombox in 1997, with some slut, a 6 at best, with stupid hair cut short in a manner that wasn’t even trendy at the time, screaming, wondering how she’s going to explain this away and to stay out of prison, wondering if she should just take off running but having no idea where she would run to.
I never wanted to live in some former communist shithole, typing a blog no one gives a shit about. I just wanted to die young with a dirty flannel shit on, greasy and stinking, the frowning coroner ruling some mix of cocaine, oxycodine, ketamine, and organ failure from exposure, somewhere in Montana.
The car radio long dead, but the boombox playing Modest Mouse’s It’s a Long Drive with Nothing to Think About.
I want my family to believe it’s their fault, and I want it to haunt them forever. I want it to be in their minds, tearing apart their souls as they take their dying breaths.
Thom Yorke doesn’t have the depth of personal character to shine Isaac Brock’s shoes.
I will dance a jig on Thom Yorke’s faggot ultra-post-modern coffee table and say: “You do not even have a human soul, you crybaby.”
He will cry, yet again.
I will post this new Modest Mouse song, Japanese Trees.
Oh yeah, well, I’m not even guessing what your plans may be
Yeah, you’re twisted and you’re bent like you’re a Japanese tree
Those are pretty long arms driving from the back seat
Lay it on heavy like you’re sand on a beach
Yeah, you’re all ears, how hard could it be?
A cat in the grass, an eaves in the eaves
Walking in my head like I am shoes on your feet
You’re twisted and you’re bent like you’re a Japanese tree
Well, you need a place to go
And I have a place to leave
We’ll split the gasoline
And sleep in the back seat
When can we leave?
When can we leave?
Why can’t we leave?
Why can’t we leave?
When can we leave?
Oh, you got it figured out
And I’ll learn eventually
We’ll ditch our phones in the rest stop bathroom
When can we leave?
We have a knack for turning days into weeks
Full of pointless details, just a crease on your sleeve
You’re twisted and you’re bent like you’re a Japanese tree
Yeah, you’re twisted and you’re bent like you’re a Japanese tree
Pointless details, just a crease on your sleeves
Yeah, make up some news and then you believe what you read
Yeah, lay it on heavy like it’s sand on a beach
Yeah, lay it on heavy like it’s sand on a beach, yeah
You need a place to go
And I have a place to leave
We’ll split the gasoline
We’ll sleep in the back seat
When can we leave?
When can we leave?
When can we leave?
When can we leave?
When can we leave?
Oh, you’ve got it figured out
And I’ll learn eventually
We ditched our phones in the rest stop bathroom
Why can’t we leave?
Why can’t we leave?
Why can’t we leave?
Why can’t we leave?
Why can’t we leave?
Why can’t we leave?
Why can’t we leave?
Well, you need a place to go
And I have a place to leave
So what do we need?
What do we need?
What do we need?
We’ll sleep in the back seat
And I’ll learn eventually
‘Cause you’ve got it figured out
So when can we leave?
When can we leave?
We ditched our phones in the rest stop bathroom
When can we leave?
When can we leave?
Well, you need a place to go
But where can it be?
