Good morning, all intrepid dreamers; all radical informalities; all temporary insanity. Welcome to Words From The Midwest: The Last.
Yes, this is the last of these things I will do for the simple reason that I am tired of doing them and want something new and more interesting in my life. Yes, something new. Maybe I’ll begin another series, but no. I won’t. I will start something altogether different, but, in a way, the same. Maybe a zine. Yes, definitely a zine. Well, maybe…no. Yes. I will start a zine. Something like McSweeneys or Cream magazine. I will write about Music and Socialism and Gun Control; philosophies of Life and Death and the Afterlife. I will condense my ideologies into warm and tribulent diversions for the 20something, millenial, Yuccie to appreciate; to devour. Rolling Stone is dead. We need something new, something better. We need something that is sheenless and mundane. We need a New American Bible, released quarterly, for free. We need something that will refuse to give the new U2 album a five star review, because it sucks on principle. We need a goddamn media revolution.
But I live for hyperbole. Maybe I won’t do something new. Maybe Words From The Midwest will continue…
No, no! This is the last. I’m telling you true. But…oh, dear. I was going to write about Big Star…
My first issue! “The Near-Perfect Band” it will be called. All about Big Star. All about how they changed the world of Music and were ignored for it. All about how they, more than, perhaps, any band of the 70s, deserve the Hall Of Fame and will never get it.
But what to call the zine itself? “Titular Nomenclature”? Too subversive. Ah, but it needs to be! No, it must be simple. I must be trite and without pretension…“Made Up”? No, too proclaimy; too understated. What then, what? I’ll have to think about it. It will come. Maybe it should be a made up word. Maybe something strong, like “Titan”. No, no. Titan Magazine…too strong.
Regardless. Words is…Ah! Words From The Midwest! It’s the perfect title! I’ve already come up with it!
No, no. Taken. This is Words. This is done.
And so, in this, my last paragraph of a book that will be published by the end of the day, I bid you adeu. This blog, this Tumblr where I am writing, will morph into something else…A clean and futile website for all things Supposed. A will for an eternity beyond our submission to greatness; a goddamn trendless, contortionary Tale. This is still the Midwest, I presume. There will still be Words, I am sure. But as far as a dictate of our greatest faults to recognize the way a life is led? No thank you. This has been less fun than anything I’ve ever written. But I do hope you enjoyed yourselves. For the time being, read my other books. They mean more to me than anything I have forged onto the internets.
And, while you’re at rereading this plague of distaste, listen to The Supposed So. There’s some okay music he makes.