Today, I am heartsick. Humanity seems to be accelerating down a path of darkness and irrationality the likes of which we have not seen in centuries, and satire is of no use to us.
I used to joke that I felt guilty because the worse the world got, the more material I had to work with. I think I’ve finally reached the place where the shape of the world is too horrible to continue. I feel like Joel Grey at the end of Cabaret, doing his schtick to a room full of unsmiling Nazis.
On the other hand, I can already see the contours of a new Vesampucceri book taking shape. I even have a title, The New World Odour, and a cover design. We resist with whatever tools are at our disposal, I suppose. But for the moment, I’m not especially enthusiastic about the project.