Massacring historiography

Irving Kristol once remarked

"There are different kinds of truths for different kinds of people. There are truths appropriate for children; truths that are appropriate for students; truths that are appropriate for educated adults; and truths that are appropriate for highly educated adults, and the notion that there should be one set of truths available to everyone is a modern democratic fallacy. It doesn't work."


He forgot to mention that then there are truths for whiskey addled self-obsessed gits who behave like old men and secretly enjoy it while they live in quiet terror of vagina dentata. This blog fills that abyss. Roughly and uncomfortably. With much chafing.

Now to the marbled meat of the matter: I intend for this to be a blog about history. Specifically moments from history that fascinate me strike a chord and rile up opinions. My observations are without system or discipline or objectivity. I'm just going to write whatever the hell I feel like about historical topics.

Frankly I'm also writing for myself. There are tens of millions of bloggers out there who are more persuasive or insightful or gay or interesting or sluttier than I am, which I fine. This is my little street corner that I can rant on about secret purple sweater the government is forcing me to wear, etc, etc. At the end of the day, I'm an utter dilettante. I make no apologies for this.

Consider this: When you walk into a Barnes and Nobles, you will probably never read the vast majority of books-that are released in just one year. Forget the perennial classics and self help guides. It's not because you're a lazy philistine. It just can't be done. It doesn't seem outlandish to surmise that there have been more written material published in print or electronically in the last 50 years than in the last 5000 years when a Sumerian hipster first wrote ironic poetry on a slab of cow shit.

It also means the age of the vaunted classic is over. Who remembers Lawrence Durrell's Alexandria Quartet from the late 50's? At the time, the buzz was that the quartet placed him in nobel prize territory. Well he's dead as shit now and Barnes and Nobles probably isn't going to fill the empty space on the shelves left by my recent purchase of his books for several years, if they don't just replace them with something else.

Let one complain that the age of great classics is over. That's pure drivel. With the utter deluge of print and electronic media, there are probably dozens of outstanding books published every year that you or I won't hear or certainly won't read in our lifetimes.

The Western Canon has reached its carrying capacity.

At any rate, I'll pick and choose my subjects as I please and do with them whatever I wish.