On art and politics

Also, I deleted Twitter

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

“At this point I have a request for our fans. If any of you in any way hate homosexuals, people of different color, or women, please do this one favor for us — leave us the fuck alone! Don’t come to our shows and don’t buy our records.”

Kurt Cobain wrote this in the liner notes of Nirvana’s 1992 album Incesticide. It was in response to the kidnap and rape of a young woman, whose abductors sang the band’s lyrics while attacking her.

It’s a quote I return to often as an artist. Because every now and again, some dipshit will climb atop their social media horse and declare that authors should not be political, so as not to alienate potential readers.

A couple of things here:

First, all art is political, and saying your art is ‘not political’ is still a political stance.

Second, all my art is political. If you’ve read any of my books you know my villains are corporations, billionaires, law enforcement, and other establishment systems.

Third, this sentiment feeds into the insidious call for “civility” that is currently making the rounds—that despite our disagreements we can still be friends.

No. We can’t.

If you voted for Trump, you need Jesus or a civics lesson. You had all the necessary information: his lies, his crimes, his racism, his misogyny, his calls for divison and violence, his support for truly destructive policies… and you chose that.

Either you endorse his incredible lack of kindness and character—and make no mistake, your vote is a full-throated endorsement—or you’re ignorant of reality on a level that is staggering in a modern society.

I get my health care off the public marketplace, and I expect that to be gone within a year. I expect the planet will continue to warm, accelarating severe weather events. If my daughter ever asks me if she can be president, I’ll tell her yes, she can do anything she puts her mind to… but it’ll be a lie.

Within this, I recognize my privelage, and as a white straight-presenting male, there are a lot of ways that I’ll be okay. But people I love—people who are Black and brown and queer and trans, as well as literally every woman—will not be fine.

What you do undo others you do unto me.

I do not wish you any particular ill will. I just hope that when Trump makes good on his heinous promises—and he will, now that he’s free of many of the guardrails he had in his first term—you realize what a terrible mistake you made.

I hope there’s enough time to fix the damage he does. I’m not feeling terribly hopeful about that—with the GOP in control of the Senate he’s going to remake the judiciary for generations to come.

I hope that one day you’re able to think beyond your fears or your wallet.

I hope our collective suffering isn’t as bad as I think it’s going to be, because no one—even Trump voters—deserves to suffer.

But, for a short time at least, suffer we will.

If my saying this is upsetting to you, okay. If you don’t want to buy my books, okay. Ultimately, it feels like some lines were drawn in the sand on Tuesday, and I plan to observe them.

Which is why I deleted my Twitter account today (which is the whole reason I fired up Substack this morning, but there I go, off on tangents…).

It’s not like the juice has been worth the squeeze lately. Engagement is way down since I won’t pay for verification, and most of my feed is pornbots. But the idea of putting a penny in Elon Musk’s pocket is repellant.

Not to say any of the other social media platforms are that much better, but Musk went so hard in the paint for Trump that it’s an easy call.

You can continue to find me here, as well as on Instagram and Threads. I have a Bluesky account but haven’t really used it—maybe I’ll wipe the dust off.

Regardless, maybe that wasn’t worth a whole damn newsletter to announce, but here we are. I’m curious to find out how many subscribers I lose. I’m at 611. I’ll update in my next newsletter.