By the exponential decline in comments from our readers of late, I can infer one of two things. Either the content of our posts is breaking new ground in the area of soporific writing, or as Nick has suggested, you're all a bunch of apathetic lackies.

Frankly, it may well be that this blog has temporarily lost its momentum. After all, there's only so much self-important ranting that one can indulge in. But the overwhelming lack of enthusiasm hasn't helped either. Nevertheless, we continue undeterred.

Last night I had the pleasure of watching an interesting piece of avant-garde film: '24 hour party people', a pseudo-documentary chronicling the rise of post-modern culture a la Manchester. While it can be hard to empathize with the scenes of people licking liquid methadone off an airport floor, or for that matter, feeding rat-poison laced bread to pigeons and proceeding to watch them drop out of the sky, its a film of sheer genius.

At the same time, it reveals one of the recurring flaws that seems to plague all progressive cultural movements: flakiness. The film poignantly depicts the decay of The Hacienda, a uniquely innovative nightclub, from counter-culture hub to gang-war battleground to abandoned warehouse. In the mean time, everyone is too fucked up on (insert drug of choice here) to care.

Now, if only these wankers were to get their acts together from time to time, our generation might not have been held hostage by vapid pop-culture for so long.