CUT MY TAIL I believe that even the greatest works of literature have a little tail of human frailty which, if one is on the lookout for it, begins to wag slightly and disturbs the sublime, godlike quality of the whole... Zachary and I were very disappointed when we finally heard Trent Reznor's NIN Year Zero , 2007. It's dull and dulls. Z. found the pictures on the CD sleeve much more interesting. Apparently the Bible is a weapon. War and industry are in league in inspiring warm sepia-toned visions of future apocalypse. Trent Reznor is a concept in search of an expressive medium. His voice has no range. Duh! His phrasing's as boring as his beats. The huge narcissistic sentimentality of the project undermines any attempt to grate or epater . But lit. it in't. So? In view of study , it set me thinking on why, while it may speak to its subcult, neither Year Zero nor Trent Reznor speak to me. Not even a postcard. No dialectic. No sensation. Sense deadened rather than excited into nullity, devastation or death i ness. As for inciting to sedition, as claimed in the cod-concept-merch-advert-ambience of the project, without appealing to the senses, any appeal the "project" makes to the intellect can only fail, rests, indeed, at year zero on zero ground. But why? The problem lies in the exclusion zone, in the fact that there is one and that I'm in it. The project remains a project and doesn't reach