Sunday, November 29, 2009

Incomplete 11/29

It was the winter that ironic posturing finally swept the huddled masses in our bleak city. I stared over the sea of despondent youth desperately mimicking warehouse culture, awkwardly aping a more bohemian aesthetic while refusing to acknowledge, let alone question, the rampant consumerism they'd inherited. I wonder what it felt like to be too late for a movement that refused to be a movement. Slum.Slum.Slum.

It was all too much. None of it was enough. I couldn't muster the energy to hate it.

Who held the first dance party?

Who held the first dance party here? Someone who had read that this was what was now done. Someone who had read that this was how it was done.

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