GI100 Book #2...random attempts at poetry. |
8-9-17 This is slum village Cuisinart for your cousin's cousins. I don't know art without panic and if it's undescribed it must be epidemic but what we most fear when words go too far might be the hipsters crawling from the latte bar with their cardboard cutout beards made of construction paper. Like, haven't you guys heard of saving anything for later? When it's not a bad idea? Maybe talk yourselves outta it, know what I'm meanin'? It's no wonder your girlfriend likes us, not ironically... deeply meaningful trends live stoically and that's not the hill your grandfathers died on to teach you the ways a waist gets a flannel shirt tied on. Say it with me one time- with feeling- real feelings and not the dollar store dimebags you've been inhaling: There's more to life than me. Now, don't you feel better? Put it up on Instagram and tell your people how you never felt so good making an honest mistake... you've never met a villain you couldn't replace. What'll happen to you when your culture war fame is over? Time, pestilence, agony, death, terrible comb-overs (?), maybe. Everything's a maybe. Never is forever, so write back soon, ya filthy little trendsetter. You love us like you love a like; not hurtin' nobody #nonewfriends but the parking lot's camera'd up like you're not gonna love what you look like when the footage leaks like a comments section on the worst part of the internet you grew up in. That territory is all your own- yours alone- to own like the home you won't. Blown, but it's not your fault, is it? (Hint: It never is!) Life's a trophy and your name is Participant. Don't be art, make it! And quit being a panic if you can't be creative. |