12.Aug.2008 It’s an odd dance of self-identity
so i was like inthemiddle of writing this lengthy blog post about nonduality and selfawareness, a tome that had been the culmination of weeks of experimental this-that and i was thisclose to breaking through with an “aha!” when i get an email from Michelle. she fwd’d me the cover story of the latest adbusters, aptly titled: Hipster: The Dead End of Western Civilization. i thumb through and read the article on my blackberry and realize that quite a bit of mixed strong reactions are emerging.
i stop for a moment and stare off into my blog in progress. only this weekend had a relatively new acquaintance labeled me a “doom hipster” which also provoked some flared nostril type reaction. infact i had been mullin over it since then, alarmed by how the passing comment affected me. i usually pride myself on being unaffected. i paused the racket of “crystal castles” on the background and try to force clarity. i look around my apartment for something genuine. i see clubflyers. old wristbands. ikea furniture. designer fucking vinyl. heh. i think back to my “despair” wristband i sometimes wear out when i’m en route to good-times. total fucking hipster irony. ugh.
It’s an odd dance of self-identity – adamantly denying your existence while wearing clearly defined symbols that proclaims it.
let me partake in the collective “duh” and outwardly admit it: i’m a hipster. suddenly so much of my pointless self-defeating behavior has been explained and absolved. phew! my personality has so many facets which have been forced influenced by a predatory consumer culture that prides itself on unsustainable “best practices” the scope of which i dont want to even begin to investigate lest my head implode. i’m a carbon copy and i’ve never managed a single original selfless idea. and although the admission feels momentarily liberating, ultimately i’m still sitting here having the same existential dilemmas. remember that hangover induced “moment of clarity” i had a while back? for a minnit there i felt like a self-imporant asshole after writing it but maybe i was on to something.
i have to confess: i know i’m much more than all this surface-y scene shit i indulge in. i’m a self-sufficient adult who exercises restraint with consumerism, skepticism with the media, and her right to party. lately though, i’ve had re-occurring apocalyptic fantasies and an apathy so heavy its amazing i can put forth the effort to type these very words.
dood. apathy is so hot right now.
i have to stop now, i’m making myself sick.