Hypocrites and High Horses

The thing about hypocrisy is that no one, not a single person in this world, is exempt from it. Everyone is a hypocrite. This has been established already, by much smarter individuals than I.

But you know what else human beings are? Pretentious.

It’s natural. When someone gets excited about something that you knew about and gushed over ages ago, the superiority complex immediately settles in and you can’t help adopting a cool, just a little dismissive tone as you say “yeah… I know. I knew about them/that/those/whatever like… three years ago.”

Especially today with the neo-hippies who call themselves “hipsters” traipsing all around the place, it’s even easier to assume this holier-than-thou attitude, because being mainstream is just embarrassing now. To be mainstream is to be basic, and who likes being called basic? I don’t imagine a lot of people do.

The thing is, now that hipster culture has become so prevalent, even being hipster is mainstream. To be a true hipster you have to come out on top as a hipster hipster. I mean, what sort of garbage title is that? Continue reading “Hypocrites and High Horses”

Advertisements

Why I Don’t Believe In The Right To An Opinion (Or How To Piss Off Everyone In Your Vicinity)

Opinions are so damn complicated. We’re human, right? I think so. Whether you believe humanity is just an abstract concept or not is up to you, really. It’s not for me to decide what you have to think.

What do I think of opinions? You’d think, at this point, I have some kind of riff with it, but I really don’t. In fact, I bloody love opinions. Opinions are the best. Opinions are what separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom. It’s what makes us… human. Again, whether you believe in that humanity stuff is up to you.

My problem isn’t opinions, no. My problem is people with opinions, or to put it more eloquently, people with opinions who just don’t shut up.

Continue reading “Why I Don’t Believe In The Right To An Opinion (Or How To Piss Off Everyone In Your Vicinity)”

Why I Hate Poetry

I’m tired. I’m tired of hiding who I am behind incoherent words of poetry.  I am tired of people only ever appreciating a paragraph of true, heartwrenching emotions if it comes in a pretty, dainty, sugarcoated package of conveniently placed adjectives.

I did it again. It’s been engrained into my fingers because I’ve taught myself that people will only listen if what I have to say is pretty and unharsh to the ears, or otherwise it is lost in space. Bluntness is under-appreciated and therefore scorned as a boring essay.

Well I say, screw it.

I could write a paragraph about the intricate eccentricities of my puny, unimportant life. In fact, I did. I actually just wrote a couple paragraphs of unabashed truth about myself. I was the freaking gospel.

But I erased it. Cause the pure, blunt honesty of it all made me uncomfortable.

Then again, maybe that’s the reason why we like to write pretty words, why we can’t escape it. We are hiding behind the sheer lace curtain of poetry.

Thrum

My eyes are so goddamn tired. I feel a deep thrum around the crescents of my eyelids which begs me to close my eyes and keep them that way. The sensation of throbbing in my forehead aches to get attention, and is urging me to go to sleep and dream about a distant future where I am completely happy. There is a tingling in my long fingers and cramped toes, and the familiar warmth of my bedsheets call to me from home. I just want to be unconscious and smell the crisp detergent in my pillow case that so often lulls me to sleep. I want to watch through my eyelids the light which peeks from between my blinds, dancing on the ceiling, and breathe in the cold air that exists outside my plush comforter set blanket.
Instead I sit and listen to the instrumental of people’s voices and pretend I am paying the slightest bit of attention, as my mind wanders beyond the hidden horizon masked by the stubborn black trees. I glare at the indifferent grayness of the sky outside the window, as the sound of heavy footsteps pierce my ears in beat with my heart.
My eyes are so goddamn tired…

Germs

The peculiar sensation of being sick.

Now, I realize that the topic of malady has been suggested and turned and simmered and digested enough by everyone, especially for anyone currently in the northern hemisphere. But I do believe that if I don’t effectively purge my system of the somber and miscellaneous reaction to feeling ill, I’m pretty sure I just might explode into a horrible, comical, quite heated rant that will never end.

Continue reading “Germs”