Friday, February 12, 2010

In the Car, Trains and Graves

Coming of age Reagan post divorce, you can carbon date the apathy of the anti-Izod ethos. The road to my generation's atheist aesthetic awakening was paved with cigarette butts and second hand clothing. His eulogy made his observations somehow more valid, as if the pain of understanding was what consumed him. A convenient attachment for another malcontent to be crowned a prophet. The narcotic slumber and the worldwide attention, this is how we watch an implosion on the human scale. We can only take so much, before we become one with the indifferent universe.

If you allow me to indulge in a cultural delusion, this guy deserves a VIP pass to the drug filled disco ball promiscuity of an afterlife filled with bi curious straight boys. When you work around florescent lighting that makes unhollywood undead of us all, there is usually a jukebox. We are accustomed to ironic detachment, after all, there were raisins in our toast. But when you hear peole filled with patriotism, earnest sincerity and a lifetime of heart disease singing it's five o'clock somewhere at 10 am, it's no wonder we turned to drugs and drag(cigarettes and queens) to gain a sense of realism surrounded by the absurd.

Authentic music, death , computers, acceptance and coming of age in the south. This is how we roll, all the way to the grave.

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