Greetings from scenic,

Category: Diary
Tags: Fuck Swipe


Resting on the small brick wall outside the Chargrill; chatting almost absent-mindedly. They say you don't know what you got until it's gone. I know what I've got, though.

We talked a lot about subculture. It'd seem that we're in an age of such diverse subculture that it'd be hard to pin down what is sub- and what is not. Fueled largely by the Internet, subcultures seem to be more present than ever.

But then again, we've never lived at any other time?

It takes a certain breed of person to break into any given subculture. Years would pass before you may understand the dynamics of it all. How should we be expected to understand anything of the past subcultures. How do we know anything of the past other than what is told, dryly, through the words of someone else, instead of living it ourself? Nobody truly understands the past anyway, even people who lived it.

That's neither here nor there. Here's something in the same vain:

It's remarkable how many children grow old. I'd say that now more than ever, there are more, older children among us.

The Internet is composed of social-media freaks; people obsessed with how they are viewed on-line. It's disgusting how much power they waste charging and re-charging their phones just to do the same shit over and over again: Like, like, like. Swipe, swipe, swipe. They're a new brand of youth; vaccuous individuals only defined by their sweeping social circles and friend lists.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

I'm thankful for these people, though. The ad-revenue they generate, the products they buy, the economic impact they create with their ad-soaked minds as complex and interesting as wet newspaper provides the backdrop to our existence... they do need to do something, right? They'll never change... I have such little faith in their agency: scrolling through your phone is staring into the abyss.

We can only put our faith in the precious sub-cultue, blessed that it still exists.

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