Death to all ye hipster scum!

Hipsters appear to be harmless creatures on the surface, but few know of their true origins.  Until now.  In the early 1940s during the rise of Hitler in Germany several teenaged boys in the Hitler Youth were selected for a special program that would ensure the security of Fascism as the primary ideology in the world for generations to come.  

The boys were taken to a private training facility in the Swiss alps, and systematically brainwashed using techniques that would later be tested in the little known CIA endeavor MKULTRA.  The boys were beaten, tested, beaten and the tested again.  They were systematically raped by the Fuhrer himself until they believed themselves to actually be homosexuals.  Finally, they were taught the principles of all communist revolutionaries and leaders in history, given copious amounts of marijuana, and released into the liberal arts colleges of the United States.  

Hitler believed that communism would eventually be an even bigger threat to fascism than the allied powers.  His plan we to create a generation of liberal idealists to infiltrate American society and turn the Americans against the communists and in a sense create an unlikely ally.  Unfortunately for him, the American's had other plans.  However, the hipsters were already in place, and even to this day they continue to spread their communist ideology amongst American youth.  

Today the original hipsters are gone, but what was started nearly seventy years ago continues on to this day as the rebellious nature of the hipster was specifically formulated to appeal to American youth, and continues to do so.  

Ironically the irony that hipsters so love to point out is truly the greatest irony of all since their entire lives are perhaps the most extraordinary irony since irony was invented.

Continuum

Why do we go to school?
To learn that we have to be taught to learn.
To see what others have seen.
To do what other have done.
To make what others have made.
To try what others have tried.
To fail where others have succeeded.
To fail where others have failed.
To finish what others have started.
To think what others have thought.
To be what others have been.
To live the way others have lived.
To lose your imagination,
and die where others have died.

Drone: Chapter Three

    “I think I need something to sleep.”
    “You’re having trouble sleeping?”
    “Well, yes.”
    “How long do you normally sleep?”
    “It’s hard to say. I usually get distracted by things, and end up staying awake.  Then I sleep for maybe a couple of hours.  Whenever I can really.”
    I was sitting on my psychiatrist’s leather chair.  I couldn’t help from thinking how useless these sessions had been for me.  I hadn’t actually been prescribed anything and this was my fourth visit.  It was suggested by my parents that I see someone.  Since I refused to declare my major on the grounds that I didn’t have a good grasp on who I was and therefore what I wanted to do with my life.  They thought that a professional could help me “gain direction.”
    “How long has this been going on?”
    “Three...No maybe four months.  I don’t know I guess since around the beginning of the semester.”
    “Why do you think you’re having trouble sleeping?”
    “I don’t know.  Isn’t that you’re job.  Can I smoke in here?”  I asked with the cigarette already at my lips. 
    “Sure.” The doctor said as if he didn’t really want me to.
    I lit it anyway, with my gold Zippo.  Inhaled and tried to keep myself from looking at Dr. Shultz directly.  “What were we talking about?”
    “Your sleeping habits.”
    “Right.  So what do you think?”
    “Do you honestly think you have a problem sleeping.”
    “Again doc, I don’t know.  That is your job.”
    “Okay.  Let me ask you another question.  How is your outlook.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Your current condition.  How do you feel about you’re current state.”
    “Well...I’m very pessimistic.”
    “What are you pessimistic about?”
    “Well, I’m not really doing anything with my life.  I mean, school just seems very...unfulfilling.”
    “I see.  Are you seeing anyone?”
    “Well yeah.”
    “Is it serious?”
    “Of course it’s not serious.”
    “Have you been drinking a lot lately?”  He asked me plainly.
    “Not really.  Maybe three or four nights a week.”  I exhale more smoke.
    “How much do you drink on average?”
    “Maybe fifteen a night.  I...I don’t know.” 
    “I see.”  I saw him scribbling something on his pad.
    “What about drugs?”
    “Just pot.  I don't like it that much.  I don’t use it that much.”  I said this quickly, and then thought. “And some coke.  Only natural stuff, you know?”
    “Okay.”  He again scribbled something in his notes.  “Perhaps you should consider cutting back on your drinking habits.” 
    I stamped out the cigarette in a crystal ashtray that topped a mahogany stand.  Smoke streamed from my nostrils.  There was a stale silence in the room.  It smelled like wood varnish, but it still smelled like a doctors office.  I slight hint of rubbing alcohol seemed to be present, but I might have just been projecting.  I looked at the doctor finally, “Heh, that's a good one doc.”
    He responded mildly, “Look, I think you might be depressed, but I can’t prescribe you anything.  It wouldn’t mix well with your current lifestyle.  If you want to see a change you have to make an effort to change.”
    “Christ.  This is pointless.  I’m a fucking college student.  I drink, Okay?”   My persona was still stable, but his logical analysis was  honestly pissing me off.
    “You have to see that if you are truly depressed your alcohol and drug use is probably an attempt to self medicate.”
    “I don’t think that’s what it is.  I’m not depressed.  I’m just trying to figure out what I’m looking for.”
    “Well, what do you want?”
    “I don’t know.”  I Looked down for a moment to think about it.  “I know I want more than this,” I said finally.
    He scribbled another line on the pad.  Then looking at his watch said, “Okay.  Well ponder that for next week.  Our time is up.”

Drone: Chapter Two

    I want to tell you so many things, but everything I tell is expelled only in tiny pieces.  I can never express to you the true feeling or emotions that came with the events that unfolded that winter.  There was a girl who I’d had an affair with the spring before, but she had left the city and was now involved with someone else.  I panned on seeing her if she returned for Christmas, but she never came home. 
~
    I was at some sort of post-Thanksgiving pre-Christmas party with Matt Hilderbrand.  The whole thing was quite contrived, despite the obvious effort the hostess had put into it.  I was impressed, but also very annoyed.  There wasn’t enough beer, and for some reason everyone at this party seemed to be drinking straight vodka.  Some sort of fascination with Absolute was evident, and if I do say so myself, in rather poor taste.  The only good thing I could see on the surface was the excellent selection of eighties music, and the brunette across the room.
    “We need cocaine,” Hilderbrand was holding a corona in his hand and not looking at all drunk enough. 
    “Christ, fuck that.  You’re right though,” I said, taking a sip of mine.
    “This party sucks.  The music sucks.”
    “The music is alright, but the booze situation is atrocious.”  I caught another glimpse of the brunette who shot a glance at me as she walked into the kitchen.
    “Yes.” Matt agreed with emphasis. 
    “Fucking Absolute,” I said, trying to tilt my head, and follow the path of the girl.  “I think this girl is looking at me.”
    “Who?”
    “I don’t know.  I’ve never seen her before.”
    “I don’t know anybody here.  I need a fucking cigarette.  Smoke?”
    “Fuck it.  Lets go.”
    The air was stiff and calm.  There was an aura of certainty in my thoughts as the slow burning paper disintegrated into ash, vapor, and smoke, as it always did.  Matt was saying something about the advertising industry, and I was agreeing with him.  His words made sense to me, but for some reason I was asking myself whether or not they made sense to him. 
    The city was lit up, but obscured because we were in a low-rise apartment building near campus.  This frustrated me.  Matt had stopped talking, and I noticed that the brunette had walked onto the balcony.
    I lifted the cigarette to my lips, staring at her.  I took a drag.  Then turning to Matt, my voice slightly deeper because of the smoke, I said, “She’s looking at me.”
    “Well you are looking at her.”
    “Yeah but...”
    “Just go fucking talk to her.  Christ, she obviously wants to jump your bone.”
    “Not an easy task,” I said sarcastically.
    “Fuck off,” Matt said now pissed because of the lack of blow and the lack of female interest, but most because of the blow.  I approached her casually.  At first I had thought that her hair was brown, but now I began to see that it was more black in this light.  It was not as if it had been dyed black, but as if it was natural despite her very light complexion.  She was wearing a strapless  cocktail dress.  It was the usual type it was cut short showing off her excellently toned legs that were accentuated by what appeared to be no less than four inch stiletto heels. 
    “Excuse me,” I said, provoking her attention.  “I noticed you looking at me.”
    “Oh you think I was looking at you,” she shot back. 
    That cut me short, but wasn’t unexpected from the type of girl that usually frequent parties like this.  “Well I saw you looking at me...” I said as she took a sip of something that looked like Champagne from what looked like a Champagne glass. 
    “I was just looking at you because you were staring at me.”  She cut me off letting the glass fall to her side. 
    “Well maybe I was staring, but I was just trying to figure out who you are.  I’ve never seen you anywhere before, and you are definitely someone I wouldn’t miss.”
    “Smooth talker are you?  I just transferred here.”  She said, finally cracking a sly grin.
    Now I was thinking, and as I looked back into the hapless party I knew what an utter waste of time this all was.  “Do you want to get out of here?”
    “Yes.”
    Then we were walking through the crowd.  We were stealing a bottle of Champagne from the kitchen.  We were stumbling down the hall.  We were climbing a staircase.  We were on the roof.  I poured another drink into her glass.  I drank from the bottle as I stood on the edge, and finally escaped the eyesores below.  Now I could see.  The city illuminated as it always was in the distance.  The only absolute.  The moon struck me that night.  Big and bold it made the tar surface we stood on now appear gray.  When I looked at her juxtaposed against it all everything appeared in black and white.  There were no words.  There were no names.  No mediocrities.  Only this.
    I grabbed her then.  “Do think there is any hope for this?” I asked her.
    “No.”  She said.
    We kissed.  Our arms and hands struggling with buttons and cloth and lace.   Then love came in the only form I knew it to take.  Our bodies moving slowly about each other.  She grasped me, and my head close to hers we moved together in step.  Friction creating some warmth on that bleak night.  Her hands moved like waves over me.  They washed away my thoughts, and when the tide came in I dissolved into the sand and disappeared into the night.
    We laid there beneath it all.  The smoke from my cigarette rising into the blank air above us, and there was nothing.  I was free. 
    “Why are you here?” She asked me later.
    “What do you mean?” She took my cigarette and took a drag before handing it back to me.
    “You don’t seem like the type to go to a party like that.”
    “Yes I do.”
    “Well maybe on appearances, but not...” She stopped.
    “Not what?”
    “You just seem different then the rest of them.”
    “Don’t get your hopes up.  I’m still a pretty big asshole.  I probably won’t call you.”
    “Who said I want you to?”  I looked at her.  She was smiling. 
    “I’m looking for something,” I paused.  She was still listening.  “I’m looking for something real.”
    “Like what?”  She asked genuinely.
    “I don’t know yet.”
    “Am I real?”
    “I hope so.” I said silently.

Melodrama

    I can still smell you.  There was a breath we shared on that last morning.  The last touch, last kiss, last look.  How could we have possibly known that our lives would be so irrevocably separated.  So destroyed by distance and time, and the moment.  It lasts with me now sometimes only in the night, only when my mind wanders, but it wanders often and I may never forget. 
    I can only remember small bits.  Lotion, smelling of synthetic flowers making your skin smooth as I run the tips of my fingers up.  And you smell like I want to hold you forever.  Your eyes looking into mine with all that wanting.  What I thought you wanted, now I only want to know what you are thinking.  You so desperate to see inside of me, and me so desperate to hide from you.  I want to give you what you wanted.  To give you everything.  To give you my heart and so much more. 
    Did you know that I love you? 

MLK: An Anarchist Perspective

    Martin Luther King Day was yesterday and as a white American you may be wondering the significance of such a day to me.  I, as I am sure many other whites do, may not immediately see the significance of a civil rights leader who fought for the rights of blacks in America.  I was about to overlook the day altogether when last night I heard an interesting piece on the Tavis Smiley show on NPR.  One of the guests was addressing the significance of President Obama in regard to King’s goals.  His commentary, however, took a turn when he said that Obama, or simply having a black President, was an aspect of King’s dream, but ultimately his dream has yet to be fulfilled. 
    I claim no authority on King’s messages, but from what I do know, he was not only concerned with the rights and liberties of blacks in America, but that of minorities and even people all across the world.  He favored nonviolence in all situations, and this was very evident in his acts of civil disobedience.  King’s goals supersede the needs of any one group, and identify the necessity all people have for freedom and justice. 
    In the United States today we have not only disregarded much of this message, but we may have actually gotten worse.  King was opposed to the Vietnam War and described this opposition in a speech called “Beyond Vietnam” in which he said that the U.S. Government is “the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today.”  He called the  U.S. occupation of Vietnam an attempt at American colonization which echos today in the our current war in Iraq and Afghanistan as we continue to occupy these nations despite the futility of the cause. 
    Again we are reminded that King’s message was not just for one minority, but for all people, because it is necessary for all to people to understand that the fundamentals of peace must start with a policy of nonviolence in all situations with no aggressor. 
    Unfortunately, the United States has become the aggressor in the world today.  Ironically it was this aggression that led to the terrorist attacks of 9/11, something the intelligence community calls Blowback.  Rather than adjusting foreign policies in the world, and in the Middle East, the United States proceeded to step up its presence in the region, invaded two nation-states who governments and civilians had nothing to do with any acts of aggression toward the U.S.
    Rhetoric in the U.S. today causes anger, forms hate, and pushes nationalism.  However, this anger is often projected toward those the government wants us to hate, and not who is actually to blame, especially if the blame is to fall on the government itself. 
    Indeed you can tout about our civil rights and freedoms to the world, and promote democracy all you want, but the fact is that this county is no more free then it was.  Blacks enjoy rights they were not afforded in King’s time, but as they finally reached the level of “freemen” the nation as a whole began to take a nose dive with civil liberties for all.  The War on Communism, The War on Drugs, The War on Terrorism, all rhetorical ploys to scare the public into a certain way of thinking.  Ploys not to fight for our freedoms, but to find ways to restrict them.

Drone: Chapter One

The Profound Examination of Human Evolutionary History

You know that feeling you get, in the morning, after you’ve had a one night stand?  When the girl you fucked is still lying next to you, and you’re wondering whether or not she had a good time.  You’re wondering if she did this because she actually liked you or if she was just drunk and couldn’t tell the difference.  You’re hoping its the first one.  You’re hoping that you’re worth enough for her to give a damn, even though you couldn’t give a damn when you were getting in her pants eight hours ago.  Well now the sun is casting those blue reflections on the block wall, and you’re awake and soon she will be too, and you’re hoping that when she does she will look at you and smile.  But you know that is just wishful thinking, and, every foreseeable outcome points to the obvious answer you already have on the tip of your dry tongue.  You mean nothing.

~

Craig Crenshaw, Matt Hildebrand, Timothy Stuart, and I were sitting at a window booth at Jerry’s.  It was a decent table especially for this restaurant, but I had a hunch that our luck was based on the fact that Friday wasn’t one of Jerry’s prime nights.  

We had all pounded three or four shots each before making our way from the apartment near campus to this restaurant on Jackson Street.  We were all at least buzzed, and Matt was showing signs of mild intoxication.  

I was trying to coax the waitress over to our table to get another Don Q and to try and get her number, but she seemed to be ignoring me, although I couldn’t really tell.  Craig had begun asking us what we thought of this girl he met at a club last week.  I had seen her, and although I thought she was hot, I said, “I don’t know.  I never really got a good look at her so I couldn’t say.”  This may have all seemed very calculated, but honestly I just didn’t want to get involved.  Craig always asked everyone’s opinion on everything, and whether or not our opinions actually factored into any decision he made was yet to be determined, so again I distanced myself from such matters of friends.

Matt seemed more drunk than the rest, but he was also dressed better than the rest of us so that made up for it.  He was wearing a blazer that probably cost more than everything I was wearing.  He was agreeing with Craig, who was obviously looking for approval.  He was saying, “If you’re into her then why not?”  

Craig was nodding his head.  He seemed to be saying, “Yes.  Yes.”  But he wasn’t making any noise.  Then looking at his watch in one motion he too was trying to call the waitress.  “Where the hell is this girl?  It’s been, like, ten minutes.  Christ, I came here to drink.  Not chew...fucking...ice.”

I looked at Timothy.  He was being his usual quiet self, but tonight he seemed to have something on his mind.  I very much liked everyone at the table, but Timothy was different.  He was the type of kid who had the potential to be legendary.  He raised his glass to his lips.  Sipped.  Replaced the glass.  I knew that Craig didn’t really care about everyone else’s thoughts on this girl anyway.  He really just wanted to hear what Timothy had to say about it.  

“What do you think Timothy?”  I asked, also curious.  

Timothy was wearing pleated trousers and a cardigan sweater that was complimented by a Ralph Lauren button down.  He was wearing his Wayfarers inside, (we all were) but he lowered them, and finally removed them when he started talking.  “I already fucked her.”

“What?” Craig asked.

“I said, I already fucked her.”

“I heard what you said, but now I’m asking you what you mean?”  Craig said sharply, now lowering his sunglasses.

“I think he is trying to tell you that he porked your girl, Crenshaw,”  I chimed in sarcastically. 

“No shit?” Matt said slowly.

“Goddammit, Tim.  You fucking bastard.  When?”

“It doesn’t matter.  She was terrible.  Not worth your time, believe me.”

“Fuckin’ hell.”  Craig pulled out a cigarette. “I could have decided that,” he started to light it when the waitress finally came over.  “Oh, nice of you to join us.”

“You can’t smoke in here.”  The waitress said as he lit it anyway.  

“We’re leaving.”  Craig stood up and blew smoke in the waitress’s direction.  Matt and Tim rose to leave, and I pulled out a hundred and gave it to the waitress telling her to keep the change, and then apologizing, and then getting her number.  

~

There was a briskness in the air on the streets.  Between the skyscrapers, and condos, and restaurants and cafes that were trying to be hip, and people who were doing the same.  The problem was, this city had no real art scene.  Everyone here was either an amateur, or a low paid wannabe.  There were galleries, and festivals, and shows, but no one outside this realm really paid any notice.  Essentially these people were just imitation creatives.  There was nothing real here.  It was all constructed, all imported, all disaster.  

We were now all feeling the effects of the booze and a cloud of condensed air and cigarette smoke wafted above the four of us as we traversed the street.  Crossing back towards campus Craig said loudly, “We need beer.”

“Lets get some beer then.” I said, turning toward a convenience store on the corner.  

“What we really need is some pot,” said Timothy.

“Yes.  Best idea of the night,” said Matt.  “I know a guy.”  Matt was pulling out his cell phone.  Timothy was trying to ask him who his guy was, Craig grabbed two twenty-four packs from the freezer, and we were all buying cigarettes.  

“What are we doing tonight,” I was asking as we got back to the apartment.  

“Let’s...let’s...let’s call some girls,” Craig said enthusiastically despite his intoxication. “I need some pussy.  Do you know anybody?  Who can we call?”

“No.  No chicks,” said Timothy.  

“Fuck that.  You’re getting laid, of course you don’t care.” Craig snapped back.  “Gimme a beer.”  We sat down on our crumbling leather couches.  Craig cracked a beer, Matt lit a blunt, Timothy sat down and started drinking a beer and  never stopped, and I lit a cigarette and watched the chaos.  

Timothy put his empty beer down, and grabbed another one.  He opened it, cutting the silence in the room, and spoke.  “Do you guys know why humans evolved from hunter gatherers?”  He looked at all of us.  Presently I seemed to be the only one really paying attention.  Craig was getting very drunk now and Matt was enthralled with the art of smoking his expertly crafted blunt.  

“Does it matter?” asked Matt.

“Well, I guess nothing really matters.”  Timothy retorted quickly, his tone more serious now.  I knew something was irritating Tim, but I didn’t have any idea what he was getting at.  

“Yeah, but listen.  The reason humans evolved from hunter gatherers...you know twigs and berries type shit...to farming...is all because of beer...Have you heard this?  Turns out that those motherfuckers loved gettin’ wasted.”  He took another big gulp from his beer. “They drank so much they had to start specializing just so they could grow enough rice to make malt liquor.”

“That’s fucking great,” Matt laughed out, obviously stoned.

“Who cares,” said Craig unabashedly.  “I want to talk about this girl.”

“What girl?” I asked, knowingly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Timothy retorted, “You realize that our entire existence as workers in this capitalist system is based on the fact that a couple of fuckers wanted to get drunk.”  He took another drink.  “Our entire society, government, religion, art, war, everything...it’s all because some guy was like–we need to integrate.”

“That’s really, like, deep.”  said Matt.  

“Well, I don’t have a job,”  I said.  

Our disinterest was clearly upsetting Timothy, and he was now becoming even more evangelical.  He took the blunt from Matt and stood up on the coffee table in front of all of us.  He took a massive hit, sucking in half of what was left in one huge gasp.  When he exhaled the room was full of pungent smoke.  He was sweating mildly, and his eyes became fiery, or bloodshot, or both.    

“It’s all just bullshit.  The beer isn’t the only thing either.  Take Craig for example.  You’re a fucking slut...you’re a fucking...a fucking whore...You’re a piece of shit peder-ass.”

“She was seventeen!”

“It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t fucking matter.  That’s not the point anyway.  The point is that you’re a hypocrite.  Honestly, we all are.  I mean have you ever though about it?  I mean, why the hell do people, and by people I mean us too, have such low goddamn moral values?  Every night it’s the same goddamn bullshit man, and now we find out that our whole existence is based on fucking hops.  Its just so fucking incomprehensibly tragic, man.  Our whole existence is  based on a fucking lie, dude.”  He took another huge gulp of beer.  Now sweating quite profusely, and now visibly enflamed. His hair was combed over and slicked, but now fell into his eyes.  He slicked it back with his fingers, grabbed the roach with the tips of his thumb and pointer and took the last of it into his lungs.  

I had only taken one hit, but my world was closing in on me.  I could see everyone, but I had a strange feeling that I looked ridiculous.  My understanding of the situation was solely based on my complete trust that everything coming from Timothy’s mouth was true.  I also had a feeling that Matt and Craig were also in my situation, but I couldn’t tell if they were paying attention to Timothy.  Timothy seemed to be distracted by something, but I wanted to hear more of his sermon. 

“I totally agree, man,” I said.  

“No man.  Don’t agree with me.  That’s the whole problem.  Collectivism.  To much agreement.  There’s no innovation.  There are too many followers.” 

“You’re right.”

“Don’t agree with me, man!”

“Okay.” I said trying to show him that I understood.  He put one foot back on the table.  At that moment I knew he was completely, utterly, and totally insane.  The other two were on the verge of passing out, but he spoke to them like they were watching the birth of Christ. 

“We’ve been programmed man.  Don’t you get that?  Fucking school...it’s all just a way to make us conform...fucking history is written by the winners, man.”  He was becoming frantic.

“Yes! Yes! YES!” Matt was screaming.  

“We need to talk about the girl,” Craig mumbled.

“Fuck the girl! Society is an illusion man!”  screamed Timothy.

“You did.  You fucked her,” Craig realized.

“You’re right.” I said.

“Don’t agree with me goddammit.”  Then he suddenly forgot his words.  He grabbed another beer.  He sat down, and drank it.   I looked at Matt, who was now tipped over, unconcious.  Craig looked at me.

“You got a smoke dude?”

“Yeah.”  

He took the cigarette from my grip.  Lit it.  The apartment was quiet.  Smoke billowed.  A siren could be heard on the street below.  I got up and walked to the balcony.  The night was still cold.  The city had a look of artificiality now.  It looked like a picture of a city at night, not the real thing.  From inside I heard Timothy groan.  

“You fuck...don’t you get it?  Your life is meaningless.”