Sprawling Lunacy
by A rather pointed little rant bashing scene kids and the counterculture in general.
One cannot properly describe (or condemn) hipsters at large without first profiling their taste in music. By some strange wrangling, the bands and genres they prefer—idolize, more like—are incidentally those scorned by the rest of society. Imagine, if you will, a raunchy bunch of colourful teenagers nodding out of sync, huddled around a large, unkempt albatross standing onstage and letting forth death cries as accompaniment to untuned, overly distorted rhythm guitar. Imagine the vocal stylings of Florence Foster Jenkins set to erratic metal riffs. Imagine a flock of greasy, raven-haired kids attempting to growl into a microphone but ultimately sounding like a kitten with a twisted ankle—imagine all these, and you have a far superior microcosm of hipster music than the erratic labels of ‘genre’ or ‘popularity’ can provide.
Alternatively, the fine folks at pitchfork.com can supply you with a similar taste if you can stomach the unbearable pretentiousness. I don’t recommend it unless taken as part of a healthy balanced masochism regimen.
And then there’s the poetry. Oh, the poetry. By warrant of attending local festivals and galleries, the hipster seems to consider his or herself an artiste, and this title is apparently all-inclusive: the hipster believes he/she is a jack/jill of all trades, able to write, sing, paint, play every instrument, yodel, and make the best darn macaroni art in the county. Truly, this is a bizarre breed of arrogance, and one most amusing to the casual observer once past the initial ‘bleedin’ ears, cryin’ eyes’ issue. However, there is a flipside to this folly: in addition to lowering interest in local culture, the hipster’s blantant promotion of his/her lack of talent generally spurs rampant loss of faith in humanity and religion alike.
Have you heard about those ‘rehabilitation’ camps run by unrelenting Christian activists that reportedly ’show homosexuals the light of God’ and turn them straight? I must first state that I am fully against this corrupted conversion, but sometimes I dream of a camp that slowly but surely brainwashes hipsters—or more accurately, cleanses
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