Alright, let’s self-reflect, let’s discoursify content management systems, let’s bore the living crap out of each other. Believe it or not, it’s ten o’clock in the morning and I am cooking soup with Sam. Another Sam. At the CDC, which might be the Center for Disease Control, the Cult of the Dead Cow, or some other thing. It has a Twitter account. Last night, we drank whiskey, then I dreamt I rode my bike to the beach in Shenzhen. This is all of utter concern for us all, it all means something, whether we write about gin and tonic, or oysters, or austerity, or about how fucking interesting each of us is.
I love 60pages, but be honest, we are all just bored and vain. We invent what we would like to call experiments, we perform shallow exercises in community or individuality, we pretend to care. We proclaim a cultural precariat, but are all frequent flyers. I can only sleep on trains and weep on airplanes. We all have a way with words, we all get away with words. We produce art, the ultimate commodity, the ultimate mechanism for the creation of fictitious value, the very essence of capitalism. We leech on Google and Wikipedia. We migrate and swarm like locusts, but it’s the others who gentrify. What I write is not in any way better. It is meant as a simple provocation. Fuck you. Do not write about gin and tonic. Do not try and tell me about your grand ideas. Do not tell me about how revolutionary you are, or how cynical. I am tempted to show this to someone before publishing it, and that’s how symptomatic this is. Why be afraid?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vg8Ij0PlMDA