Friday, August 5, 2016


"it is tempting to describe the hipster in psychiatric terms as infantile, but the style of his infantilism is a sign of the times, he does not try to enforce his will on others, Napoleon-fashion, but contents himself with a magical omnipotence never disproved because never tested. . . . As the only extreme nonconformist of his generation, he exercises a powerful if underground appeal for conformists, through newspaper accounts of his delinquencies, his structureless jazz, and his emotive grunt words.("Born 1930: The Unlost Generation”, Caroline Bird, Harper’s Bazaar, Feb. 1957)

Sitting around, wondering about nothing since nothing is what they own or know, tattooed flip-floppers lived their jazz-like unstructured lives without never expecting to become part of another world beyond their fashionable ghettoes, forced to grow up by a hooverian spirit embodied in a massive corpus named Trump, and to accept that their lives were meaningless because they never realized that black lives also matter.

En sus cafés, tatuados chancleteros sentían la desestructurada vida del jazz sin nunca entender que el Hoover seguia por ahí rondando los cuerpos, buscando incorporarse cual espíritu ambulante en sus vidas. Y llegó Trump, los mató mientras tomaban café au lait.

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