Kodak, Nikon...you're still showing me what my eyes are capable of doing on their own

When I started indulging my drug tooth (I have a sweet one, don't I?) in Willy Wonka's world of weed berries and mushroom sours, I started getting into looking at pictures of architecture and intriguing visual scenery. It must be something about spiral staircases, repetitive hallways and sacrosanct surroundings paired with tripping out of my one track linear-with-a-crackhead mind that just makes me enjoy it that much more. Now that I ponder, I can't think of ever caring about such mystical thumbelina mumbo jumbo when I'm not abstracted by drugs that grow out of cow shit. Speaking of shit, my topic of discussion-hipsters and photographers.

I have so many judgemental things to say that I can't even dip my foot in this vat of empty lives and dead eyes fueled by bad clothes, bad hair, bad brains, STD chains, oh oh...and an expensive Nikon camera. I don't know if it's just me, but I don't see one bit of talent in photography. Pushing your image and selling yourself as a photographer, as someone who actually has a unique skill set? That is the equivalent of a heroin junkie staggering while simultaneously hurling his way up to you and saying "Look at what smack has done to me! I deserve some recognition and a paycheck for what I've accomplished." Listen here Tyrone Biggums, just because you wipe your ass with used diapers and eat broken-winged pigeons does not earn you any authenticity, because every crackhead eats Tweety and sulks around in pamper shit. Just because you took the needle, it doesn't make you a wielder of the needle. That nigga T-Dog with the good brown shit for cheap, two for five style (watch out for the cops, though) is the true brandisher.
Think about it...I know we are all supposed to say that we don't give a shit about drug dealers and they are scum and yadda yadda...but they are stacking money so high Lil Wayne would write a shitty chorus about it. Now, one thing we can ALL agree on is that we have no sympathy, empathy, only dyspathy for baseheads and belt biting derelicts. MY POINT BEING...with all of the Gaudis and Gehrys in the world actually building and accomplishing things, photographers are their biggest fans, they're *junkies* of these individuals' works. Just like the junkie, I see no reason to give standing ovations to someone who does nothing but snap a shot at someone's lifesblood of a project and pass it off as their own art. I'm not saying that I don't appreciate a soothing photograph. On the contrary, nothing makes the blood rush to the head of my wee wee more, not even free drunk pussy that won't ask for answers or breakfast in the morning. What I have no awe for are the ones who are content with this and proud of themselves, as if they truly done something spectacular, like move a canyon or hit Jesus in the face with a lemon meringue pie in the most climactic moment of him parting the sea. I have so many friends that I know that do photography as a hobby hoping to animorph into a profession that it makes my nuts tingle to tell them that I think all of their *hard work* is, in essence, stoopid. The fact that I have to be out of my head high from drugs that came from cow shit to enjoy your so-called art is enough of a dagger's point for you to see that it is not really art at all. I don't need you to make a book of sunsets, I see that shit every night. I don't want to see the Atlantic Ocean with a sailboat at its end, because sailing is for people who wear short shorts, high socks, and faded white and baby blue shirts. I don't need to see the grass with a bed of roses in the distance, because I know there's dog shit huddled down somewhere in that old pervert's lawn. If you really want to impress me as a photographer, dig up graves and put them in sexual positions and shutterbug that shit, cause nobody has the balls to go there yet. You unoriginal pieces of artsy fartsy shit.

Hipsters. 85% of my friends/downtown cohorts are hipsters, whether they want to admit it or not. My definition of the term won't even be the clothes you slap on your battyboi frames, because frankly I am tired of talking about flannel. Kurt Cobain is dead, let his wardrobe die too. I will not talk about your horn rimmed glasses or the flashy Terry Shaivo mindset you wear so proudly. If Tim Burton conducted a reality fashion show, hipsters would be his choice candidates. A hipster, in its simplest terms, is a follower. Whether you're following your cronies in the "live fast, die drunk" lifestyle or just walking around with that self-evident stench of depression and failure as some new wave country/punk band rings off choruses in your tequila flavored psyche. Trying so hard to be an individual that you are a carbon copy. Your tattoos are taken in the same vein, all in vain. Trying so hard to please yourself with miniscule bullshit, you miss out on life and its opportunities. Traveling the world never felt so good from an armchair, says the hipster. Your lives are a constant uphill battle that you've created in your own mind, flooded by opposition, opression, and ovary housing. Trying to be the garden of eden and ending up garden-variety. Struggling to see the perfect sunset before you lay your tattered bones down, you walk the thin line between heartbreaking tragedy and spit-worthy laziness. So intriguing and pointless become your lives that the photographer above could stand to make a pretty penny out of that picture, if he/she only possessed the talent to sculpt your tale of dread. Only the photographer doesn't, because he/she too, is a flailing, failing hipster. Fuck the photograph and fuck your drummed up sunset. Die Hipster Scum.




EXSKRA EXSKRA
Everytime I see a clean cut black guy on TV I have to double-take, because I always assume it's BRRATATATAT Obama, when half the time its the Allstate Insurance guy. If that's racist that I see every black man as the President, fuck you for calling me racist about such a thing. Everyone always has to complain about something, don't they?