| I am not hip because I don't look like you. I'm not hip because in trying to not look like you I have adopted a new uniform that is just as trite as the baggie pants wearing crowd and makes me part of just another snobby clique. I am not hip because I shun your interests. Nor am I hip because I long to be cool because when I was a kid I wasn't. I'm not hip because of who I listen to, or what clubs I frequent or avoid like the plague. I'm not hip because of what I buy, or what I eat…though my ego tells me I'm cool because of all of those things. No, I am hip because it's in my blood like Mexican Tar and overcooked Crank. I'm hip because I was borne questioning me, and questioning you and lashing out at the world because I didn't like the answers I got. I refuse to listen to you and your fake jaded way of life that in all actuality is just a thin covering for all the fear and paranoia that comes from trying to live the American fucking dream! Hip is tumbling out all around in me and I look more the fool because of it. Hip demands I look at everything from my own point of view. A way of seeing the world that comes with experiencing life to the fullest. Living hard, loving even more so and loosing it all. And then in the aftermath looking at all I have done, all I have experienced and letting it shape me into a new thing, not a preordained attitude by the great pulsing tube or of words I gleaned from old copies of poetry. No I shaped my own existence from beyond the media eye and the product branding of Coke and Von Dutch and Gap and Doc Martin…all one in the same now. Hip is living, living and breathing and lying and fucking and fighting and loving every breath you got, every partner you find in the road that travels beyond the constraints of the John and Jane world. Hip is the front edge of the train of life, the reason the train sways, the reason all the passengers on this ride rock. Hip just is. |
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