May Twenty-one: No attractive women at the Cafe

My generation tries to make the ugly beautiful and the sinful pious. They walk around with shit in their noses and ink marks all over their skin. Proud of being fat. Fat is beautiful. Cleverly draping bright-patterned cloths over rolls of cellulite. Everything is beautiful as it is and everything is art. If any real art exists, it is a piccolo in a violent thunderstorm and you’ll probably never hear it. Unless by chance you walk into it there’s no way to find it under all the noise. The noise of a vibrator on a hairless vagina, on camera, on the internet. I saw a video of a girl who shoved some canned food up her cunt and squeezed it out of a canvas in front of some Hipsters. I’ve heard, without irony, that one should wear their venereal diseases as a badge of honor.

They sit in public and view what people are saying about them on the Internet. Narcissism unchained. Vegetarians grow obese gorging themselves on high-carb foods only to belittle the disgusting meat-eaters as they scarf down another vegan cupcake. Then they talk about a T.V. show ad nauseum.

A fat, bearded thirty-something with think-framed glasses walks on his tip-toes in a suit jacket that desperately needs to be pressed. He wears a button that reads “BAN FRACKING.” Goddamn. Consider the sheer genius it took to come up with the process of hydraulic fracturing. Someone to come up with the concept, someone to engineer the complex tools it takes to pull off the feat, someone who could bend the metal and manufacture the hoses and drills, someone with the balls to bankroll the first fracking project. Great men doing what they need to do to get oil out of the ground. But he wears a button because he saw a Youtube video of someone lighting their water on fire or something. Wearing a button takes less effort. It’s easy to tear shit down but hard to contribute anything worthwhile. He’s with a homely looking girl who looks vaguely Slavic. She compliments his suit. I wouldn’t call it a suit, but that’s me. I have standards for what constitutes a suit. She’s happy her date isn’t in cargo shorts and flip-flops, which is probably what he was wearing last time she saw him.

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