There is a hole in the cultural production of our generation.
The back alley presses cranking out massive vitriol published on pulp rags and sold in indie coffee shops for a nickel a copy are gone. In their place, Starbucks squeezes out $5 lattes and sells you the trendy, hip premanufactured metro arts and entertainment weekly for 50 cents. Staffing hacks shilling big label music and big budget movies, they sell anti-establishment identity at established retail prices passing off the moral savings to you the consumer. Bestseller lists are dominated by books picked by Oprah, Billboard charts are topped by choreographers, and box office records are set by the lowest common denominator. It was not always so.
The rock show, the indie music store, the shareware video game, the counter-culture website, the mom and pop restaurant, the sweetheart, the screen printer, the disc jockey, the standup comic, the news anchor, the public library, the private university, the back of the bus, the front of the classes, the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker were all sold for the low introductory price of thirty pieces of silver.
After the sex, drugs, and rock and roll, the euphoric flashdance American Dream was traded for a home equity loan to buy a new swimming pool. However, the technology exists to erase the mortgage on our culture and restore the fiery sparkle of righteous indignation in our eyes.
The edge from our literature is gone.
This blog is written with the intent of reminding you what it was like when you first heard The Ramones. What it was like when you first found out Columbus didn’t discover America. What it was like when you first kissed that special someone and banged your teeth.
This is where reclaiming an experience that was bought and sold before we were born begins.
Fight the future.
Dream not of today.