(Ceschi)
it's a nouveau leisure class
made of one million grown children
breaking their necks
attempting to learn the secret to
sucking their own dicks.
(Olson)
Your hip upper lip
And the chic depressive-manics
Who pretend to understand it
The way you fit in, but in a way you don’t quite fit
And all your emo constituents
All agree your rise to artistic dominance
Was no coincidence
They say that you’re of us, but not among us
And hip mystics intone this,
That you’re the 13th disciple of an exclusive populace
The lone leader of a newfound hipness
You give happiness a sickness
That makes it appealing to people still guilty of privilege
Well I find your appeal oppressive
And exploitative
The way you co-opted ironic pop shock tactics
Is fantastically useful to the massively brutal
Mass-manipulation machine
That entraps this
Ironic regime of hipness
Like a sequined glove on an iron fist
Nobody wants to break character
Just to be a witness
But it really is unfortunate
The power-play of awesomeness
The politics of popularity
It makes me sick, can you dig this, without a financial interest?
Cuz your hip upper lip
Is just a stiff upper hand, man
You got a rigid grip on the backs of the necks
Of a generation just growing into it
We just got acquainted with the notion
That we gotta settle down like a good little nation
Collection of countries puts away its exclamations
Sharpened gashing teeth
I get the smart end of a tough titty
But somebody’s gotta suck you off
And I guess it’s me
And I guess that means that you respect me
Enough to poison me with your witty embrace
And give me your poison face to face
Spoon-feed me a personalized diet of disappointment
You cater to my own already existent hate
And tell me it occurs naturally
It’s chemical occurrence
Is a truth of human fate
My hate was already meant to be
(Ceschi)
it's a nouveau leisure class
made of one million grown children
breaking their necks
attempting to learn the secret to
sucking their own dicks.
Call the Williamsburg police
All the vegans who accidentally ate fish sauce in their Thai food
are force purging at the same time
from every 3 digit area code
and the coded passwords that hold every intimate secret in their phones
have been cracked
I know each word is a teenager's cry-for-help-cut from '94
but my 30 something hands aren't letting me hang myself yet
they're no stronger than I am.
they're no stronger than I am.
even though they walk at 4 am with peacock confidence
deep down they realize that their ironic everything
is simply avoiding any authenticity.
these streets are endless pageants
because honesty is no longer cool.
the ephemeral beauty of cocaine parties
where men wake up to rings of lipstick circling their cocks the next morning
is their romance.
caring is pathetic unless its something they're supposed to care about.
now the brooklyn streets smell of spilled semen or lice ridden community pools
and the workers will sweep them...
and the luxury lives that parents provided
will keep workers sweeping.
every day is so damn new
when memories disappear
and nostalgia is only recalling yesterday before pills made it unclear.
hazy,selfish and clueless
till the drugs wear off
and they realize that theyre hopeless
like the rest.
they're no better because of how they're dressed.
revolution was just joking,
so they finally settle for work as hedge fund managers in hoboken.
it's a nouveau leisure class
made of one million grown children
breaking their necks
attempting to learn the secret to
sucking their own dicks.
(Olson)
And while I was unwittingly
Nursing on the tough titty of a fat cat, disguised as a hepcat
Sucking down the sour similes of an Anarcrat
Wearing one of his many party hats
The Great Greek Goddess Nonsensicles
Appeared to me while I was on my knees
And whispered to me, “I hear your pleas
To hear just how
To hear, here and now, how
From the horse’s mouth
A generation who’s abandoned
All your stubborn patience
Can move beyond it so quickly”
Yes, please, I wanna hear it
Through the same teeth that bit me
And she said, quietly,
So close to me
And with the earnestness and honesty
Only found in a majesty
Worthy of the moniker
Nonsensicles
She said so slowly to me,
Let go and let it be, you little pussy
What kind of wisdom would you expect from me?
I’m not your idol, anymore that I’m free
Even though you adore me
You’re not free yet, and I’m not your pet
And if you think for a blistered little minute
That you can bleed me heroic and wax off poetic
Then you can suck my dick
Cuz I’m not your little trick
You don’t pull me out of the hat you talk out of
But that still doesn’t mean I’m an Ideocrat that
You can safely pull out of
I’m just a stealthy cat who’s on my own way
And tends to share your own hate
Not so much for the out of touch middle men
But for the little men
Who are somehow minimally in touch in such a way
To literally falsely convey
A hipfound alternative to the squares of yesteryear
When it’s all so near to same old garbage we hear
Since yesterday
And it’s retro-year, the twenty-year rule
It’s a new day to say it
A new way to pay homage to it
You’ve got a garage full of it
Now it’s cool cuz it’s nostalgic, and not oppressive
But what’s the damn difference
When it’s the same rotten message?