DEAREST HIPSTERS

please quit remarking on the irony that christmas, a religious holiday dedicated to the birth of a man who was adamantly against materialism, has ironically become a celebration of commercialism

and for those of you hipsters who have fallen deeper into the trap, please stop noting that the acknowledgement of this is so outdated, been there done that

dearest hipsters
please acknowledge that the plaid shirts you wear, form-fitting, neatly pressed with a bow tie are essentially the afterbirth of grunge, the lumberjackian persona has been done

dearest hipsters
please note that tagging yourself at city o city on instagram with a clever sepia picture at 11:30 on a friday night does not only provide a sufficient mating call to potential lovers but also provides a verifiable location for you should your enemy hipsters decide to crash your party for that backhanded comment you made about the shins’ second album

dearest hipsters
what the hell do you do?
drink coffee
ironically
smoke american spirits
ironically
talk about the bands you used to like
before they became too hip
while in your heart of hearts
you still hold a vinyl copy of i’m wide awake, it’s morning

dearest hipsters
let’s not dance to joy division
let’s not trek to the hipster meccas
of san fransisco
portlandia
let’s not drink our own boredom
out of a coffee cup that says
“this is a coffee cup” on the side

dearest hipsters
your book cases are full
and the spines of the books are pristinely
not bent

dearest hipsters
invite your gay friends to your party
as long as they are your cool gay friends

dearest hipsters
occupy starbucks
occupy whole foods
occupy illegal pete’s
occupy the spaces that are easiest to occupy
and already filled

continue to ignore the rapist plains of kansas
continue to ignore the shotgun shells of texas

continue to ignore that one place outside of america
that you forgot existed
until you wanted a statue of the buddha
to set on your turntable beside the underwood typewriter

continue to ignore the misogynistic kitchens of montana
continue to ignore the homophobic roar of laramie, wyoming

continue to ignore that one place outside of america
that you forgot existed
until you decided you and your friends
needed to know how it feels
to trip balls in bangladesh

dearest hipsters
thank god you’ve come along
to show us how identities based on pop culture
are the enemy of progression
that the goal is to express your individuality
with a slightly worn pair of oliver peoples from buffalo exchange
and a shirt from urban outfitters
that you spent thirty dollars on
to proclaim loudly
that you like the cheap beer

i see you at leela’s
dancing up to the counter
to order a PBR
and the hummus platter
but i can see you now
in your apartment of expensive recycled furniture
at two in the morning
eating two mcdoubles
and drinking a stella artois

dearest hipsters
before there were hippies there were hipsters
there was the beat generation
and sadly there were bongo drums involved
but there were ideas involved as well
and though i must acknowledge
that we do have a tendency
out of necessity
to rehash the same ideas again and again
like we just keep sleeping with culture again
in hopes that this one isn’t a miscarriage
i just ask
that maybe you take a second to identify
that you don’t have to got to sputnik
you don’t have to go to denver cruisers
on your fixie
with your handlebar mustache
and you don’t have to take the opportunity
to do what you truly want to do
and use it
to do what everyone else is doing

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

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BULLSHITTERS

there are these mannequins among us
constantly filming their biopics in their weasly heads
they talk like channel surfing
they make babies like they’re told
they point finger guns at the coppers
as they go to the astroturf universities for criminal justice
i wish they’d swallow their tongues
how the resolution of the digestive process thereafter would gracefully mimic their former speech patterns
cookie cutter rock stars
they used sugar instead of cocaine
apple juice instead of whiskey
they mock the labels of movements
that never wanted to be labeled
in expensive t-shirts
in canvas bags that will always remain unpainted
as profound as a coffee table
but nowhere near as conversational
they speak into microphones wired to headphones on their ears
on the importance of recycling
they steal, they plunder, they take what isn’t theirs
they leave their cerebral play-doh out
until it dries up and isn’t fun to play with anymore
weekend poets
“i can’t protest tonight, i’m getting my hair done”
cowards in lion’s costumes
princesses in burlap bags
whores in onesies
i lament the death of their individuality
not even
their very being
suffocating in an air-tight room of wandering
they dance like dead people
they make love like divorcees fuck
they sing other people’s songs
and forget the words
they follow cars
they spray-paint golden people the same shade of bullshit that they are
and print off equality flags
their rear-view and front-view and side-view windows
are covered with bumper stickers

they kiss with their lips
their hearts in a coma
they sing with their throats
as sirens shipwreck inside of them
tame tigers
ugly beauty contests
elitist religions
the open-door policies of bomb shelters
come-as-you-are black tie events
there are these manicans among us
with black market jackets filled with
imitation heartbreak watches
they give absurdity a bad name
as they watch other people play the victim
on high definition television screens
in their cars
as they drive through nature green and life-like
to bullshit towns
that they overpopulate
with overboiled ideas
and al dente emotions
holding hands
listening to the radio’s bleeding ears
as bullshitters
translate truth into
electric folk songs.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “THE GRAFFITI ARTIST”