![brainland:
This shit’s really funny until you go to Williamsburg and hipsters have splattered their free associations everywhere, like so much absurd and uninteresting seed. Suddenly every plain straight-forward “Couch For Sale” flyer tacked to a cork board in the pitch recesses of a bar becomes “Cool Beard w/ Guy Comes to All Yr Parties!!!111!” and a couple of the little phone number tabs at the bottom have already been torn away and so you run outside and want to wrap a blindfold around your face so you don’t have to look at all the pseudo-clever graffiti everywhere and know that every single coffe shop bathroom door in Williamsburg is covered in inane rantings by people who read some Baudelaire and just got it and then corrected each other’s grammar in Sharpies alongside crude drawings of dicks and mythical beasts and it’s all a fucking circle jerk of how authentic and original everyone is and so you take that blindfold and put it on and you run down Bedford Ave. punching directionlessly and if you happen to hit some motherfuckers wearing keffiyas and Wayfarers, well, they brought it on themselves because they were too busy wondering how to play kickball ironically, and then you collapse back home in your apartment in neighboring Greenpoint and you breathe a sigh of relief because you are defending Brooklyn from douche-gentrification and then you glance over at your Rockband set and the weird decorations you found on the street and maybe some volumes of poetry by dead white guys and in a silent offputting moment of clarity you think to yourself, “Wait… why’d I punch all those people when I could have just shot them?”
[via sraz]](http://21.media.tumblr.com/QyvNze3lDkqkizpl0B69htZCo1_500.jpg)
This shit’s really funny until you go to Williamsburg and hipsters have splattered their free associations everywhere, like so much absurd and uninteresting seed. Suddenly every plain straight-forward “Couch For Sale” flyer tacked to a cork board in the pitch recesses of a bar becomes “Cool Beard w/ Guy Comes to All Yr Parties!!!111!” and a couple of the little phone number tabs at the bottom have already been torn away and so you run outside and want to wrap a blindfold around your face so you don’t have to look at all the pseudo-clever graffiti everywhere and know that every single coffe shop bathroom door in Williamsburg is covered in inane rantings by people who read some Baudelaire and just got it and then corrected each other’s grammar in Sharpies alongside crude drawings of dicks and mythical beasts and it’s all a fucking circle jerk of how authentic and original everyone is and so you take that blindfold and put it on and you run down Bedford Ave. punching directionlessly and if you happen to hit some motherfuckers wearing keffiyas and Wayfarers, well, they brought it on themselves because they were too busy wondering how to play kickball ironically, and then you collapse back home in your apartment in neighboring Greenpoint and you breathe a sigh of relief because you are defending Brooklyn from douche-gentrification and then you glance over at your Rockband set and the weird decorations you found on the street and maybe some volumes of poetry by dead white guys and in a silent offputting moment of clarity you think to yourself, “Wait… why’d I punch all those people when I could have just shot them?”
[via sraz]
