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Out of context: Reply #12
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- Spookytim0
Tis true, the internet is boring. So is new music. New art, new design. New movies, new ideas.
New ideas are so passé, its all been thought before, discussed before, disseminated before and rejected before as last week's new ideas. Also, old ideas have been re-worked and are now old hat. Old hats are also last week's news. Last week's news is now passé. Passé is no longer retro. Retro is no longer modern. Old music and old ideas, old modes of conduct, old tribes and old fashions, old styles, old approaches, old ways and old fun have all been re-visited, re-done, re-worked, reconsidered, re-invented, re-invigorated, re-contextualised, re-spun, refreshed, rebirthed, rewound, rethought, revoked, revised and rejected. We had the future, then we had the past, then we remixed, then we re-sampled, then we had a mash-up, now we have mash. Tastelss, colourless. No nutrition.
Old old things, Old new things, new old things and new new things are all boring. all the same. All without effervescence or vitality. The greatest most remarkable thing we can muster barely elicits a mumble from the comatose depths of our artistic appreciation.
It is the death of our creative journey as a species. What can be done has been done, and what can be done differently, has. What can't be done is, oh, I can't be bothered.
We are spasticated, crippled like aged athletes with worn out joints, propped up on technology which gives us the impression of making small, staccato lurches forward into new creativity, yet all it does is provide us with the same old ideas seen through tweaked software. We are a weightless carcas, a jogging suit holding a brittle skin and a few fluted bones, all wet and weak and dribbling nonsense, all dragged behind a bubblejet printer which jerks and twitters its way along the corridor, responding to the instructions of a random code, pre-programmed by someone who thought it would be cool to let the software make the picture. The wonder of computers, tha magic of code, replicated and passed on, copied, facsimilied, and passed on, and diluted, and re-interpreted, and passed on. And passed on and on until we are sick. Sick of the same old things, twenty minutes after they were fresh and new and exciting.
What can be done brand new, previously unheard of, unthought, untried, unenvisioned can exist like that for just one tiny nanosecond before being assimilated, dissected, diluted, disseminated, passed on, passed up, and passed over as last week's thing by the jerk and stutter of advancement.
Next week's thing is last week's thing, same as the week before.
The unique ideas and the artistic endeavours of the individual mind must be met by a sense of apathetic disregard in order to realise how truly limited and unremarkable mankind's imagination actually is. Only then can it die naturally of old age and allow the cult of the individual and its spiritual aspirations to be laid to rest.
Only then can mankind achieve its greatest leap.
Face first, into the propellor.
Knack knack.
- I'll wait till it comes out on audio book.Jnr_Madison
- All you need to know is that old hats are no longer in.Spookytim
- *writes down some key phrasesJaline
- I appreciate your use of accents.Jaline
- I'm impressed you spotted them. Paragraph two was done in rural Lincolnshire.Spookytim
- Key Phrase
"Old hats are no longer in fashion"Spookytim