I walk from village to town,
Sun is gleaming and all that,
Massive headphones attached
Velvet Underground playing -
They so retro and edgy…
White skinny trousers
Flop on the top
Undercut, ear piercing,
‘Ain’t life great?’ I think to myself.
Something bland on my tele,
Whack out the laptop and listen to dubstep
Get on my blog and write about
Film, music, art,
It’s evening, what now?
Radiohead? Jazz? House music from Chile?
As I walk to the pub, velvet jacket on,
Odd socks, the look complete,
For a pint of good old ale,
‘We don’t drink lagers!’
Watching the football, Arsenal playing the game in the ‘right way’.
We’re at Oxford, it’s our uni,
I study philosophy,
I’m currently doing aesthetics and I read Wittgenstein
Though I usually read Ginsberg, Kerouac, Whitman and Hunter S Thompson.
Let’s go watch a film!
At the picture house, not the cinema,
Aranofsky’s my favourite – I love Black Swan,
I even say I understand Donnie Darko.
What’s for dinner?
French restaurant, fine wine,
Then chill in a room drinking lapsong suchong
Talking about test cricket listening to Serge Gainsbourg.
I’m an indie hipster cunt
I know it
I show it
I’m a cliché
I admit it
I breathe it, I live it,
I’m even writing a self-indulgent poem,
I’m a walking parody of myself,
Label me as you like,
I’m a cliché
But so is everybody else
And with a beer in my hand and my girlfriend by my side,
I don’t give a shit.
Some post-individualist stuff here, and the fact that I just said that reflects a bit about this poem.