Somewhere during the run of the last three or so jumpy years the Kids all congressed and decided that dancing was ideal and more fundamentally, fun; in light of sarcasm's dramatic loss of value- so great a loss that bitter people everywhere were to be found panhandling in the street, and spitting- the Kids decided that earnestness would best secure their cred and not-quite-deo-gratia keep them riding high and dirty atop a (frankly) feudal hierarchy. Also smiling is nice, said They;
ok 'feudal' is a little much and a little bitter. I've got a month left and that's a little bitter too, and there's nothing to lose in these little narratives to explain the mysterious explosion in public unrestrained revolutionary bouts of hoooooooo LARGE LOVE. Dance parties cost a lot. Perhaps it's philanthropy, in the same strained way as I can only justify spending my days as a florist by casting it as an exercise in sculpture.
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