Cold Weather, Cold Water

I never know.

I want to like this video and I should. But I can’t help to hate the fake-ness, the falsehood of putting a perfectly fine poem, such inspirational words by a inimitable man and adding nostalgic, irrelevant cinematography and sweeping and haunting orchestral movements behind a crude, worn, british narrating voice. As this video and so many like it serve to speak to our generation, although the poem speaks to every generation that has existed, and more than that, they speak to the individual, the artist in their most vulnerable states of mind, the decision of insanity for art over the comfort of a dull existence, it does so with bad taste. More than ever these videos are surfacing, as if to rise us up and get us moving. Perhaps it’s the cynic in me. And that’s the way the world has shaped me, beat down and negligent of feeling motivation through a three-minute clip. Or perhaps I can just spot the phonies. The ones who are but a shell, tremoring with a faint grasp on their own reality.


Bottle Rocket

Roman Candle blasting