What the Facebook IPO Means For Young Writers
Nothing Left To Buy:
A detailed analysis of the Facebook IPO:
i’m the only finance writer without any understanding of desire. i’m soft like the sound of a dead freeway or the jam band that plays in a warehouse above the impossibly cute shopping district. all the helpful selling colors. this is china in the future. the TVs are 40% thinner in 2050. american is 40% thinner. there are fewer white babies. people want things like food that is free from toxins and movies with uncompromising ethnic super heros. little kids want to grow up to be anything. anything at all would be better than youth. education today is like an expensive prison for brilliant young interns with no tasks to complete. there’s nothing but screens showing images of other screens. jean baudrillard’s nephew was right about that french restaurant – it’s really delicious if you can get a reservation by email. no i can’t give you the email sorry. i was asked not to.
i belong to 8 websites that help me decide what i want to buy next. gotta get away from that i guess. when do we take the train south for the winter? migrant workers for the invisible dream economy can live anywhere you know. where should you type out the prison diary? the desert seems good for this. the clouds are choking on smoke from companies that went wild at last night’s party in hollywood. it’s a huge battle for the remaining limelight. it’s a battle for control of the terror website. the supreme court is responsible for all the good art that devastation causes. free companies are the best dads, the best lovers. they never worry about tomorrow. and the military is the great art patron of american power. you can open photoshop 12 and think about the pain we cause ourselves when we let freedom ring – that’s the true art. not the things we write to friends when we leave the city for a week. the photos we send like we’re letting people look through our eyes. why would they want that? what are all these empty buildings? were they called shopping malls? what did people do in them? i’m remembering the beginning of the great empty decades following the war that was too lazy to tear our generation apart. the quiet dull war we made with our social media websites. how dare you have a conversation. the things you share end up becoming your debt crisis. this total feeling of economic tension is the world of art and letters, collapsing everything else. it ended my interest in being right sometimes. politics was a game we thought other people would play for us, like solar energy, like housing, like APPs for religion. i outsourced my sex life to everyone i met in those good years. i could get off to thinking about making the world better. now i need to kill a concept just to get out of bed. the internet that took over america so sweetly was made for each of us. it was exactly what we deserved. totally custom and from a blank reptile god. it was taller taller taller like condo that floats above the clouds in a new part of brooklyn that everyone will love. they will move there in the future. god i hope that there is something to rave about on twitter this decade. everything seems like real estate. everything seems like women’s wear daily became the only rag that counts. fashion died and became perfect in these last few years. a reaction to something else perhaps. and indication of something. i can’t remember the last time i felt stones in a river. i can’t remember ever seeing a river. but that’s also just fine. no it’s not. it’s more than fine. it’s communism becoming capitalism becoming a great idea for brunch. get a look at that ass before the world ends. in paris for the electronic cigarette convention, i forgot how to want things, but now i want to remember what that felt like. was there ever a time like this? was there a decline so perfect, that web video stars could imply it in the comments? without really ever saying it. it seemed better when it was the future on two beers and one joint and you were younger with basically the same tits and no job. you can talk all you want about the death of the automobile being uncinematic, but i can’t really believe there’s nothing left to buy.