Yesterday I spent five hours laying on my bed in my sky blue Am Appy briefs listening to Neon Indian.
And I began to think. Who am I? Why am I at Yale? What will I do with my life?
I think 2012 will be the end of history. Not the end of the world. The end of history. We’ve reached a post-authentic age.
Art is dead.
Poetry is dead.
Opera is dead.
Symphony is dead.
Painting is dead.
Sculpture is dying.
Photography is dead.
Bloggable indie is mainstream/dead.
Film is stale.
Post-reality television is dying [via Skins].
There’s no future for our generation. This is the end of a generation. An end to history. Everything that can be done has already been done. We are generation:Slutwave. We are media whores.
Modernism is dead.
Progress is dead.
Conceptualism is dead.
Authenticity is dead.
We are the post-hipster generation. We are all hipsters. We are the generation of hauntology. We have tasted the forbidden fruit of post-irony, and now we will be expelled from the Garden of Eden. We are aware of the nakedness of our own performativity. Progress is a sham. We are the post-modern, post-conceptual, post-authentic generation. We have nothing to our names but our insincerity. We are the end of history.
After laying on my bed thinking these thoughts for five hours, I got pretty tired of listening to Neon Indian. So I turned on Toro y Moi and sang along. It was fun.
Faithfully,
Miles Wayfarer