'We got heaps and heaps of what we sow'
Nov. 9th, 2006 04:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hells_half_acreI've referred to the following rant to a couple of people recently who didn't have access to it when it was initially conceived. So, I figured I would post it here. This is for those of you who won't get offended by this. For those of you who will, well, you have to wonder what that says about you. Without further ado, I present 'my anti-beige rant:
I don't understand these people in big houses. They have these perfect houses, with furniture from magazines, and perfectly colour-coordinated beiges and browns. They have artwork on the walls and you have to wonder who the poor artist was, because somewhere along the line they lost their soul. There's no personality in the art, and you have to wonder if it was choosen simply for the reason that it didn't detract too much from the strangers admiring the "beautiful" tile work that only reminds me of old rusty metal with half the character.
People live in these houses, and I can't help but wonder where their personalities went. Did they ever have a soul, or were they born as automotons of consumerism? I think back to all those people I didn't get along with in high school, and I can't help but think that I'm seeing their future. The gorgeous house, the husband that calls them honey, the 2.5 kids that play videogames in the carpeted basement and grow up and eventually die after driving under the influence because how else are they going to feel alive. I wonder if these people talk to their kids like the people do on TV. All sappy, with words like "sweety" and "I think we should talk..." They grow up to be social conservatives just because they don't know anything else. They've never seen past their own desires. They've never desired anything that couldn't be bought.
I can't help but think that this is what is wrong with the world. These plastic people. I have to fight the urge to tackle them, to push them into the soft dirt violently, to somehow jar them into a different way of thinking, to reawaken their deadened senses. I'd punch them for good measure.
I'm sure they do have personalities. But I don't know where they are. No one expresses themselves in beige, I don't care who argues against me. Just because you have a nice house, and want nice things, doesn't mean you have no soul...but these people's houses are interchangable. If you went to Jim's house you could easily confuse it with Diane's house...if you told me that I was in Rachel's house I wouldn't think anything of it.
When people walk into any room I've decorated...any room I've LIVED in for a substantial amount of time. They always tell me that it feels like me, that, if no one had told them that it was my place, they could have easily guessed. Some even tell me that they couldn't possibly live with those autrocious colours on the wall...but hey, that's alright, they aren't me afterall.
I don't understand these people in big houses. They have these perfect houses, with furniture from magazines, and perfectly colour-coordinated beiges and browns. They have artwork on the walls and you have to wonder who the poor artist was, because somewhere along the line they lost their soul. There's no personality in the art, and you have to wonder if it was choosen simply for the reason that it didn't detract too much from the strangers admiring the "beautiful" tile work that only reminds me of old rusty metal with half the character.
People live in these houses, and I can't help but wonder where their personalities went. Did they ever have a soul, or were they born as automotons of consumerism? I think back to all those people I didn't get along with in high school, and I can't help but think that I'm seeing their future. The gorgeous house, the husband that calls them honey, the 2.5 kids that play videogames in the carpeted basement and grow up and eventually die after driving under the influence because how else are they going to feel alive. I wonder if these people talk to their kids like the people do on TV. All sappy, with words like "sweety" and "I think we should talk..." They grow up to be social conservatives just because they don't know anything else. They've never seen past their own desires. They've never desired anything that couldn't be bought.
I can't help but think that this is what is wrong with the world. These plastic people. I have to fight the urge to tackle them, to push them into the soft dirt violently, to somehow jar them into a different way of thinking, to reawaken their deadened senses. I'd punch them for good measure.
I'm sure they do have personalities. But I don't know where they are. No one expresses themselves in beige, I don't care who argues against me. Just because you have a nice house, and want nice things, doesn't mean you have no soul...but these people's houses are interchangable. If you went to Jim's house you could easily confuse it with Diane's house...if you told me that I was in Rachel's house I wouldn't think anything of it.
When people walk into any room I've decorated...any room I've LIVED in for a substantial amount of time. They always tell me that it feels like me, that, if no one had told them that it was my place, they could have easily guessed. Some even tell me that they couldn't possibly live with those autrocious colours on the wall...but hey, that's alright, they aren't me afterall.
