i observe the self.

i observe the self-serving generation of want. of lust. of excess. of costumes and flattery. crossing culture, nation, race, and age. uniting the masses under the flag of themselves. stopping for a coffee, a beer, a smoke, a social justice cause that'll grab their attention for as long as it is cool and then dropped for the next fad of purses made by crack babies in New Delhi. proud of their creativity and ingenuity in spite of...what? their education? their cushy apartment with a view of the sea? their vintage clothes bought for more than they're worth worth to look ironic and cool? their ability to purchase their clothes, their coffee, their smokes, their booze? and yet...i am them...i fly my self-serving flag as i drink my coffee at my sidewalk cafe complete with ironic barista and gluten-free toast. and i avert my eyes with a half wary smile from the people who really need, who really want. i tightrope the line between us and them, between caring and not as another boy in girl pants walks by confidently unaware as i sit in question. and i am no better with my flag of excess, of judgement, of over priced, of want. because i would put on a costume and rabble rouse with the best of them if the situation was different, if the company was someone else.