express yourself (superior fabrics)

life and art. art and life. it's fascinating how every moment, these can be the same thing. too many people resign themselves to moderate living. and that's not to say that living in moderation is a bad thing; we're getting our word betwixt themselves. in fact, matches would go so far as to say that moderate living is the best sort of artistic life. moderation, let's say, consists of being thrifty, unexcessive; self-entertainment and a simpler life. it's too easy to get caught up in the tide, finding the next big thing you can spend on and hoping it will lend a little happiness to a life that is so caught up in attaining it in the first place. life is about expression~ and expression is something that any activity can orangepeel away to. cook. hike. cakewalk and twostep your next hallway. ninja-press to that next wall and flicker flirtatiously with corners, running-back spin-move through boredom. freestyle walking was a revolution...life has many angles, all anxious to be explored, exploded.

moderation, in the first context, meant a muffling, a restraint, a blinder; all of these things, self-imposed. being average simply cannot be the best rule. but we are bound in cilice; every time we do something abnormal, every time we stumble on the sidewalk or sing in whispers under our breath, we feel a tinge self-consicous. we cloak these actions as best we can from other people. they are our individualities; they are our private selves coming public. and our private selves have somehow become unfashionable.
this is a sliver of madness. we should celebrate our uniqueness, not betray it thrice before the sun rises. ponder this: when we enter into relationships, when they begin to get serious...what we are most surprised at is not how much we care about the other person...we are bewildered that they care so much for us. the ritual of dating has been described by some as trying to appear as normal as possible (cool, in the parlance of our times) until the other person is roped into an affection beyond their conscious caprices. fuck. we are so far off the mark, and we know it. what have relationships become when we cannot be ourselves? is it so easy to scare people away? are our defenses so high? can we collectively agree to be ourselves? being comfortable is one thing...but nobody falls in love with normalcy.

this rant on individuality is coming off the heels of a now happily-rare mall visit, in which mattress (donned in hoodie) was completely ignored by the collective staffs of nordstrom and saks. which is a funny thing to be irked by, because m never wants to be approached by these people anyway...certainly, one of his most poignant pet peeves. still. you don't know how much money is in anyone's pockets (or how large of a credit line, waiting to curl around commodities like a curious kitten and gaze back lovingly with disastrously green-glittered eyes). silly to be passively-judgmental. for a moment he wished he had the means to the means to (think about it) an armani suit, but then the saucer of status-symbolism was poisoned and he choked back, cough gradually merging into a laugh, and strode on his merry way, content in his uniqueness (which sometimes translates into a lack of superior fabrics). who needs pleated slacks when you've got cozy corduroy. with a special pocket all of your cell-phone's very own.

"most of the luxuries and many of the so-called comforts of life, are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind."
~ h.d. thoreau