Whatever happened to my rock n roll

[supernovazz]

My urge to be different was destroying me. I couldn’t listen to music because everyone was listening to music, everyone’s lives was music, everyone was in a band, everyone went to concerts every day. I couldn’t enjoy art because everyone was an artist, everyone owned a camera, paints and brushes, everyone drew, painted and took photographs. Art galleries were the new kitchen, the new backyard, the new pub, that’s where everyone met and spent their spare time. I couldn’t write because everyone had a talent for writing, everyone was noting down their poetry, their short stories, their novels, their mono- and dialogues. Dressing was a necessity not my personality. Not anyone’s personality for that matter, they, all of them, wearing the same “unique” and “different” clothes, looking like one another. Going to op-shops, second-hand-shops and small, non-chain stores to look different, but to look like the distinctive, one of its kind copy of one another. Clone.
People where giving so much attention to being different that they all where the same again.
Paradox, human nature.