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Express Yo Self

[caption id="attachment_170" align="alignnone" width="528"] Lots of pastels in one box, provided the creepy kid didn't eat them.[/caption]

Narcissistic, nihilistic, controversial and crass; a cacophany of cute, quaint, clothing choices and hollow creeds. It’s a fucking disgrace and it’s never been more possible, more enjoyable, or more engrossing than it is today: self-expression. Some abandon form to define their shape while others stick rigidly to the suit and tie in order to inculcate in themselves a sense of worth and in others a sense of attraction. It’s a disgusting display of self-pride, rejection of one cult for another, and construction of our consciousness that has never been more necessary in the era of niche chic.

Consider, for example, my recent trip to the the local mega-mall, as expositionally opportunistic as it is argumentatively convenient. Since re-opening my til-then-long-dormant quest to put together my “dream wardrobe”, I’ve come upon a til-now-undiscovered dimension of my own human experience: taste. I find it in all things: the liquor I drink, the music I ingest, the clothes I wear, and even the television shows I watch.

While all of these make for convenient Facebook likes, the dimension to which I enjoyed these many endeavors/activities/materials was, over time, tinged with the visual wash of my favorite photographers, appearing to the untrained eye to be as much an extension of myself as the sounds I hear and the foods I taste. In short, each was a conversation; a back and forth between my social consciousness, my disposition, my hopes and fears, and the invested intentions of the creating artists.

The vulgarity of my taste is not hidden. When I pull a jacket off the rack and try it on, I’m thinking exclusively about how good I look. Not the starving children in Africa, not the poor shivering coats I overlooked to make my selection, but myself. My actions, thanks to social media (the purist’s four-letter word) and our American culture’s incredible capacity for self-obsession (of which I am not known to mock/abstain from), are a giant fucking gaudy, neon-lighted monument to me and all the me’s that I love.

Internal Scorecard #9: Reestablishing Order

On SEBASTIAN MARSHALL

INTERNAL SCORECARD #9

This is the ninth internal scorecard I've published. I write these for the mix of showing you what productivity and production looks like from the inside so you can get another perspective, and it because it end-points my weeks and helps keep me on-track.

This one covers 14 July to 20 July.

…AND NOW BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING...

Hopefully this cycle of Internal Scorecards 6, 7, 8, and 9 serve as useful and profitable reading for you.

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