I know that last post was pretentious as all fuck, and a bit heavy on the hipster-hate, and I know that hipster-hating is played out and pointless, but seriously:
If the truth must be told, he was a little bit frightened of middle and lower class humanity, and of foreigners not of his own class. He was, in some paralyzing way, conscious of his own defenselessness, though he had all the defense of privilege… Nevertheless he too was a rebel: rebelling against even his own class. Or perhaps rebel is too strong a word; far too strong. He was only caught in the general, popular recoil of the young against convention and against any sort of real authority. Fathers were ridiculous; his own obstinate one supremely so. And governments were ridiculous: our own wait-and-see sort especially so. And armies were ridiculous, and old buffers of generals, altogether, the red-faced Kitchener supremely. Even the war was ridiculous, though it did kill rather a lot of people… Everything was ridiculous, quite true. But when it came too close, and oneself became ridiculous too…?
- D.H. Lawrence, from Lady Chatterley’s Lover, 1928