Suddenly the Coriolanus is me!
A crowded street bustling with the yellow's of the sun.
Unfriendly, scary, humanity.
A lot of it.
Pretentious almost. Disturbing to look at. Devoid of concentration for the surprisingly high amounts of inspiration it provides.
Tis' not a cafe, yet it is one, too noisy to be liked and to crowded to be considered, like a reflection of the street. That's commercialisation, isn't it? reflecting the outside - the commercialisation of the cafe.
Mainstream music. mainstream crowd (as if I'm not a part, I know I don't want to be). Part of a crowd makes human, almost common. Judging and othering the crowd (that's me); the crowd, that which is to be avoided, that which scares me.
So elitist as not to want even the presence of the commoners? What makes me then? the not common? (Specifically avoiding uncommon, for that too is mainstream and common). But are not my virtues the same? I think not. The sweaty, mechanic, unoriginal repetition is not where I fit. Its in the inglorious basking; away from the hot sun, behind layers of prejudice and good winter clothes that I want to reside, nose in the air, for hopefully apparent 'betters' than the common. The aesthetic superiority that the crowd, street or this hideous cafe can never have.\
'Tis me, 'tis Coriolanus. And yet its not the same.
Unfriendly, scary, humanity.
A lot of it.
Pretentious almost. Disturbing to look at. Devoid of concentration for the surprisingly high amounts of inspiration it provides.
Tis' not a cafe, yet it is one, too noisy to be liked and to crowded to be considered, like a reflection of the street. That's commercialisation, isn't it? reflecting the outside - the commercialisation of the cafe.
Mainstream music. mainstream crowd (as if I'm not a part, I know I don't want to be). Part of a crowd makes human, almost common. Judging and othering the crowd (that's me); the crowd, that which is to be avoided, that which scares me.
So elitist as not to want even the presence of the commoners? What makes me then? the not common? (Specifically avoiding uncommon, for that too is mainstream and common). But are not my virtues the same? I think not. The sweaty, mechanic, unoriginal repetition is not where I fit. Its in the inglorious basking; away from the hot sun, behind layers of prejudice and good winter clothes that I want to reside, nose in the air, for hopefully apparent 'betters' than the common. The aesthetic superiority that the crowd, street or this hideous cafe can never have.\
'Tis me, 'tis Coriolanus. And yet its not the same.
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