What is "IN" and what is "FINITE"

It only takes one month. 30 days, my friends, can turn a pauper to a priest and a rich man to ashes. This is not the case across the map. It is not a common demographic from town to town and state to state that demonstrates every infinitesimal difference accrued by living as a lost soul in a town like Hollywood. For such a standard can only be set in aforementioned area. There are no quips here; no clever puns that can break you from the bonds that you, yourself, set. Once you enter this realm, there are only two options: infinite success and epic failure. Ergo, those that do succeed are the ones that can discern the "IN" from the "FINITE." You see, the "IN," the popular culture that is ever-changing and adapting to the wants and needs of the public, is a quality that will never die. It is a sense that can never be abolished. It is the alpha and the omega of your high school drama. The "FINITE," however, is the rebellion. It is the creation and the art. It is the muse. It is the outstanding voice that tells the "IN" to fuck off if they choose to consistently abide by a crooked status quo. The "FINITE" is the lucifer of modern classicism. But the conflict between these ideologies begs the question: what is the higher road to success.

About a week ago, my cousin and I were among the lucky masses that witnessed the brilliance that is Thom Yorke. Chances are if this name does not strike you as familiar, you fall under the category of the "IN crowd." Unlike most popular musicians, Yorke does not abide by a standard of what music should be. He does not augment his sound to serve the purpose of the media. He does not compromise in his live appearances or in life as it stands. Thom Yorke is enlightened. Because of this singularity, this factual outcome of nature, he will never be acceptable as a viable radio network-worthy entity amongst the Clear Channel bourgeoisie. Yet the people still come in troves and masses. Even the "IN crowd" members that have bared witness to his art would admit to his superiority over the radio elites. That makes him a media pirate and his discography a manifestation of pirate radio. But populous has placed a glass ceiling on what he does. That makes him the "FINITE."

About three years ago I watched Kanye West take the stage at Grant Park. He is the "IN." However, Kanye's music is reliant almost exclusively on the talent of others. If there were no good samples to be had, this self-proclaimed "musical genius" would cease to be. There is no ingenuity. Just a facade placed so casually that originality is easily and wrongly implied. He is an archetype for this subsection. As tens of thousands observed, I walked away. My scene is not defined by what it is popular. In fact, it is exemplified by what is not. I am not into what is "IN." I am a loser.

I am a loser. I want to stress that fact. I am a loser. I am the "FINITE." I will be limited. I will be oppressed. I will be critiqued. But I will not falter in my stance. Just as there is no "I" in "team," one can say there is no "good" in "pop culture." I've never listened to Kid Cudi, but I know every lyric written by Mother Mother and can guarantee that the latter has deeper significance. The meaning behind a song shouldn't be about a hairdo or a clothing brand. It is about a genuine experience that would be inconceivable by any other human being, but is still significant to every human being. And that is why I will never be a "Kid Cudi." I am "FINITE." I am a "Thom Yorke." But I am a fighter. So bring on the "IN."

No Birds Flock Southward Anymore

“I’m as free as a bird now, and this bird you cannot change.”

~some really old, really drunk guy at a biker bar

Well, Rose, did you know you had a part of compass named after you? That’s right, boys and girls. This edition of K&C is geographically themed. If that doesn’t turn you on, you should probably tune out right about now. For those that would like to continue reading, we are going to begin with a brief longitudinal / latitudinal lesson. A compass has four guiding directions: north, south, east and west. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Similarly, stem cells are harvested in the north and retards are terminated in the south. I hope you understand my logic or at least have as sick of a sense of humor as my twisted, half drunk mind at 3:21 AM. In any case, many of you may or may not be familiar with avian migration patterns. In summation, when the weather gets cold, birds go wherever it is warm. Get it? Good, because the concept of migration is going to be a central theme for this blog.

First, let’s clarify. About 2 years ago, I fell into a very intense depression from which I could not recover no matter what I did. I never really discussed that with anybody except my closest friends because… well frankly, it was nobody else’s business. Because of that, everything in my life suffered including relationships with friends and family, schooling and general outlook on life. With the help of psychologists and personal reflection, I discovered that the reason I had been so depressed was the state of my seldom-changing surroundings. However, I was afraid to leave because there was someone that had been my sole reason for living whom I did not want to lose in my life. However, as my situation worsened and her patience with my depression had worn thin, I had found that I was simply grasping at straws in order to find a reason to stick around. After our breakup, the opportunity had arisen for me to relocate to a more suitable scene. This, by the way, is where the concept of migration comes into play.

Birds are some of the most nomadic, independent creatures one can observe in their natural habitats. However, even birds fly in flocks. Unfortunately, birds of a feather flock in completely opposite fucking directions. One of my best friends, Gian Vacca, was suffering from a similar depression fueled by similar problems in life. Also, ironically, it was around the same time as my own depression. Both of us had plans for relocation, which we had been discussing for months prior to departure. He was to be heading far east to Turkey not to long after I departed on my excursion far west towards Los Angeles. Prior to his departure, I indulged in a rousing, nostalgic romp down memory lane. In doing so, I quickly realized that almost everyone that had moved away for one reason or another had dispersed in any direction but southward. I found this to be particularly ironic considering most migration patterns among animals in their natural element have a characteristic southward relocation.

So, what does that mean for our non-aviary selves. Maybe it means that we naturally have a poor sense of migrating direction. Maybe it means that we have a direct aversion to such migration patterns. Maybe it means absolutely nothing. But maybe, just maybe, the entire concept will serve as a metaphor-based anthem for an entire generation of “free birds.” Maybe, we will never really know the truth. Maybe I had a specific point and purpose for this entire entry. Maybe by this point, I just don’t care what the intended point was. Maybe I just forgot what the point was. In any case, I do know this: eventually, every chicken flies the coop. Even my casual drinking does not make me naïve enough to believe otherwise. But, nobody migrates southward anymore. That is, unless they are retired war vets that are looking for a nice place to die. Though it is true that southward travel used to be much more common, but not so much nowadays. I blame the economy. Instead, some travel north, and most travel either east or west like Mr. Cow and myself respectively. And you know what? I completely understand why. But nobody could really understand the reasoning until they try it.