let lemons be angry

My usually-cold toes are frigid in polka-dotted socks from Daiso, and my long cardigan doesn't cover my cold knees. It's raining, lovely ice weather. I live in a very blue estate, and now the world outside my window is a wet turquoise. There's a cat on either side of me. A song from the long-ago era of jc is playing.

At times like these I feel like I live in a taiwanese music video!

Is it strange that I've reverted to a less intellectual state of mind? In sec 2 I would read up on psychology for fun; these days I get my education from youtube makeup tutorials. I used to have a specially-designed identity kit that included music taste and cultural icons, but these days I am equally smashing pumpkins as I am a sasa ambassador. There are no more identity boundaries.

My mother, who decides that she is not of the postmodern era, says that we postmoderners cannot separate ourselves from our subcultures and friends. Perhaps that's why we're such easy prey for marketers; if you like this band, then you will dress in this way, and despise these mouthless cartoon creatures, and will be doing this on Friday nights, and so will buy this product that affirms all these aspects of you. So predictable, we are.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I now cannot remember what identity I once chose. I only remember that I usually would not buy such a cute notebook, but I can't be bothered to think about what that would tell others about me anymore. I just know that I will be happier looking at mouthless cartoon creatures.

And anyway, Billy Corgan got together with Jessica Simpson. He too clearly understands that there are no identity boundaries.