Sticks, Tricks and Other Sorts of Kicks

That was our way of life. Our creed.
Conformity? Too eclectic for that.
We all had at least two nationalities in our blood and three languages in our brain.
Anyone expecting us to lead a happy life in accordance is out of their fucking mind.

Most normal social interactions resulted in boredom and reserved complaints.
"George next door just got this really loud lawn mower. It's terrible. I can't believe he doesn't consider his neighbors."
Give me a fucking break...
We don't give a shit about your neighbors and their trivial indulgences.
Life isn't meant to be lived in a cocoon protecting you from risk and fear.

We're animals.

As kids we just challenged ourselves. Skateboarding, diving, trampolining, playing and fighting.

Kid Kudi? Drake? Lady Gaga? We'll shove them all down your throat until you also have the urge to name yourself after an onomatopoeia of an infant...
To be honest, that would probably interest us more.

Like a cluster of unnatural sounds that soothe the ear.
Cacophony turned euphony through hormones and experience.
Maybe you'll hear the soundscape of this enigma of a genre. Subtle, almost indiscernible sub-base sounds used to steer your emotions in their desired direction.

Give it a go. Stomp on the ground with your bare feet. Let out your passion through your heels.
Steady as a marching army. An army of unbound humans.

An army?

Fuck.
Even conformity loathing hippies organize themselves eventually.
My personal source of cognitive dissonance: being a tribal animal that hates the tribe...

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Image via rasm

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steemit: @martin-stuessy
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