Noted without comment.

It’s just pictures of other peoples stuff, really.
Lets take some things for granted,
Was your grandmother’s motto.
She had tattoos across her chest,
“From my prison days,” she’d say, and laugh.
When you were a kid and everyday felt like
A dusty one, the sun was a giant
Stalking you to school and alleyways hid
The busy figures of other boys
Singeing the wings from butterflies.
Everything was a mystery in the same way
That nothing is today. Secrets in ruffled hair
And folds of daisy colored skirts creased with
Shadows as if to slap your hands away.
And your grandmother, who rode a motorcycle
And who couldn’t cook and who believed in
Things like the Navajo spirit, she would send
You back out into the yard “for another go.”
So many things can be solved with a doorway, a short shirt, a quick breeze and just enough faith to get you by for the day.
Slowly the unhappyhipsters website began to feel droll and inauthentic, as if the task itself became the same as the photos they captioned—day in and day out—until, finally, we all unfollowed them just before they got that book deal they were after.
(Photo: Stephen Oxenbury; Dwell, March 2009)