This has been on my mind for some time. It's something I've brought up with a few people, discussed and have finally decided to write about. It's something that is very dear to my heart, and something that must be addressed before it goes any further. I speak on behalf of my lovely female friends and some male friends when I say arty looking boys no longer appeal to me.
When I was younger I would go to school in Bondi Beach and run to the coffee shop at lunch to gawp at the baristar (not barister) making my latte. I would look at his afro, his body slowly moving to the obscure beats of some up and coming band that he had carefully selected, I would look at his ripped t-shirt that looked like he had gone to many a poetry slam to create such rips, he was tall, he would hold is cigarette like it was pen and move it around while he was talking. ...and I would melt.
It's sad to say but this baristar (5 years on) is still working the same 9-5, but instead of an afro he now has an half-shaven side-hawk, his cigarettes have become organic, his coffee is organic, his shirt now says 'dare' on it, and quit frankly I know he is still doing a line of coke at every opportunity he has to scam it off some girl who has too much money and thinks he is 'different', and his jeans are cheap Monday ..(you know cause tsubi would be less contrived...not!!) He now listens to electro and jilts a little, oh yes and apparently hes eye sight got bad, because hes wearing spectacles and drops them down when he starts speaking to someone, with an intense gaze as if to say 'I'm smart'....probably because he cant see out of them clearly...
oh he doesn't make me melt anymore.
this is the washed out poet look and I'm sure you can see a washed out poet near you. there taste changes over time, from Nike to Fred perry to patent leather spectators. there clothes might change, but really everything stays the same....no drive, no ambition, but to keep up with the Jones and be cooler than everyone else. the washed out poet look ranges from acting like depression is cool, to doing heaps of coke just because its fun, to wearing the same clothes for three days in a row (sometimes up to ten days) just because, wearing something for too long is cool, not bothering is cool.
the washed out poet can also be disguised as an actor, musician, dj, baristar, or they may work at tsubi, general pants, or your local pub. ( the ones in retail tend to be a tad cleaner)
i recently dated a guy. he can only be described as a washed out poet. oh, the exterior was pretty, the aloof tilt of the head, the perfect plaid shirt tucked into some vintage levis, the intelligent left wing promoter. but when it came down to it all i could think was 'i bet youve got crabs.' and this is the issue I want to alert every unsuspecting girl, guy, transgender and non specific gendered person to.
Washed out poets look hot, they have 5 key issues they will always bring up (just so you can identify them easier)
1. not caring
2. not judging
3. saying they don't have a drug habit
4. obscure musicians, obscure artists, obscure theatre, obscure actors, obscure skateboards, obscure poets...fuck it anything obscure----its a niche
5. political left wing opinions
they also usually come with 5 stinky roommates, in a 'student house' there bed sheets have remnants of 'something' on them ( a huge telltale sign), they also usually like to smoke, rack or chop in there beds, and talk about some 'deep shit' just to get into your pants...remember washed out poets pretend to be smart
the problem is they should really come with a disclaimer that says ' i may have crabs, I'm not sure, but i sleep around a lot, and i dint shower, i wear the same clothes everyday, I'm too cool to seek medical advice, i will never offer to wear a condom, yes, in fact i probably have crabs'
Now, as I said i was dating this guy, but when it came to getting intimate with him, I HONESTLY believed G-D would punish me and give me crabs for liking such a fool. Luckily I didn't want to fuck with G-D so I got the fuck outta there..i am kinda funny, so I called him one night and asked him 'do you have an std?' he said 'no.' but the next day of course he called me to ask if we had spoken the night before, of course the washed out poet is always too drunk to remember.
I will never know if he DID or DID NOT have crabs, but too all my friends out there, don't take chances, strike against the pretenseful fools that are 'washed out poets' urge them to shower a little more and maybe the world will be a better place.
(all events were changed so nobody knows who this is actually about, dont even bother guessing)