Classic country for your Sunday. No $14 omelets, no vintage pop-ups, no authentic Nascar t-shirts from 2003 worn by a karaoke king whose parents cover half of his $2500 a month rent. I do not have false nostalgia for the past, because the past was full of as much shit as the present is. But I also do not idolize the mosaic of vintage consumer culture into some sort of camouflage for complicity in the inequities of our times. That’s probably why nobody likes me, beyond the casual. I’m lonesome, on’ry, and mean (dirtgod’s version).
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