A Brooklyn Culture Mafia

[0bleak]

im thinking of going to the nyc met opera _next weekend night_ to try and impress a girl online _tomorrow_.....

???????
How does that work?

 

[kid charlemagne]

i dont know im spiraling..... i still need to go to a rave

 

[wg-]

Just tell the girl, first date we go the opera second date we go the club

Maybe third you go spicy village

 

[shakahislop]

Just tell the girl, first date we go the opera second date we go the club

Maybe third you go spicy village

first date opera, second date basement Bound

 

[ghost]

wait what does ivy wolk have to say about crumps

 

[dilbert1]

I’m at Public Records in Boreum Hill and this is the most zombie gentry hell hole I’ve ever been in in my entire life. WeWork NPC infested autism convention

 

[kid charlemagne]

i shouldve gone

 

[dilbert1]

No you shouldn’t have. Made me want to join Hamas

 

[Murphy]

@shakahislop has contacts

 

[yyaldrin]

 

[dilbert1]

Get the security and bartending staff out and nuke Public Records. Just keeping it real

 

[yyaldrin]

how did you end up going there? and did you try and make the best out of it or did you feel uncomfortable your entire stay at public records?

 

[yyaldrin]

i always feel like i'm getting panic attacks in such places. getting warm and feeling sweaty i think it's because it feels as if you're supposed to take a certain role and play along with the rest and it's difficult if you don't know how to?

 

[yyaldrin]

there's a bakery here in berlin that looks like this and it just feels extremely alien and intimidating such that you just want to walk past it as fast as you can.

 

[Murphy]

Welcoming stimmung

 

[yyaldrin]

it looks like a crematorium doesn't it? bread seems to be one of the last products that have been gentrified recently and i think it's especially estranging because it's such a basic staple. now i do get it that it's a bad thing most bakeries have disappeared in the last decades and that now you have to buy your bread at one of the few supermarkt monopolies and probably they all get it from the same mega factory so the quality is probably shit. so now poor people are forced to eat that and rich people get to eat the tasty and healthy fresh bread from bakeries that look like art galleries. whereas it's not such a difficult thing to produce, is it?

 

[Murphy]

A green thing, possibly alive



IKEA meets Soviet minimalist scarcity meets Roy Andersson meets Edward Hopper

 

[shakahislop]

I’m at Public Records in Boreum Hill and this is the most zombie gentry hell hole I’ve ever been in in my entire life. WeWork NPC infested autism convention

it's notoriously like that. a lot of the ravers avoid it due to the crowd it brings. despite the good bookings. that is the word on the discord. there's a whole avalanche of people who go out in nyc that you need to put up a barrier to avoid. LES is the #1 containment zone.

 

[dilbert1]

there's a bakery here in berlin that looks like this and it just feels extremely alien and intimidating such that you just want to walk past it as fast as you can.

I found myself in a slightly curved street, in the city outskirts where I live. And something was there, strangely, instead of something else that wouldn’t have caught my memories — this thing that shouldn’t have been there. There was a large window above an immaculately shined, far-too-new placard, affixed to the wall; on that placard, in rigid letters, the word “BAKERY” was written. Through the window you could see a few display shelves that appeared in a way – and even with quite the frank similarity – to resemble those that are often used to display pastries or some sickening cake or another, display shelves doubtless placed there to perfect its confusion with familiar places; but I wasn’t duped. I was all the less fooled since their enthusiasm had gone way beyond the believable. So, there, planted behind those phantom display shelves, perfectly immobile, standing in a expectant position, was the baker! The baker… and her white apron. And the whole assemblage, so firm yet scattered, was more evanescent than that false manor suddenly evaporating into mist that Mallarmé spoke of, more shifting and impalpable than all the ethers; behind or in it – I don’t know, since it was as if the cloudy screen had with so much finesse been muddled up with what it already no longer covered up, as if it were woven of its own tears – terrible, was Nothingness.

@versh

 

[dilbert1]

how did you end up going there? and did you try and make the best out of it or did you feel uncomfortable your entire stay at public records?

These are fair questions, really should not have been there. Met with a couple friends in Ridgewood, great guys who also shouldn't have been mixed up in this. But one of them happened to know a DJ who was playing at this event from a long time ago, dude got in touch and offered him guest list spots. We were all just kind of going blind on that premise, like the other two of us will get introduced to third friend’s DJ buddy and chop it up at some mediocre function, whatever. Big mistake. In hindsight that even just sounds like such a stupid mindlessly vague and unvetted plan, and we surely paid a dear price.

i always feel like i'm getting panic attacks in such places. getting warm and feeling sweaty i think it's because it feels as if you're supposed to take a certain role and play along with the rest and it's difficult if you don't know how to?

No, it wasn’t that sort of place. This was like being at a “NIGHT CLUB” inside of The Sims. These were the people buying and trading NFTs. People with no soul. The cretins of this Earth. I’m really not exaggerating or trying to be funny. What you’re describing is what they were all going through, as we looked on as zoo visitors. It was so infuriatingly bizarre that I don’t really have the emotional energy to expend painting the best picture but shaka obviously knows, it did make somewhere like The River or LES-Dimes Square place feel like some kind of sanctuary, places where I already roll my eyes a bit. Us feeling insecure or raging at normal people having a good time because we don’t fit in would be a terrible misconception. They were monsters, my friend witnessed a girl flick the lime from her cocktail into her bartender’s face upon receiving drinks because the bartender wouldn’t make time to identify each of the seven drinks this girl just ordered in a drawn out manner by rudely tacking them on one by one at the whim of her friends who could barely hear her or take notice of the fact she was trying to order for them. Makes you realize why people write articles and books about and spend so much time insisting that there’s something sick with our society’s culture, experiences like that can really put the fear of God in you.

Luckily none of us paid to get in, after waiting in a two-tiered line (the atmosphere of swarming Ubers and door people yelling at all the young New York dot com ghouls rapidly spawning was already foreboding) I miraculously slipped through the five layers of security and ticket checks (all for a very measly assortment of rooms, one of which you had to wait in another line to get into) since my two buddies were listed. We stood around as what we traveled deep into Brooklyn for dawned on us and got back to Ridgewood. Spent needless money on rides both ways but the second one was an emergency exit. Anyways that’s my little story