The Fag Poets

Listen now (7 min) | The days are heating up and my mind passes into that place that finds itself longing. I’m looking for a little sensitivity, a little visual sensitivity. I guess something aesthetic. I’m looking for the softness that I learn is so unfashionable today. An awareness of the near and made, the little conjunctions of brand names and overheard words. The sensitivity of the fag poets. An awareness of material things that set in motion non-specific emotions, I guess some might say wistfulness, or beauty, like, for example, dusty shades of colours that are washed out, shades produced only by vibrant paint lost to the sunlight, or things that in winter are dreary yet in summer are beautiful. Other people have other words for these things but for me they’re evoked only in the idea of the fag poets.

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