The Romantics were the first of the emo poets. Keats is like one giant emo concert if put to an acoustic guitar or screamo lyrics. Coleridge is the poster child for messed up lifestyles, for profound thinking while drugged up. Byron is a sexed up hipster with too much time on his hands. And Shelley, Shelley is just sad a lot.
But what happened to melancholy? These writers inspired so much, finally made depression an okay feeling. Hell, they made depression a desirable emotion. So why do we shy away from it so much today?
Emo is a bad thing. Okay, I'll grant you--any word that starts off as an abrev is probably a mistake (pun intended), but why is it bad? Is it because most of the time it's expressed by sweaty, over hormone-pumped teens writing bad poetry? Is it because we see sadness as a weakness? Is it because in our modern society we refuse to accept anything other than happiness because it means getting messy?
When are we justified in sadness: broken love? physical pain? death? Is there a point when we should say "yeah, ok, you are allowed to feel sad about this?" Should that be our job? Are we giving standards where standards are not needed? Why are we not allowed to be sorrowful some of the time, but it's justified other times?
What happened to the desired melancholy of the Romantics? What have we become since then? And are we any better for it?
Told you this might get emo.
Miles
No comments:
Post a Comment