Possibly the avant-garde brain child of a collective of apathetic young, artists from Stoke-on-Trent, loners. Disillusioned with slow murder of the mystery of the human condition through the democratisation of art by the shallow seductions of a social media, so blindly venerated by the rest of their generation.
Germinating angst only produced when cursed with the melancholy tongue of provincial Britain post the second millennia. We have unusually decided not to exhibit our customs, appetites, experiences and dreams through the conventions of the Internet, and wished that we did not have to participate so actively in order to encourage resilience against the obsession with this conduct. But if we are forced to be hypocritical to rebel against convention and earn a descent crust within the confines of this new world, this capitalist Charybdis, this robot mirror that prostitutes our beings, we will do it cautiously and with disaffection. And so in an ironic swan song for the real, the immediate, we shall brandish our plight, adorn our apparently compelling lives, and wear our hearts on our sleeves. Or if we cut the shit, put our own tribulations but more importantly the tribulations of deserved others on the front of t-shirts. We want to remove the illusion that constant social inclusiveness benefits anyone, for too long have we accepted substitutes of personality, sacrificing integrity and intelligence for instant gratification, for a cheap buck and our 15 minutes of fame. Well we say enough; we no longer want or need to hear about Ã¢ÂÂone (d) erectionÃ¢ÂÂsÃ¢ÂÂ new celebrity slapper or what you had for breakfast. This culture is ineffective; you canÃ¢ÂÂt change economic poverty, by buying fair-trade coffee on the way to a servile job. There are finer ideals, truths, feats of endeavour from past, present and future, voices lost to the narcotic depths of the age of information, that we wish to rescue and lionize. Odysseys printed on cotton. Our clothes are medals and war paint. And hopefully when you wear these clothes you think to be the army of your will, to be a fucking blood curdling warrior-striking dread into the community of the superficial. Find greatness in your solitude become free of influence. A loyal citizen of your own mind. Stick to your own goddamn script.
So buy a t-shirt and spread the word, preferably by word of mouth, native says from now on the best thing you can be is you - and the best story to tell is your own to yourself. We are peasants with an attitude. Humble nativeÃ¢ÂÂs of reality not of fashion.