Corey Delaney (Worthington?) is no person, he is a personage. He is not merely the embodiment of a generation, but a symptom of an age – he is the poster child of modernity, the caricature of globalised capitalism, the product of an ill-planned industrial revolution. In a word, he is the objectified.
In his hodge-podge ensemble of cheaply manufactured clothing, adorned with sunglasses, darkened for anonymity, with yellow rims that crave attention; Corey Delaney is MySpace, Facebook and the dunce cap all rolled into a singular form. An insolent child, an aspiring adult – he is neither. Corey Delaney is the illiterate given to editing the work of Dante, the tone deaf taken to criticising Rachmaninov, the amateur elevated to expert. Like any other citizen of this planet, he was given a computer and an audience. 500 people turned up to Corey Delaney’s party; how many did he know? 30? Corey Delaney is Web 2.0 and Web 2.0 is 500 underage drunks.
No Surrender
