Lou (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} nightmoonlight) wrote,@ 2006-08-27 00:48:00 |
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My Lost Generation - Part 1
These are the fighting days.
These are the fucking days.
These are the all or nothing days.
One year shy of two decades on this Earth and what to show but a few pieces of paper demonstrating how ably I can think. Showcases of my ability to remember. I didn't LEARN Pythagoras Theory. I didn't LEARN photosynthesis. I remembered it. Three whole years since "the most important exams of my life" and all I can recall is how claustraphobic the room felt. The examiner was merely a mound of blubber, repulsively rithing in her chair as if the very act of sitting there and talking was a triumph of her character. I remember distinctly how she'd opened her mouth to talk and then stopped, looking down at the table,
"Ooo... I just squirted a little bit of saliva on the table."
She smiled. Were we meant to laugh? There was little to find amusing in how this one person could be so repulsive. Did she expect a fucking medal? God, I just wanted to kill her. Put her out of her fucking misery. Is that healthy? Not the death aspect - obviously death isn't healthy, it involves you no longer living, and that's unhealthy. Those thoughts, I mean. Well, I don't care, actually. What use is thinking about thinking about them. I thought them, and that makes me whoever, or whatever, it is that I am. Psychology is just a practise for people too scared to be crazy. Instead they settle for studying the crazies.
Was that a tangent? I do those a lot. You'll have to excuse me. I have writer's A.D.D. It involves me cramming about 17 factors into one paragraph and not making a single point.
19 years and nothing but dreams. And here I am. I'm still here. I'm not living abroad. I haven't won an Oscar. Grandeous dreams of fame and fortune; what the fuck was I thinking? Young and naive, sure. But, I still think these things. Nothing has changed. Nothing at all. This is my comfort zone: this town I know, this house I know, these people I know. I want more, but am I willing to get it? I blame our accelerated culture for my lack of desire. I live in a world where nothing is worth waiting for. A world of next-day delivery, speed dial, and e-mail. A world that doesn't wait for me. Yeah, that's it. It's everyone's fault but mine, and society is to blame.
How dare the internet brainwash me with its instant gratification. All these sites and their express solutions to life. I don't even have to go outside to meet people. I can social-network. Instant friends with instant trends. It's their fault. It's not my fault. iPod, X-Box, MySpace, Hotmail, MyMail, MyBox, X-Mail, iSpace, HotBox... The culprits. All of them!
These are the fucking days.
These are the all or nothing days.
One year shy of two decades on this Earth and what to show but a few pieces of paper demonstrating how ably I can think. Showcases of my ability to remember. I didn't LEARN Pythagoras Theory. I didn't LEARN photosynthesis. I remembered it. Three whole years since "the most important exams of my life" and all I can recall is how claustraphobic the room felt. The examiner was merely a mound of blubber, repulsively rithing in her chair as if the very act of sitting there and talking was a triumph of her character. I remember distinctly how she'd opened her mouth to talk and then stopped, looking down at the table,
"Ooo... I just squirted a little bit of saliva on the table."
She smiled. Were we meant to laugh? There was little to find amusing in how this one person could be so repulsive. Did she expect a fucking medal? God, I just wanted to kill her. Put her out of her fucking misery. Is that healthy? Not the death aspect - obviously death isn't healthy, it involves you no longer living, and that's unhealthy. Those thoughts, I mean. Well, I don't care, actually. What use is thinking about thinking about them. I thought them, and that makes me whoever, or whatever, it is that I am. Psychology is just a practise for people too scared to be crazy. Instead they settle for studying the crazies.
Was that a tangent? I do those a lot. You'll have to excuse me. I have writer's A.D.D. It involves me cramming about 17 factors into one paragraph and not making a single point.
19 years and nothing but dreams. And here I am. I'm still here. I'm not living abroad. I haven't won an Oscar. Grandeous dreams of fame and fortune; what the fuck was I thinking? Young and naive, sure. But, I still think these things. Nothing has changed. Nothing at all. This is my comfort zone: this town I know, this house I know, these people I know. I want more, but am I willing to get it? I blame our accelerated culture for my lack of desire. I live in a world where nothing is worth waiting for. A world of next-day delivery, speed dial, and e-mail. A world that doesn't wait for me. Yeah, that's it. It's everyone's fault but mine, and society is to blame.
How dare the internet brainwash me with its instant gratification. All these sites and their express solutions to life. I don't even have to go outside to meet people. I can social-network. Instant friends with instant trends. It's their fault. It's not my fault. iPod, X-Box, MySpace, Hotmail, MyMail, MyBox, X-Mail, iSpace, HotBox... The culprits. All of them!
