Nov 03, 2010 12:48
And now I post again, not out of any necessity for expressing my 'feelings' (however false those incandescent, ephemeral concepts may be in these days of scripture, savants, deviants, alcoholics, and liars) but mostly because there is an honest necessity for me to take up your time by wasting my own. I'm sure you'll appreciate the sardonic bliss of my well lubed frothy forays into an adolescent form of writing (if, indeed, thou art reading this at all (whoever you are, nameless face without any special attatchment to the author in question (and even if there were a special attachment, I still probably wouldn't care, because when it comes to writings of this nature, I am eternally aloof from feelings of societal debts of تعراف (a Persian concept of civility)))) that conveys as much about the author writing in this spurned mode of communication as it does about the reader endeavoring to understand the barbaric language of youth.
Because youth, friends and enemies all, is about discrimination. As a favored author of mine once wrote, "Children are the only minority who grow into their own oppressors," and being a teenager is the most intense of these times in life. So, in my current mode of living which involves much oppression and very little ability in the acting out of freedom, I become, once again, like the adolescent I never stopped to be. Which begs the quesiton: did I never stop being a teenager, or was I never one from the beginning? The honest answer is beyond my capability of relating. Suffice to say that if I had to live this all again, I don't suppose I would have done anything differently. Especially as I grew from a child to... well... a child. Hooray for the enmity of time.