Copied from myspace...nyeh.
I'm absurdly caffienated, and equally drowsy so my mind is working a little bit faster than my fingtertips and I'm not quite able to censor myself. That's the best time to record anything important. I might miss something between the lines here tonight, but it seems worth getting down anyway.
I can remember, a few years ago, being all tarted up in plaid and pigtails waiting for the city bus at the mall in Juneau. Back when I was a straight A student, when Terry was a live; before I knew how to kiss, and before my mother ever called me any of those vicious things; before I knew that my dad was never going to call back; back when I used to be dependent.
You sort of learned to ignore the cold after living in Alaska 12 years, and so I was often under-dressed for the weather, but bus stops were always the worst. It always seemed that wherever I was going was very important. Mostly I remember going to see Sean-O. It was the first time I ever felt like my heart was completely irretrievable. I know better now; I don't know everything, but I definitely know better.
How many times have I walked to boys' houses and let them play their music (which I didn't really like anyway) and lay with their head in my lap, or wind their fingers in my hair? Only once has it ever felt more important than it did then, nearly 2 1/2 years later, and a few times it even made me cry and made me feel so damn small, but it never hurt quite the way Sean did.
Then the tables turned and I was guilty. That seems to be the story every time. I'm always getting the recriminations. I suppose it's because I just don't mind getting in trouble for things I didn't really do. I'd rather be looked down on in ignorance, than looked up to in naivety and desperation. It's satisfying in a sick sort of way, to let someone think they're right, and let them realise when it's just too damn late that we were both wrong, once the loose ends are too withered to tie. I can't argue very well anymore, I just wind up laughing.
And yet, here's the irony...no matter how little regard I have for what other people say about me, or to me even, no matter how passively or actively I ignore pressures and critisisms and hurtful words nowadays, I'm still trying to prove something: That I have nothng to prove. Delicious, isn't it?
As an entire culture we're spoiled. Not simply in the sense that we're wealthy (even the poorest of people can still feed themselves and shelter themselves better than entire populations in other countries) but in the sense that we've been given the priveledge of worrying about gas prices, environmental and economic causes, what to wear, who to wear, how to get a good education and career, and all of those other things that distract us from reflecting on how ugly day-to-day life can really be.
(I would have lost my direction at this point if I'd had a final destination to begin with, fortunately, I'm not the formulating type.)
We sustain our egos with social and material binging and purging, it's all completely worthless and we're so damn blessed to be able to fake it through the days the way that we do. For fuck's sake, as teenagers we have time to sit on our asses and wonder about whether we're "posuers" or not. Every single one of us.
I am not exempt from anything I just said. The joke is on all of us, and the only way we're ever going to make it with our hearts still alive is by learning to laugh at ourselves and knowing that we're not fucking cool, because the entire concept is so ethnocentric it's fictional.
Special thanks to The Pixies for being my soundtrack this evening.
I can remember, a few years ago, being all tarted up in plaid and pigtails waiting for the city bus at the mall in Juneau. Back when I was a straight A student, when Terry was a live; before I knew how to kiss, and before my mother ever called me any of those vicious things; before I knew that my dad was never going to call back; back when I used to be dependent.
You sort of learned to ignore the cold after living in Alaska 12 years, and so I was often under-dressed for the weather, but bus stops were always the worst. It always seemed that wherever I was going was very important. Mostly I remember going to see Sean-O. It was the first time I ever felt like my heart was completely irretrievable. I know better now; I don't know everything, but I definitely know better.
How many times have I walked to boys' houses and let them play their music (which I didn't really like anyway) and lay with their head in my lap, or wind their fingers in my hair? Only once has it ever felt more important than it did then, nearly 2 1/2 years later, and a few times it even made me cry and made me feel so damn small, but it never hurt quite the way Sean did.
Then the tables turned and I was guilty. That seems to be the story every time. I'm always getting the recriminations. I suppose it's because I just don't mind getting in trouble for things I didn't really do. I'd rather be looked down on in ignorance, than looked up to in naivety and desperation. It's satisfying in a sick sort of way, to let someone think they're right, and let them realise when it's just too damn late that we were both wrong, once the loose ends are too withered to tie. I can't argue very well anymore, I just wind up laughing.
And yet, here's the irony...no matter how little regard I have for what other people say about me, or to me even, no matter how passively or actively I ignore pressures and critisisms and hurtful words nowadays, I'm still trying to prove something: That I have nothng to prove. Delicious, isn't it?
As an entire culture we're spoiled. Not simply in the sense that we're wealthy (even the poorest of people can still feed themselves and shelter themselves better than entire populations in other countries) but in the sense that we've been given the priveledge of worrying about gas prices, environmental and economic causes, what to wear, who to wear, how to get a good education and career, and all of those other things that distract us from reflecting on how ugly day-to-day life can really be.
(I would have lost my direction at this point if I'd had a final destination to begin with, fortunately, I'm not the formulating type.)
We sustain our egos with social and material binging and purging, it's all completely worthless and we're so damn blessed to be able to fake it through the days the way that we do. For fuck's sake, as teenagers we have time to sit on our asses and wonder about whether we're "posuers" or not. Every single one of us.
I am not exempt from anything I just said. The joke is on all of us, and the only way we're ever going to make it with our hearts still alive is by learning to laugh at ourselves and knowing that we're not fucking cool, because the entire concept is so ethnocentric it's fictional.
Special thanks to The Pixies for being my soundtrack this evening.