mintcar

I was thinking that even though it's hip to be as unfazed and farouche and cynical and pretend to be ever so weary of the world, because we've done it all, seen it all, felt that pain, and simply won't sympathize any more than we must ... it's at these times we care the most. and deep down, ya know? we are just sad as fuck, and are afraid of losing. afraid of ending up the loser. scared of not living up to his expectations. afraid of disappointing yourself. waiting to be berated, waiting to be ignored ... being nothing to the person who is everything to you. but then we sum up all our courage, shaping new identities, new eyes ... only again to realize ... what's the use? Then the bombast of postmodern theory, and you start to distrust yourself; if it's all an illusion, how do you know your courage is not an illusion? Fuck. This is what you learn: If you dont wanna get fucked, stop giving a shit. (righhhh?) Cue in the high contrast lights, a small empty room, a thin figure hunched, leaning against a few moving boxes, smoke rising from his cigarette, Burroughs and Ferlinghetti streams above a few scant brass notes:

"Oh we're not united anymore than you are
Oh we're not united anymore than you are.
...

Others disagree
Others disagree

I don't claim that my methods are one hundred percent humane, but I do say,
if we can't think of anything quieter, and tidier than that...

We are all not that much better than new earth aches.

There is no place else to go
The theater is closed

There is no place else to go
The theater is closed

Cut word lines
Cut music lines
Smash the control images
Smash the control machine."

(Of course, you know the futility of your words. They mean nothing except your own deprived self-loathing, self-pitying suffering. It's like drinking your tears.)


I guess I never actually solved the problem, which is. Figuring out who. why. now.

For whom are you doing what you do?

Fucking psychology. It teaches you how to pity yourself. :-)