Sunday, July 31, 2011

20 year olds are fucking useless.




twenty years olds are these people who (for the most part) don't contribute to society. they are (and here, i should preface, that this discussion is referring to the "general" but rather, the specifically north american, and privileged), in a sense, the most useless people in the world, (except for the much-too-depressing concept of the elderly). and i know that they say that the youth is the future, and that's just because they are. you won't breed generations or keep that cycle going if it weren't for the youth, yes; but they are only a silver lining by virtue of their reproductive capacities. they hold the potential to press the refresh button on this evolutionary cycle, and that is a nice thought, but beyond that, 20 year olds are fucking useless.

they are in a certain grid of the social sphere, in which they are both considered old enough to be held accountable for their actions, and yet young enough to exist with as little responsibility as possible. this means that they're old enough to literally do whatever they want and yet young enough to not have to do anything. this is why they say you should do things in your twenties. now is the time. now is the time, to revel in the fact, that you are living an existence, that mostly consists of sucking up an excessive amount of resources. if you are in your twenties, we could probably do without you. life is great and i encourage you to stick with it for as long as possible, both beyond and within the 20 year old sphere, but i have to tell you, that for now, we really don't need you.

when i say that you suck up excessive amount of resources, i mean that you are the only ones who have time for the internet, and your technologies, and the arts. of course twenty year olds find the arts appealing. everything, music, painting, literature, film, whatever. we're the only ones who have time for that shit. we're the ones who actually have time to BE existential. little kids don't care about why they exist - they're too busy enjoying it. and older people don't care about why they exist, because they have bigger problems.

i swear, sometimes, i just find myself really conscious - unintentionally so, of the very happenings of my life. (duh, cause i'm fucking 20). but the amount of shit that i don't do on a daily basis is overwhelmingly disproportionate to the amount of shit that not only needs to get done in the world, but that i, myself, hold the very capacity to get done. instead of burning out with purpose, 20 year olds burn out on drugs, and snacks, and the fucking internet. and this isn't just applicable to your drop out stoners. even the ones who actively participate in an academic culture, spend most of their time, sucking up resources regardless. chances are, you fit the description of a full time student, part time shit-job holder, and all that means is that you get to spend most of your time doing stuff according to your own schedule, and then on the occasion that you have to submit to the economic structure of the world, you work a couple hours at some shit job, so that you can continue to participate in luxuries, like shopping, and, i guess eating isn't a luxury, but eating whatever you want, whenever you want, seems to be.

and yeah, louie ck is right. even the ones who think they're contributing, are really only taking advantage of opportunities built for themselves. go ahead, build those homes in those third world countries. of course, it's better than not doing that, but the reason you get to fly over, under the umbrella of that particular organization, is because the social system constructed that concept with your very useless existence in mind.

now, of course, i encourage the youth to be active in society, and for those who feel driven and genuinely tired with the amount of effort they put into their, hopefully, worthwhile existence, i encourage you. but i remind you, that you are a small percentage of the general.

going to class, is a fucking luxury. i don't want to position education as a privilege and not as a right - but just think about how it works. you take a social system and you get the opportunity to restructure it according to your own comfort and needs, and then you get to spend your days sitting in giant rooms with loads of other people, like you, listening to someone talk about the things you find interesting, and if you DON'T find that concept appealing, you don't have to do any of it! you can walk out, with the unrealized comfort of crossing the street into any fucking neighbourhood you want, really, and if you stop, and you think, mmm, i want a coffee, you go, and you get that fucking 4 dollar latte, and you continue your existence as a resource sucker upper.

twenty year olds are the one's who sit on steps of various buildings, pass snacks, joints, and jokes around. twenty year olds are surrounded with empty coffee cups. twenty year olds get to say things like, "i don't know. i'll see if i feel like it." and the crazy part is, this little detail is kind of applicable to twenty year olds from all spectrums. from lower income households, to higher income households. even if you can't afford that vacation plane ticket every month like others can, you can still probably afford to pass your days in a sort of mutually liberated and boring rhythm. you don't have to have a pace, and that's a luxury that twenty year olds carry over from their childhood, into an aspect of their adulthood.

and i don't say any of this to discourage twenty year olds from existing. in fact, i say this to reaffirm those moments when you find yourself sad, and you just don't know why. because that's what twenty year olds do. everything is awesome, and they know it, and then they get sad, and they don't know WHY, because they're also grown up enough to know that there's nothing to be sad about.

and i think, maybe, when that happens, it's cause we might be sad that we're useless. it's something that's sort of out of our control. all we can do is take advantage of these amazing opportunities given to us, and not just because you're western or possibly white, but because you're in your twenties. what the fuck else are you going to do?

Thursday, July 28, 2011

"it's kind of unbelievable how we're not all dead."

she is blazed. the most blazed she has have ever been. and out of indifference, and a curious intrigue in riding the bus, she hops on with the rest of them. we arrive on a central summer night in this fucking city she loves so, and she's starving. always has been, always will be. as usual, she ends up at the boys table - the boys club, and as they voice their oder for the greasy grub, she responds to a call from the other side - the girls table. a group of teenage girls who think she's just the coolest. they offer her a cigarette, and she begrudgingly accepts. with her gaze focused on a blur between the edge of a table, and a chair leg, she exhales, drowning out the noise of youth and laughter, trying to stupidly breath in the summer air like it's a cigarette. it's not. she catches a look at the corner of her eye, and group of men are staring straight at her. she has caught the words, "i could stare at her all day." and like an animal who hears a noise in the woods, she is startled.

"yeah, YOU" they say.

the tables surrounding her quiet at this new, disruptive and loud development.

her friend from the boys club is looking directly at her with a stupid grin on his face.

"i am sorry," the first man of three says, "but you are so hot."

in her drugged stupor, she pretends he has said the words, "stone cold fox" and elongates her naked legs.

"really, truly, goddamn... a total fox," says the second man of three.

the tables surrounding her, friends and strangers alike begin howling out on her behalf.

"what's your name, gorgeous?" calls out the third man of three.

she squirms at his directness. smiles like she is pleased, when mostly she is overwhelmed with a surprising degree of humility. "there's a name, it's not important," she says. "look! there's a whole other table of pretty girls!"

both the crowd and table of three dismiss her attempts, "yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever, you are HOT."

she pouts, but the night carries on.

things.

i don't even remember days when they're done. do you? i go through them, marking down thoughts and moments, because i've been blogging from the womb (slight exaggeration, stop that, nobody likes that guy), but then i come here and i honestly don't remember how a set of tiny lovely things can just sort of build up into a whole day.

what a lame thought.

see, that's my problem as a, "writer." talking like this, like a plane-ride-carry-on-chick-flick-diary-writer - this is the voice i'm the most comfortable writing in, and also the least challenging. the most challenging is when i try to abstract my thoughts, which isn't any less legitimate, but transforming the meaning of my words with this seemingly incompatible imagery often pinpoints the reality and honesty i'd like to really know, you know? so i try to say things i see, and sometimes, i really like it. one of my favourite things i've ever said have featured the words moms and vagabonds. and maybe i should challenge myself more.

to say things.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

the north



on Homes.

"the house looked very neat and white as it emerged through the green and yellow leaves; it wasn't such a bad house after all. it looked, as john givings had once said, like a place where people lived -- a place where the difficult, intricate process of living could sometimes give rise to incredible harmonies of happiness and sometimes to near-tragic disorder, as well as to ludicrous minor interludes ("That's All, Folks!"); a place where it was possible for whole summers to be kind of crazy, where it was possible to feel lonely and confused in many ways and for things to look pretty bleak from time to time, but where everything, in the final analysis, was going to be all right.

- Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road

love the kids.




Sunday, July 17, 2011

each bit tells the so-far story of summer 2011.

grass
pot
crochet
fixies

barbecue
"calm down"

skirts
boyfriend shorts
crop tops
film
gardens
lakes
cliffs
tomato

guitar
baby melissa

steak dinner

white paint
beige paint
70s rock
white cloths
windows
dining rooms
unlocked doors
sporadic visitors
blue eyes

wedding

fishing
unicorns
mosquitoes
bites

pink skies
knees touching
mechanics
grins

cheese
books
bookstores
rain
sun
underpass

walks
shopping
sex and the city-ing
giggling about our self reflective nature of

the mechanics of relationships.

we've stumbled out for a J on the exterior corner steps, next to their new loft - the one we're taking a painting break from. eventually 2 out of 4 us go inside, leaving me alone on the steps with an old friend. and the next thing you know we're talking about the mechanics of relationships, and i'm remembering all of the things i love about this kid. his horrific realism, and blunt understanding. i cry out, "i don't get men" and he nods and says, "i get women."

he says, "the prettier the girl, the less interesting they are." i say, "the hotter the guy, the stupider he is." we've agreed on something! has this ever happened before?? he smiles. "so what, we start dating unattractive people?" he says, "no, you let things be."

no, get this. with his stubble, and thick hair, blue eyes, and movie star grin, he says, "listen, i picked up this stupid book eric had lying around, about this monk or something. and it said something about the past and the future. and that's all any one of us ever is thinking about. we're only ever thinking about stuff that's happened or stuff that's going to happen, which is a waste, because there's no going back, and there's no way of predicting what's going to happen, so just take whatever's happening now, instead of worrying about what it means."

then he looked down at his paint-stained legs and said, "fuck, why did i wear these? these are my favourite pants."

and as the skyline developed a pink border, i found myself listening to him. staring off in another direction as he said this. and the minute he started, i was read to roll my eyes at him and write him off. another stupid 20 year old hippy boy who's going to try to convince me that the "now" is all that matters.

and then he said exactly what i was thinking.

he had spoken while i was literally in the middle of thinking about how our current moment was going to affect the future and what it meant about the past. so when he said that, i snapped my head back to his, and in a state of awe and disbelief i slowly smiled. it was a genuine fucking smile. and i remembered that this was the one, who had once answered one of my ever-so-frequent-big-philosophy questions with the answer, "i have no idea what i'll do then because i'll have a whole different brain by the time i'm there."

so i looked down at my naked paint-stained legs next to his and i said, "fuck. these are my favourite legs."

because i had a thought.

i had a stupid thought that i was failing as a feminist (as if it's a stance that needs 'constant effort' or whatever. you really just need to believe in equality and i never find myself not believing in that. i never pause and go, "hm - not such a great idea," so to suggest that i lose 'feminist points' is absurd and completely besides the point, of course.) and it's not like i was going to go around sitting on all of these random guys. i was really just trying to exercise my ability to feel confident in my body. but suddenly i'm walking the streets of downtown and these men are oggling me, and i feel like a fraud. like a total idiot. like i had dressed this way to just get the attention of some men, when i was supposed to be getting their attention with my overwhelming wit. well guess what, neither works.



going through a sort of transition, i think.

grown up realization that there are no real such things as types and inherent romantic codes that actually say record collections have to match up in order to create attraction. there you go, rob fleming.

i remember a couple years back when i was head over heels for this one boy, who i've only now come to realize had no interest in me. i remember holding on to the thought that things were complicated, rather than facing the reality of rejection. there was a lot of extenuating circumstances surrounding that. illness, on both he and i. we weren't right, but i really thought that i had found my "type" in him. awkward, and grunge-y, and progressive rock-y, hilarious, sarcastic, (because of the aforementioned awkwardness), and he had nice arms, okay.

the last guy i fell for was unattractive and a music encyclopedia. whatever the case, i keep to my "type" i guess.

and i guess the characteristic i "forgot" with that last couple of "types" (look at me dancing the vague dance) is that... some of them have been kinda jerks. and for the ones who were less jerks - they were still emotionally stunted (which is SUCH FUN for a puking emotional bird like me). and like most guys in the world actually, from the lower class cooks at my job, to the bros among bros of friends i have now - most of them like to include me in pussy and titty conversations, and because i'm vulgar and hilarious, a lot of the times, i don't mind. but now please refer yourself to Kaylee a la Firefly, because among that bro-ness, a lot of the times, i just want them to tell me i'm pretty. and sometimes they do, but i always make a gross face after.

anyway, combine my bro-ness, with my attraction to emotional stuntedness and you get a true lack of romance, or uh, whatever "sweet" is. i mean i've had those moments, (as much as someone who's never been in a serious relationship can have), but those very rare moments were always the things i banked all my guts on. and that has always evolved into a tragic trajectory. from the racism, to the bipolarity, to that secret girlfriend.

it's funny how your life can suddenly seem far more interesting, when you start to dissect it out on a blog.

i should make a list of things this summer has involved so far, it will be underwhelming and poetic









Saturday, July 16, 2011

DR SHE BLOGGO: Liz Lemon and Leslie Knope: Post-Modernism and the...

DR SHE BLOGGO: Liz Lemon and Leslie Knope: Post-Modernism and the...: "Since “30 Rock” premiered on NBC in 2006, its lead character, Liz Lemon, has been widely regarded as a feminist icon - a working gal who jus..."

Friday, July 15, 2011

that time i couldn't accept a perfectly nice invitation to a perfectly nice time with perfectly nice people.

"i'm having a party later tonight, if you wanna come."

"yeah?"

"yeah, i just decided. right now."

"did you?"

"yeah, just gonna have a couple of people over. you're welcome to come over if you want."

"thanks, but i probably, i just, is it gonna be like a... thing"

"what?"

"like, it's gonna be a party right, with those people that you all know?"

"what?"

"i'm just bad at going to things where people i know will be."

"good job, coming here then."

"no, i mean. i don't know. i've been to those things, and everyone knows each other, and i don't drink, and i dunno, i just don't fit in."

"bring two friends! sit and talk to them."

"i'm socially stunted."

"okay."

"anyways, it was nice seeing you."

"you too."

"i'm so weird."

"we all are."

on cheating (not as immoral, but rather, as a luxury some can't afford)

"listen. but, okay, listen. so X? cheats on her boyfriend."

"oh."

"yeah."

"oh."

"but like, i don't know. she's still with him, even though they've got the long distance thing going, but she cheats on him all the time."

"oh."

"yeah."

"no, but okay, here's the thing. this is the thing. i hear this shit all the time from my friends in couples. and the thing is, i think it just comes down to confidence. like, i have people all the time cheating on each other, or breaking up, or even wanting just, "a break" and crying and whining, and i'm always like, "if it doesn't feel good, don't do it" and they're always like looking back on you, with this sort of, judgmental look. like, i have no fucking clue what i'm talking about because, well, frankly, i don't."

"YEAH, RIGHT?! i have NO experience to back myself up here."

"right. so supposedly we don't, 'know' or whatever. but the thing is, i think the difference is that these people wouldn't care as much as we do. and i know that sounds condescending, but i really think it's because... well.., they see relationships, and sex, as attainable. something they'll always have access to. that's just it. they know they can get someone else, so they're not so worried about fucking up whatever's going on now. no, but wait. no, i know that sounds like they're not capable of real feelings or anything, but i mean, that's why when they're all like crying and shit going on and on about how they really did love the person they cheated on, i make that gross face. not because i don't believe that's possible. maybe they really did love them. but if they still wanted to be around that person, they wouldn't have taken active steps to push them away. the subconscious is screaming here. so the reason we don't get it, is because we don't even think that shit exists. and once we found it? we would hold on to it like a motherfucker. we would treat it like a precious fucking gem, and be the most abnormally functional about it. we wouldn't do anything to fuck it up, (and that might fuck it up regardless), but the difference between us and them is that fucking up isn't even an option, because who knows when the fuck someone else will care about us again?"

Sunday, July 10, 2011

this is an amazing book.

"Oh, don't you know?" She brought his hand gentle up her hip and round to the flat of her abdomen, where she pressed it close again. "Don't you know? You're the most valuable and wonderful thing in the world. You're a man."

- Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road

Thursday, July 7, 2011

on my understanding of marriage.

"then the fight went out of control. it quivered their arms and legs and wrenched their faces into shapes of hatred, it urged them harder and deeper into each other's weakest points, showing them cunning ways around each other's strongholds and quick chances to switch tactics, feint, and strike again. In the space of a gasp for breath it sent their memories racing back over the years for old weapons to rip the scabs off old wounds; it went on and on."

- Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road

Sunday, July 3, 2011

in my life.

i should really try to write it down. it's been a bit silly in a gloriously young kind of way. i'd like to keep track of it for you, geographically, and with a specifically outlined timeline, but the days have sort of blurred into one. and i'm not sure who i'm supposed to blame that on. summer, the drugs, myself? the blame game.

experienced an intensely terrible identity crisis, sitting in the middle of a muslim wedding. but eventually a nice boy came and sat down with me, and we participated in great degrees of polite small talk until he very blatantly said. "you're bored aren't you?" "what, no, no! this is fun." how horribly transparent could i have possibly been? i don't like to open my mouth in that company. it's amazing, really. i can dazzle a group of like-minded white folk, but the people of my own country will never get to see the levels of my wit. which, i think, is maybe where the anxiety tears bubbled from.

and let's not forget the day of walks, conversation, brie-sandwich's (oh my god), coffee, and bookstores. no, we will never forget that. that is why we do all the other stuff.

yesterday nancy said, "you're so great - if you didn't exist, we would have to invent you."

and well, yeah. the drugs. there's been so much of it. there was late night italian dinners, and being the last table to leave the restaurant. it was there in parks at midnight, in cars, and on the highway as we drove past. it was there behind synagogues, and sitting side by side on a bench, with a pipe. it was there with nancy wilson in the car, at bbqs and burgers. One turned into four, and suddenly i'm stumbling down the mountain, only to re-position myself on a balcony in somebody's apartment on st-catherine. which is dizzyingly close to reality, and yet not. it was there with the four of us, next to the whisky and cigars, one-ish, two, three, later. we arrive at last night. it was there twice in the garden, as i played a round of crochet. and another time as i serenaded our beatles rock band.



but it was most potent, and most awake, as i stumbled home, through the rich-kids mansions, and it was night, it was dark but there was fog, and street lights. and he sped up on his bike, and i said, "bye, get home safe!" and he waved, and i saw his figure pull himself up onto the bike, and he dissolved into a surprising detail in the glowing fog. he became smaller and smaller, but it was there.