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...presents... mE t0o!@#$
by Mogel
01/01/1996-#307
__///////\ -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc- /\\\\\\\__
\\\\\\\/ Everything You Need Since 1986 \///////
___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___
|___heal_the_sick___raise_the_dead___cleanse_the_lepers___cast_out_demons___|
Enter Generic Angst Statement #1: Humanity is cracking to pieces.
"What to do? After all the youthful hope has passed, reality always
shines on a human being's insignificance - and it's like a slap in the face."
So deeply ponders the white upper-middle-class suburban guy before he turns on
his CD of NWA's gangsta rap full blast.
The white upper-middle-class suburban girl nods her head in agreement.
"How can someone believe something and not even challenge it?" she
wonders. She opens her well-packaged three-dollar box with eight little pieces
of cheese and crackers.
"Who am I? Why am I here?"
"Who knows. Why do you care?"
"Don't be rude."
"I'm not rude."
"Don't you care?"
"No."
"Oh, just... fuck off!"
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Moments pass. Days pass. Years pass. Lives pass.
I sat on my windowsill with the window wide-open today. Freezing cold
temperatures and they're pouring into my room. I didn't even care. I was
so angry at everyone around me. Nobody understands me. Maybe she'll
understand.
"Is nothing sacred?" she asked me. She asked me... she's talking to me!
No matter how old you get, sometimes girls will make you feel like a little
boy. I melt when I talk to her. My emotions and thoughts get swirled up. Is
this when obsession kicks in?
I wonder if she knows.
"Be careful," my friend said. "I hope you don't get hurt."
The snow-covered buildings move and contort. The frosty air's almost
unnoticeable natural sound of static is addictive. I saw the world as a giant
brick wall. There I am climbing some big cliche'd ladder and there are my
friends on their own ladders. So many ladders, but how many rungs are
important? How many can you take out before a ladder splits in two?
"Everything I say is better and more important than what you say."
"Just fuck off."
Most of my thoughts that entire day by the window were about why people
think. Eventually you get pulled in some direction you don't want to go, so
you shut down. You're full of dead thought. You know that you're tired of
thinking when all you think about is ways of how NOT to think anymore.
Anti-think. But it's not working.
Dramatic pause.
Do I love her, or am I just emotionally starved?
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Enter Generic Angst Statement #2: Everything has been done before.
"Then why bother?" Generic Angst Poet asks.
"Because we must," replies my Generic Hero that will never exist.
"There's not an original thought left. Originality has become an art of
concealing your sources."
"Unmotivated people have always declared that all the ideas of their
current time were the end-all and be-all. The world will be proved wrong as we
synthesize. All you can do is learn everything that has already been thought
and use it to pull in some new direction. There are virtually infinite ideas
that no one has ever found yet. It's exciting. I'm ready to find the most
original and revolutionary thought anywhere."
"Me too!"
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I think too much. I need to just shut up and enjoy myself.
Is this really a date?
What am I doing here? The Angst-O-Meter rises. Maybe I can write an
"alternative" song about it when I go back home. There's her door. Look at
the picture of Elvis. Look at the word "Peace." So simple. So meaningful.
That's the best message ever. Damn, what cheese. People will find deep
philosophical meaning in a turnip if you let them. Fuck that.
I knock.
"Come in."
I wonder if she knows.
Her room is a mess. She smiles. She's on the computer.
She's been on her computer a long time. I've obsessed like that on the
computer before. Wait, that's the understatement of a lifetime.
"Sit down, I'll be off in a sec."
"Okay."
Isn't it obvious? Of course it's not. I'm the retarded master of hiding
what my emotions are. I want to grab her and throw her on the bed. I want to
recite horribly bad poetry to her and look up at the moonlight and hear a
string section in her closet. I wanna hold her. I wanna love her. I wanna
call her "baby" and sing Peter Frampton songs to her. My life is trapped in
an episode of _Sweet Valley High_.
"Wanna go eat?"
She turns her head to respond and I see those eyes. Some girls are so
beautiful it's disgusting. She's one of them. It's funny how the deeper you
stare into the eyes of a girl the more you feel ultimately hopeless.
You stare into her with that feeling of hopelessness and you catch a
glimpse of yourself back. It makes you queasy.
Now it's time for a commercial break.
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"This t-file is lame."
What's wrong with you? What's your problem? Is this file too boring for
you? Not enough talk about sex? No big exciting things happening? Why don't
I list a thousand redundant jokes about _Star Trek_ or college life or
computers? I'm sure those would be a real hoot. You can stand in lines, or
you can read between them.
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Enter Generic Angst Statement #3: Everything sucks.
"I hate everyone," proclaimed the youth.
"Me too!" agreed his friend.
"I hate this world."
"Me too!"
"Everyone is stupid. The whole world sucks because people are stupid.
You, me, and everyone. I'm fuckin' tired of it."
"Me too!"
"Nobody really listens to anyone else, unless it fits into their own
little picture of the world."
"Yeah!"
"Today's youth is full of this corny bullshit rage. They get mad at mommy
and daddy for giving them a bedtime, so they scream and holler and declare
themselves rebels against society and other buzzword random institutions. Am I
the only one that sees how stupid everyone is? This pisses me off! I'm... I'm
gonna... I'm about to explode!"
"Me t0o!@#$!"
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"'Just fuck off'?" she asked. "Why'd you write that on your door?"
"It's the way I feel sometimes. I don't wanna talk to anyone."
"You're pretty anti-social sometimes, huh?"
"Fuck off. No, wait. I didn't mean that."
If I'm not into escapism, what am I doing typing this right now? I gotta
talk to her. I gotta tell her.