and yet I must-
that in some way
I earn your trust.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
I want everything I never had. Therein lies the problem. I want everything I can never have. I want the pretty blonde cheerleader girlfriend, and I want to travel around the world living out of my backpack, and I want to take joy in all the tiny little things of life that I know are joyful but cast aside out of jaded cynicism.
I don't want to be sarcastic, or ironic, any more. I have no interest in looking down on others. I don't want to be so involved in judging that I can't be a regular person that regular people get along with. I wanna be salt o' the earth; I want to be part o' the earth.
I fall in love with this very particular class of people: orange juice people. They're bright and vibrant and wholesome; they're beautiful to look at and magnificent to watch. They have a certain grace in their movement, a delicate musicality to the sound of their voice, and I fall for them, hard, every single time. I'm tired of pining after them. I'm tired of standing around like a dark and bitter reflection of everything they are. I want what they have. I want to be around them and be amongst them and be one of them.
That is why I want the blonde cheerleader girlfriend. I want the stupid corny Americana dream. I want to be and feel a full part of a regular life, not some ancillary if witty critic to the course of life's events. I don't want to spectate the spectacle: I want to jump in and experience it, taste it, smell it, feel it.
And... I can't.
Maybe it's too late; I don't know. Maybe I hit 30, my legs are paralyzed, and I seen some shit (man), some stuff that really shouldn't be seen by anybody. Because really I'm craving youthful enthusiasm like nobody's fucking business. I want to be fascinated by music again and stay up all night, do things I'm not supposed to do and suffer the consequences the next day. I want to spend months in foreign locales, pick up the subtleties of Lao, Burmese, Azeri.
I'm sick of television, the internet, the billion and one fucking things we concentrate upon instead of our lives.
... But I guess, mostly, I feel alone. I feel like I'm the only one around with this kind of exuberance.
And so it's the loneliness that's once again killing me. The choking, suffocating solitude.
I'm not ready to grow old, yet. I'm getting older, but I'm not quite willing to "settle," whatever the fuck that actually is. I can't settle if it means losing adoration for cheerios and apple cider and red wine and summer nights out in a field staring at stars.
I'm not ready to be done... I just wish that someone was there to join me.
I don't want to be sarcastic, or ironic, any more. I have no interest in looking down on others. I don't want to be so involved in judging that I can't be a regular person that regular people get along with. I wanna be salt o' the earth; I want to be part o' the earth.
I fall in love with this very particular class of people: orange juice people. They're bright and vibrant and wholesome; they're beautiful to look at and magnificent to watch. They have a certain grace in their movement, a delicate musicality to the sound of their voice, and I fall for them, hard, every single time. I'm tired of pining after them. I'm tired of standing around like a dark and bitter reflection of everything they are. I want what they have. I want to be around them and be amongst them and be one of them.
That is why I want the blonde cheerleader girlfriend. I want the stupid corny Americana dream. I want to be and feel a full part of a regular life, not some ancillary if witty critic to the course of life's events. I don't want to spectate the spectacle: I want to jump in and experience it, taste it, smell it, feel it.
And... I can't.
Maybe it's too late; I don't know. Maybe I hit 30, my legs are paralyzed, and I seen some shit (man), some stuff that really shouldn't be seen by anybody. Because really I'm craving youthful enthusiasm like nobody's fucking business. I want to be fascinated by music again and stay up all night, do things I'm not supposed to do and suffer the consequences the next day. I want to spend months in foreign locales, pick up the subtleties of Lao, Burmese, Azeri.
I'm sick of television, the internet, the billion and one fucking things we concentrate upon instead of our lives.
... But I guess, mostly, I feel alone. I feel like I'm the only one around with this kind of exuberance.
And so it's the loneliness that's once again killing me. The choking, suffocating solitude.
I'm not ready to grow old, yet. I'm getting older, but I'm not quite willing to "settle," whatever the fuck that actually is. I can't settle if it means losing adoration for cheerios and apple cider and red wine and summer nights out in a field staring at stars.
I'm not ready to be done... I just wish that someone was there to join me.
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