Hey, Suburbia!
Date: Dec 27th, 2006 4:10:45 am - Subscribe
Mood: reflective
I've become well acquainted with the side effects of "Suburbia" as of late. Disillusion liberated me. Although my disillusionment will never be complete, I've become a sober drunk. The civilian, the quiet resident of a small world, disappeared entirely. Much akin to waking in a bedroom aflame.
And the fog light, the remnants of a conscience still begs: Where the fuck does this all leave me?
My hand fumbles over the mess of tubes, of caustic liquids, of used syringes in search of the panacea that all too elusively evades my grasp. The truth remains that I've nobody to blame.
Each day I straddle a line. Seeking stability and security in life is the school student in me. She stands in lines and waits her turn. The future, the livelihood, the husband, the safety is what weighs on her mind every single goddamn day. Still, screaming out against the aforementioned is the scrappy, little, disgruntled quite-possibly-Jello-Biafra's-Daughter who desires nothing more than to brutally murder that Stepford-ized atrocity of a human being, more commonly identified as the "Trust fund kid".
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And who the fuck are you?
Date: Dec 16th, 2006 2:00:21 pm - Subscribe
Mood: insignificant.
Every pissed off kid would love to say that he or she would stand up and fight a corrupt system, regardless of the circumstances.
First, fat chance.
Second, I'm no better.
Case in point: Rosa Louise McCauley Parks
Imagine if YOU grew up with your mother taking your hand and leading you to the back of the bus every day. Imagine growing up and instinctively searching out a "White" or "Colored" bathroom, waiting room, drinking fountain.. the list goes on. Give serious thought to your reaction. If you grew up with society's voice screaming that "Racial segregation is right.", would you accept the false idea of your inferiority/superiority?
My answer is that I honestly do not know. The next question that begs my attention in this situation is: What influences such an action?
As I digress, the questions I've pondered lately have been:
Who am I in essence?
To what degree have social and economical influences shaped my attitude towards authority?
So where the fuck does that leave me?
As I thought, the my pathetic answers to these questions seemed ever more inept and evasive. Only more queries surfaced.
Honestly, what if I grew up in a close-knit diehard Evangelical Christian family?
How would this have shaped my ideas about spirituality? About the (non)existence of a superior being, about gender's role in society, about sexuality, about what the fuck a "god" is anyway?
What if I never heard the Dead Kennedys?
What if I didn't have two brothers?
What if I was born a few decades earlier? A few centuries?
What if I grew up in a Third World country, only to be orphaned by AIDS and condemned to a short lifetime of backbreaking labor?
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Blessing.
Date: Dec 12th, 2006 1:12:30 am - Subscribe
Mood: burned-out
She is a blessing.
Thank god she is in my life
to boldly illustrate the definitions of greed, hate, selfishness and bullshit.
Say it to my goddamn face.
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Good morning, change.
Date: Dec 8th, 2006 10:46:40 pm - Subscribe
Mood: alright
...And I said "I don't know".
They can't wipe these dreams from my eyes.
I will not 9-to-5. I will not walk among the lemmings, working a moderately powerful position for a repulsively powerful corporation, striving towards the epitomy of "mediocre generica".
There’s something more than just going through the motions. I know exactly what makes life worth living and I will chase it to the end of the earth.
People have told me, many a time, that I'll never be shit. You can tell me that I’m naive. But you will never shake this hope from my eyes because it shines like gold.
"Young hearts are made of gold
that never fades away
Never fades, fades away"
There’s a reason why art is untouchable. There has to be a reason, otherwise kids would not drive around the country in a shitty, little van, with no money and no place to sleep at night, all for the sake of that 30 minutes set each night that keeps them alive. Something connects us. Something drives us.
It's the same thing that alienated you every day of your life. And no matter where it was that you find yourself, you were the outsider.
Punk rock didn't appeal to me initially because of the fashion or even the sound of the music. But the moment that I heard "Too Drunk to Fuck" by DK, I felt free. Punk rock is so widely interpreted that it would be selfish and arrogant for me to define it with absolution, but one thing is for sure. I admired the Dead Kennedys for daring to voice radical ideas and slap critics in the goddamn face.
And that's all I really need.
It'll probably leave me homeless. It will probably tear me away from comfort and stability. But it will leave me happy, in the warm company of my dearest friends.
It doesn’t matter who you are, where you came from or what you look like; We’re all cut from the same fabric.
So someday when people look at me and tell me that I’ve wasted my life, well then I won’t argue. Because words cannot explain passion, much less to one who denies it.
This is what makes life worth living.
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Great.
Date: Dec 7th, 2006 1:09:32 am - Subscribe
Mood: neutral
Great poets live great tragedies.
Great endings make way for great beginnings.
Great love intertwines itself in great loathing.
Great writers are great thinkers.
And "Great" itself loses its great meaning after a quick while.
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