You know, we’re a dying breed you and me…

more about “My Own Worst Enemy | Lit | Music Vide…“, posted with vodpod

I feel like the 90’s ended too soon.

“I’m the last splash…”

I know you, little libertine
I know you’re a cannonball
I’ll be you’re whatever you want
The bong in this Reggae Song

Yesterday my computer died. The video card decided that it had enough of Second Life and Halo so it just told me to fuck off and it died. Early in the morning as well. It was survived by my sound card who mocked me relentlessly as it played sound and the rest of my computer parts. Panicked, I called Binx and told him my computer died. He asked what the problem was, I said the video card as I noticed a decline of videos and gaming capabilities. He wasn’t so sure until I continued telling him it couldn’t be anything else because everything else works. Later on in the day, I bought another on loan because I have sans money and I haven’t gotten paid yet. My pathetic life seems a little more pathetic.

My computer’s up again and happy. The video card I have now is better than my last one and it cost less as well, so yay for me. I even picked it out, showing that I’m lucky when I randomly point at things that I haven’t the slightlest clue of.

After Binx installed the video card, we sat around talking and as we were talking I started realizing that it’s my self destructive behavior that causes a lot of the my relationships or would be relationships to fail miserably. And it’s also my self destructive behavior that makes me decided the wrong choices and what paths to take. It depressed me last night that I even realize that my alter ego – well, my alter ego’s alter ego – has grown too big for a virtual world and the failed experiment has been realized as not a failed experiment at all. So with that said, I think I’m going to go figure out who I am again.

I speak religion’s message clear
and I control you
I am denial guilt and fear
and I control you
I am the prayers of the naive
and I control you
I am the lie that you believe
and I control you
I take you where you want to go
I give you all you need to know
I drag you down I use you up
Mr. Self-destruct
(you let me do this to you. i am an exit)
I am the needle in your vein

“Your silver grin still sticking in…” (Bush)

All your mental armor drags me down
nothing hurts like your mouth

Do onto others as you would want done onto you. For the pious, you know exactly what those words mean. For those who have a god up in the clouds, you know that you are supposed to love your neighbor. But Christians these days are anything but Christian. The majority are venomous hate mongers who would rather see the world on fire than to allow love to flow down the streets because the greedy shits that they are, they think it’s only available to a certain group, namely them. I watched this country in the throes of change, but rather we only received a small amount of change as the country is ready for a black president, but is not ready for two men to be married – or two women at that.

I am not a celebrity. I am not a newsman. I am not a Christian. Nor am I a homosexual. I’ve known a few homosexuals in my life, and I love them dearly – well, the ones who I called my friends, at least. Man and woman a like can wake up one morning and realized that their whole lives are a sham because of one stupid stigma that this country holds: Marriage is between a man and a woman. Really, because growing up I was always told when two people are in love, they get married. My mother, the priests, the CCD teachers all seemed to have ignored the man and woman fact back with it was a “problem.”

But what problem exactly? Suddenly it became really cool to hate homosexuals because President Bush up in the White House created a quagmire and had to shift the focus of attention from his mistake to a constitutional amendment that disallows the marriage between two people of the same sex. That’s all great and all, but I thought this was the land of dreams – the all American Dream (to be happy and to be prosperous) – a land of freedom – isn’t that a part of our national anthem? But this boils down, like most politics, not on the morals of a group of people, but the beliefs of a religions people.

The way we break if there’s something we can’t take
Destroy the world that we took so long to make

I accept the fact that those who created our country were religious, but those who came to it were in pursuit of religious freedom. It is written down in our history that all men were created equal. It was written in our history that the church and state would be separate. Many of you seem to have forgotten it by enforcing ridiculous laws like Prop. 8. You will hinder a group of people to share the same love are you so you can be deemed good in the eyes of your god. If your god doesn’t believe in love, then your god must not be a very good god after all. And it sickens me that he could ever create something as vile and disgusting as hate mongers like you.

But those of you who don’t claim a religious reason for wanting a law that doesn’t permit homosexuals to marry, you say it’s because of the sanctity of marriage. I ask you this, what sanctity? Divorce rates are higher in believers than it is in nonbelievers, affairs of religious people stumbles upon the news whenever they’re revealed, and there’s the shotgun marriages that pollute our politics because an abstinence only politician’s daughter finds herself pregnant during the time her mother’s running for vice president. Is that the sanctity that you want to salvage. Maybe it’s time that we give the homosexuals a try at it while the rest of you attempt to fix your own problems.

Beware of those who want to harm you
And drag you down to a lower game
Just know the truth is coming
To bring peace to this troubled land

Now, I’m not much of an activist because I’m way too lazy to get arrested and I like my clean record. But I do boast those who are activists and hold them in high regard. Activists stand for change. Without them, blacks wouldn’t be able to vote, women wouldn’t be able to vote, people wouldn’t be anything further than separate but equal. The activists out there marching in the streets advocating change in this country that has for so long held several groups of people down by abusing their powers and their money.

And that’s the problem with the country – not that there are few activists, but that we have now given way too much authority on the end-times morons who are at their pulpits spitting venom and donating money to prejudice laws. I cannot say anything further than this: You cannot define freedom as giving rights to one group of people, while denying it to another. It was wrong during the time of slavery; it was wrong during the early 20th century; it was wrong to deny the marriage of two people of opposite sex to marry because of the difference in their skin; and it is wrong still to deny two people the same rights and love that you so dearly possess because it is in your mind disgusting, sinful and wrong. That is not freedom. That is the same vile thought that was founded by hatred and not by love of almighty, all benevolent creator.

And here’s Keith Olbermann holding the same values as I do, but getting it across way better:

“Why you think the net was born?” (Avenue Q)

There’s a lot of debate again in various blogs about internet porn. I’m not sure if that debate ever really died down, but there’s a lot of hate going around by people who think porn is a danger to our society. And that last sentence is going to drive a lot of people to probably comment (if they read it) on how it is the seed that causes rape, that distorts real relationships and so on and so forth. I have to, however, disagree greatly because what they’re saying is what someone else said in the past and they’re just repeating like parrots on the shoulder of their one-eyed master (trust, I meant no pun by this, although, it would be something I would say).

So, is pornography a danger to our society? Unless porn is out there holding guns to the backs of rapists forcing them to submit women and take them any which way, the answer is a flat out no. Does rape exploit women? Again, unless producers are holding guns and making women take it every which way, the answer once again is no. Does it distort the minds of young Americans about sex? That’s a gray area. A lot of people like to blame the mass media for our problems. School shooting? Let’s blame Marilyn Manson and a few movies. Girl gets raped? Oh, that must be the influence of pornographic movies. But what about priests molesting altar boys? What then do we blame? The only thing they touch, theoretically, is the Bible. Does the Bible practice underage sex? (Please, don’t answer that.)

You can’t go around telling the government to remove sex from the internet because your children well get to it. The government isn’t your babysitter. It isn’t an entity that is supposed to wipe clean your house of filth. That is your responsibility. If you don’t want your child watching porn online, then take the measures yourself. Buy some parental control software to hinder this from happening. That’s way simpler than whining online, signing petitions. Or you could do the old fashion thing, oh I don’t, be a parent for a change.

All these people come around and they want someone else to raise their kids. They don’t want their kids to learn about safe sex in school, yet don’t bother to sit down with them and tell them it’s better to wait than to jump the gun. This isn’t the 50’s, by the way. Sex is everywhere and if you prevent your child from learning the precautions, you’ll wind up like Sarah Palin and nobody wants to wind up like Sarah Palin – she’s a fucking moron!

But I digress.

My mother said something to another parent, or perhaps my aunt or some relative about my choice in music. My mother used to buy me Marilyn Manson, Nine Inch Nails, Korn, pretty much anything with a parental advisory sticker on the jewel case. When asked why she allowed me to listen to such filth, she simply said, “If I don’t, he’ll just get it somewhere else.” This left me with very little to rebel against. Now, I’m not saying you should just let you whatever-teen year old kid look at smut online; I’m just saying, you should put down the work responsibilities and be a parent once in a while.

My mother also once told me that a person who doesn’t have time to do a hobby – she said garden as we were talking about a mother of one of my relationships – then you’re spending too much time working. My mother is far from a lax person. She’s worker and I wonder why it is that didn’t rub off on me. She works hard and works long hours, but she always finds to do things she loves to do. And one of those things was being my mother. She didn’t look to the government to raise me and what I can and cannot watch, she did it herself. Call her old fashion (she’s been a mother since the 70’s), but she was far better a parent than the ones who whine about internet porn (which she’s against, but doesn’t think it should be removed).

And gray area, in which distorts the values of adult relationships, is what most people like to fling at others who support pornography. If you cannot tell the difference between reality and fantasy, then you have serious issues to look into. It’s unhealthy and has nothing to do with porn itself. Seriously, there are people who commit suicide because a WoW character was killed off. There are people who go to shopping malls and for no apparent reason, start shooting it up. There was even one guy who had a car chase because he loved video game. That is unhealthy. It has nothing to do with parenting or viewing things; it has to do with how one’s mind works.

Now I’m not saying pornography is healthy. It is, in small doses. There’s a whole theory behind addiction that Marilyn Manson (yes, I’m using him) wrote in his book. If you’re using drugs (cos that’s what he wrote) and you’re paying for them, guess what! you’re addict. Chuck Klosterman said something about drug addiction and CD jewel cases. If there is ever a chance that you simply don’t care about which CD case you grab to snort coke, then you’re addict. I think the same rules apply with pornography. If you’re willing to buy it rather than just get off on some porn website that holds free videos, or getting off to really fucked up porn, then I’m sorry, you, sir or ma’am, are an addict and should seek help.

It’s possible to get addicted to several things. Porn is not just the ugly head that rears into our lives. There’s other addictions. Some of them are perfectly legal, such alcohol and cigarettes. Those cause way more harm than pornography does to our society. I have an addiction to books. It’s harmless, the only thing that suffers is my bank account. I also have an addiction to caffiene. It only harms my body. I’ve heard people who have addictions to masturbation and don’t use porn. There are a lot of things that cause addictions and problems in our society – are you going to outlaw all of them? Good luck.

We live in a land where people are free, just as long as they don’t hurt anyone, involve a child in it, or a beast, to do what they want. That’s the joy. That’s the pride. We can take safety of knowing we can look online and see several naked women or men doing things we only fantasize about. And that’s the key world. It’s fantasy. Again, not saying it might not cause a problem, but just as long as you can avoid getting hit by a fucking car, you can avoid getting addicted. Small doses, remember?

So let’s go over this, shall we? People should stop looking at the government to do their parenting. Parents should parent, end of story. Now, I know for a fact that some kids, teens, are looking at porn. Get parental software. However, like dear old mother knew, your kid will gain somehow. And this is where being a parent pays off. Talk to you kids about sex. Talk to them soon. Tell them the difference between fantasy and reality. Tell them how porn isn’t made for them. Tell them and set boundaries.

Again, be a parent for a change.

“The palm reader sees a butterfly shape in the hand: rely on the help of a stranger” (The Oracle Book)

My dreams are humble, lean as arrows
Streetwise, ready, and fair
As we bum rush the ages tied to the rails
On high seas not fit to be sailed
Whatever we’ve taken does feel like heaven
But baby, we just look like hell

I keep having the same dream where one of my two frontal teeth falls off. The dreams feels so real that I can feel the sting shooting through my gums and can feel the empty space where a tooth once clung to with my tongue. This is probably the dream I’ve been having for most of the month, off and on.

I woke up early today, not because of the dream, but because I fell asleep way earlier than I normally do. It felt nice to see the sunrise rather than feel the pangs of its rays as they intrude into my room. I got up and made sure both of my frontal teeth were there, sighed and went to brush them. Thankfully dreams are just that.

I need to clean my study. Books are piled everywhere. I also need to clean my room. Sometimes I wish I could just be organized, but that’s a dream in of itself. A cooler weather pushed in and it makes me want a cigarette. I never habitually smoked in my entire life. I’ve never done anything habitually. An occasional cigarette in high school, but the moment I turned 18, that pretty much died off. But now, all I’m thinking is I want a cigarette and a cup of coffee – two things I deeply hate the taste of, yet they go so well together. Once, a few years back, I was at the beach with my mother and my aunt and cousins from Midland, Texas. My aunt made coffee and I took a cup because I need a strong caffeine in take and coffee was already made available.

My mother saw me drown the cup in sugar and milk because I couldn’t stand the taste of black coffee. After a moment, I said, “This tastes of cigarettes.”

“How do you what cigarettes taste like?”

Mind you, my mother’s care had ceased to exist in the sense of I was now 19 or 20 by the time this incident happened. But nonetheless the crimes were committed before I turned 18. I felt a little busted but I told her that it was something I did back in high school. It didn’t matter much because I hated the taste of them and I probably wouldn’t pick it up again – my grandfather, her father, was a habitual smoker and wouldn’t ceased even has his life depended on it.

However, I never smoked at parties with my friends. I hated smoking for the sake of smoking more than the thought of smoking itself. What I mean is, sure I smoked with my friends once in a while (actually in a huge span between each cigarette), but I never did it because I thought it made me look cool. I did it because I thought normal kids had to rebel in some way against their parents and because my mother was so lax with rules, I didn’t have much to rebel against. So sex, cigarettes and drugs was pretty much what I can do. But neither of them seemed like much fun because there wasn’t any punishments awaiting for me other than a look of disappointment.

Perhaps I should add that I was the family’s last hope. My oldest brother graduated high school, but never went off to college. The middle brother, in true middle child stereotype, fell hard into drugs and dropped out of high school. And me, I was the last chance. I wasn’t about to fuck things up.

The incident I was coming to before that break was one that happened at a high school party. I didn’t have much of a social life in high school because I kept it that way. I loved my friends, but I didn’t want to deal with them after school. I never went out except for a few times where I usually called mother to pick me up because I was so pissed off at my friends for their drug ridden ways. But my first party was a Halloween party and I felt that I should appear for two reasons. 1.) I love Halloween and 2.) because I didn’t want my mother to think I was a strange kid for not doing anything with my friends, and the same goes for my friends. I suppose, I wanted to be a normal kid who did what other normal kids did.

The party was at a friend’s apartment that smelt like cat shit which was explained the moment I saw the shit mountain in a much neglected litter box. The party was mediocre at best when it started until the plague got there. The plague was a group of four people, three of which were sleeping with each other. And because I have to assume that they don’t read my blogs or even remotely remember me, I’ll name them. The plague was comprised of Danny, Lucky, Ruben (the threesome) and Denis.

I was in my friend’s bedroom with Josh and Jorell talking things over when the threesome part of the plague entered the room and started talking. They had brought the booze and drugs to the party which was the beginning of the end for me. Because no matter what I thought I could put into my body, there wasn’t a chance in hell that alcohol was going to be one of them.

Upset by the turn out, I decided it was time I called my mother to pick me up because I didn’t want to be there anymore. After calling her, I sat back on the bed beside Josh, who was doing his best to avoid Danny’s homosexuality. My mistake was that I sat too close to Ruben, who was now in front of me. And in true plague fashion, he unzipped his pants and told me to suck it.

I had met Ruben before he was infected by Danny. I had met Lucky and Denis as well. I even met Danny before all this business. They were all great people (well, not the best people, but also not the sort of people who ask you to give them a blow job for no apparent reason, either). But Danny was the first to fuck it up and in true asshole fashion, he opted to take everyone down with him. But Ruben wasn’t that great of a person either, to begin with. He was awkward at best and him asking me to suck his cock wouldn’t be the first time he’d pissed me off.

I got up and left the room.

As I was pushing through the hall, Denis came inside from smoking. He grabbed and said, “Willie, I’m sorry.”

Bewildered, I looked at Denis. I have never heard him utter an apology in the time I’d known him, which stretched back to elementary CCD courses.

“About?”

“Your mom’s outside. She saw us smoking. I’m sorry if we got you in trouble.”

I smirked, “Was I out there with you?”

His face grew confused, “No.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

I don’t remember where the hostess’s mother was at during this party, but it did make me appreciate my mother a little more. While my mother unknowingly took me to a drug and booze party, her mother was perfectly aware of what she was doing. And while it’s seen as uncool to have a good relationship with your parents like I did with my mother – I could go to her for anything, I could joke with her, I could cuss around her, so basically she was a friend than just a parent. She knew when to punish me if I didn’t go great in school because she knew my potential, but also knew I was lazy.

There was this one other incident, and I’ll end it with this, where my mother was asked why she bought me such “awful” music (I was into Marilyn Manson, Korn, and Nine Inch Nails) and she simply said, “Because if I don’t, he’ll just get it somewhere else.” This will lead to my next post, which I’ll write later.

“Remember when I was so strange and likeable?” (Tegan & Sara)

Heartbeats hurt
You have my
Chest full
Of cold night air in my lungs
Limping on two legs 

Don’t you think that I’ve been giving up.

I thought about it. Somethings need more concentration than others and I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. The urge to leave the Valley has never been so big before, but this place feels so small again. I feel suffocated. My energy is nearing zero. And it’s not exercise, you know who you are. It’s more of a mental exhaustion. I feel trapped. I don’t like feeling trapped. I’m okay. I’m not sad. Not right now. I get this way. But right now I think the only reason I feel so suffocated is because I’m not writing as much as I used to. Half of this is good because most of the writings were crap and the other pieces were turned into something better. So I sat down a few nights and started writing emotions, pieces of memories of the break up. I collected the entire lot of memories in my journal, past blogs and my legs (don’t ask, it’s best left unsaid). We’ll see how that turns out. I have an idea of what I want to write, but I just need to figure out how to do it so it’s not bad.

And let this steal your childhood as it has taken mine.

Fads and Lifestyles

Push me
And then just touch me
Till I can get my
Satisfaction

 

Buy-sexual

I remember a few years ago a whole bunch of teens my age were becoming “Jesus Freaks” because of a book and the mainstream (and oddly enough, Christian) media was whoring it out more than Natalie Dylan is at this moment. Those very same Jesus Freaks have all fallen into obscurity. Most of them giving up on their religious, I-love-Jesus bullshit a year after the fad came to a bitter end (I’m not saying that all Jesus Freaks went down this path, but a nice majority did). It was again no longer cool to be perceived to be Christian. So while all the real Christians went off to be Christians, the posers went on to have sex, do a lot of drugs, and have more sex while doing drugs (the outcome of which came out nine months later in the form of a welfare baby). 

Earlier, and my purpose for writing this wasn’t to promote Jesus Freaks or anything like it, I was watching VH1. Granted I was born into the MTV generation – I didn’t have MTV or VH1 growing up – so I’m not one to who is motivated to watch VH1 unless something catches my eye. Tonight, that was Women Seeking Women: A Bicurious Journey. While the person whose story they were reporting was an older lady (meaning older than me, not an old woman), it struck a cord with me. 

 

Bisexual couple (ABC News)

How dare VH1 put this on display in such a way when the new generation of kids are all claiming to bisexuality. This sort of thing has the same damning consequences like the poser Jesus Freaks back in the day. 

 

I came out of the closet – was I ever really in the closet? – my freshmen year in high school. I wasn’t greeted by like minded individuals, but by assholes and homophobes who equated bisexual to just sucking some guy’s cock. Threats were made and insults passed, but I’d rather live that life than have some snot nose kid to put his arm around me and say, “Hey man, it’s cool. I’m bisexual, too. I’ve been so since I was a kid.”

First of all, sexuality isn’t something you have as a kid, at least not quite. I was born different, I tell you that now. I was a strange kid and I did strange things, thought strange thoughts. It’s apart of my personality. But did I think I was attracted to boys? Of course not. Who is really ever attracted to anyone as a kid? Sure there’s puppy love, but do you really fantasize about jumping someone’s bones when you only in kindergarten? Saying yes, will only give an argument to more disgusting acts that I won’t even cover here, because that’s the topic of conversation. 

It never fails, though. I go onto MyYearbook and see all these snot nose kids claiming bisexuality as if it there new idea. With forum titles like “OMG, I’m Bisexual what should I do?” that deal with these kids figuring “out that there is a really good chance that im bi,” you have to understand why someone like me is just a little peeved about it. 

So why the sudden urge to wave the fence sitter flag all of a sudden? Is it popular culture that has once again influenced a sudden spark of interest with preteens (I am not joking) and teens alike? Has it finally come to the point that lifestyles aren’t just that anymore, but fads? And don’t they seem to notice that their ridicule of being bisexual only allows for former Jesus Freaks turned Fundamentalist Christians to only continue on with their quote “It’s all a choice?” 

I will admit my philosophy of bisexuality has changed so much in the past years that I no longer go by such a worn down title. Instead, when asked about my sexuality, I always just say, with an utter flare that I’m straight, but I like to consider my options. Sure, it’s just about the same thing like saying I choose to be with other guys if the opportunity presents itself, but at least I’m not calling myself bisexual anymore and making flow blown bis (if there is such a thing anymore) look like they’re liars. 

And what happens when it’s no longer cool to be bisexual anymore? What then? Well all these preteens just walk down another path that Popular Culture points to? 

I will like to hear some opinions.

All picture sources are link within the image. 

When we talk in silence, your words echo through my head

Am I alive or thoughts that drift away?
Does summer come for everyone?
Can humans do as prophets say?
And if I die before I learn to speak
Can money pay for all the days I lived awake
But half asleep?

The thunder is booming outside – my skull hurts – and I can feel the oncoming storm brewing. It’s a whisper of the night that is yet to come. You missed the train, my love, the lady said as she stood on the tracks and vanished into the fog. I think. The purpose of all these missed opportunities is unknown to me. I shuffle on.

A girl once talked to me about her dreams. A girl once swore she would marry me only to marry someone else in the end. The vibrations in the sky threaten electrical currents into my mind. I think there isn’t a choice in this world other than to jump off that locomotive.

We build walls to keep others out. I have erected mine. I won’t let you in because I didn’t trust myself. I was right not to. There were others who tried to tame me, to soothe me, but I’m fickle. I burn. Let me burn. I am the fire that will devour your suburban mind.

When the second ghost called me on the phone, I wondered if maybe that a stronger energy was trying to tell me that I have not been wise. But I’ve fooled you all. I never knew a single thing before.

I’ve forgotten how to sleep at night

Cause I’ve been wishing so hard
Tell me can you relate
You want something so bad and in time
It’s too long to wait
Cause I’ve been wishing so hard
Tell me if you think that it’s true
Cause everything I’ve been wishing
for I had in me in you

The room smells of bread. And I think about two things that I did wrong with my life. And while I shouldn’t think about them, they’re all I have going on in my mind. I don’t know what to do with myself. There is no more neutral party. I’ve erased all boundaries, all borders, this whole Summer.

My friend’s marriage is ending. Can’t say she didn’t try. Just another statistic for you to chalk up. And me? Well, me. I’m just bitter. I don’t know what I have to bitter about.

As I talked to her on the phone, I said that maybe she should’ve crawled before she ran. Sure, statistically, we get married because we are or got someone pregnant, but that wasn’t a sign that you’re ready for marriage. That’s where husband made the mistake of it. He thought because he said it, it meant that the powers that be had made it factual. But words are just words. And while he blames her for a lot of things, he doesn’t realize all those times the other three fingers were pointing right back at him, as the saying goes.

Sometimes, I think I should’ve listen to my own words. I ran before I even crawled away from the pain. I moved to fast and I only brought the hatchet down on myself even harder. I don’t know if others realize this, but…I’m at a loss for words. Me. The person who’s supposed to be a wordsmith.

I want to be forgotten,
and I don’t want to be reminded.
You say “please don’t make this harder.”
No, I won’t yet.
I wanna be beside her.
She wanna be admired.
You say “please don’t make this harder.”
No, I won’t yet.

On Growing Up

If all you’re seeing is your lies
You had your chance, but now you’ve blown it.
You want this world so you can own it
I am the keeper of the songs of everyone

Look into the sun and see your soul is dying
Used to feel the faith, but now you’re tired of trying
Should have left alone what you have stolen from everyone

How are you feeling?
You seem a little sick to me

I read a piece in Esquire by Stephen Marche entitled “Can We Stop Acting So Childish?” I have a subscription (big surprised, hu?) so I’m not sure if it’s on newstands or not, but go pick up the issue and read the piece if it’s not online. I think the person on the cover is Tom Brady (missing Brady Bunch brother? I have no idea who he is or why we should stop hating him). But the piece really got to me when I read it yesterday (this post was supposed to be written afterward, but it was The Professor’s birthday and Jyg and I were invited to to the gala). I ponder most of it on the drive over there and even more so when I showed Jyg where I spent the earlier parts of my life. Donna’s changed so much and looks almost inhabitable at night. I’m sure my grandmother would have hated the changes down and perhaps may have succumbed to defeat and moved in with us if she hadn’t passed eleven years ago.

I’m twenty-five-years-old. I don’t drive because of this fear that I can’t even explain most of the time. I still live at home with my mother because of this deep seeding guilt of leaving my mother in a state of depression. My relationships are less than perfect. I close myself off emotionally from people I love. I sit at home and write porn for money. I read books to escape my mundane life. I graduated from college but haven’t used my degree in any real work. I am the epitome of manchild, am I not? That’s the topic of Marche’s piece in the collum “A Thousand Words About Our Culture.”

As a country, we seemingly, but possibly unwittingly, gratify the adult-child. He starts his piece with the fact that the beloved children’s book, but possibly well hated (even though it hasn’t been released) film adapation, Where the Wild Things Are. I loved the book as child, and I’m pretty darn sure that I would still love it if I had the book to read to my nieces and nephew. And while little can be said about the book, what Marche points out is what seems to plague us to this day – it’s about a child realizing that it’s time to grow up. The only problem is, we don’t realize that anymore.

The source of the new ubiquity of the child-adult centaur may be the extended adolescence in which we all find ourselves. If you believe the conservative commentators, every urban American under the age of 40 rides a skateboard to work, and the criteria that once defined adulthood – giving up bands, getting a steady job, normal sex – no longer apply. Hipster parents are the new children raising children: Put the kid down for a nap, check the BlackBerry to see if the Shanghai office has sent the proofs, then take the videocam into the bedroom, and afterward maybe listen to Vampire Weekend with a joint while playing Halo 3 together. That’s the new happy marriage, the new happy adulthood: the desires of adolescence empowered by money and confidence.

And while I find myself at the crossroads a lot lately, I’m beginning to notice that I recognized the terrain. That tree over there, it’s awfully familiar. It’s almost like I have  been here before. Only I haven’t been here before because in order to be able to say, “I’ve been here before,” I would have to actually leave this place and walk as far away from it until I loop back and find myself at the crossroads again. I never leave. I say that I will, but I never leave. Forever to be stuck in the middle until someone takes my hand and leads me away from it like they did when I was a child.

The other day I was mistaken for a 40-year-old man because I hang out with a 40-year-old man. That sort of logic didn’t work when I was sixteen, so why is it that sixteen-year-olds see me as old now? That’s right, because I’m no longer sixteen, I’m nine years old than them. I’m almost a decade older. When did that happen? I admit, I was never hip. I was never cool. I wasn’t “down” with the in crowd in high school. I didn’t sell drugs or have sex with multiple partners – fuck, I still don’t sell drugs or have sex with multiple partners. I didn’t go to the movies and watch stupid movies and than chuckle about them with the guys in the changing rooms, interchanging scenes from the movie with how big this one girl’s tits are. I was mature, wasn’t I? Didn’t I take things seriously – sure, maybe not school, but that’s because I knew the stuff already, I didn’t need to learn it. I never studied, managed high grades in the classes that I actually liked. So what happened? Wasn’t I supposed to be the promised child? Instead, I’ve become the Prodigal Son who refuses to come home and see the error of my way.

Why do I find it so hard to choose a path, be it the right path or the reckless path, and find my way back? Perhaps then, the tree will have changed and an median would have been set.

whisper now
and tell me how you’ll watch me
and tell me somehow i’m gonna be alright