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| The Joy of Loneliness |
Am I really so shallow that I have this much trouble breathing deeply? I barely stand a chance with the opposite sex. I can barely stand sex. Should I be as callous as the rest of the world? Am I being watched as often as I think I am? Do I talk to myself as much as I think I do?
The burden of forever being a child in grown-up's clothing is weighing me down heavily. As the rest of the world works and turns, I am static and put doom on the back burner. Driving slowly into a shore community, the beautiful people turn their heads, spend their money superfluously, and constantly remind me of how much more allure their lifestyles and cars are than mine. After a while, between the drugs and jetskis, I wonder how money can't buy happiness.
I'm long gone, swallowed by the seaward wind, frost, and rain. Cigarettes don't taste the same and isn't that a goddamn shame. The greeting cards I look at for friends with whom I must mend frayed bonds aren't worthy of so much as a smirk.
One of those kids lost his brother. Another fell and has lost his mind since. The last ones work so much that they don't even know what they're feeling anymore. I don't want a job because there's no one worth working for. The mind-numbing tasks that allow the monetary system to turn us into silent suckers are available. Some of them even pay half as much as slave wages. Why isn't there something stimulating for the ones who belong in college but cannot afford it?
Where are the words that I am truly searching for to describe this desperate situation? Surely, St. Jude is looking down upon this mess and, with sincerity, prays for the salvation of the lethargic and complacent mass of creeps and failures that I call "my people."
This is to be taken as a joke because no one should feel sympathy for the skinny outcast. He walks to the end of the trail with his dog and builds a small dock out of wood and large blocks of styrofoam. The two board the floating device and sail off to the mystic land of Complacency. Come July, they'll turn back up in that beach community and make up for lost time. Families and friends, fireworks and fentanyl. ... Happy trails, my ambitious friend.
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Posted by AlexanderJude on 2009-06-28 00:56:37 | Rating: | Views: 123
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