I see people’s journals on here. sixteen, seventeen year old kids going through the same stuff I was and the collective we were going through then, same manic intensity, same self centrality, same willingness to throw yourself at someone and have your heart truly, truly broken. man, I’m talkin’ fucked UP broken here. and it just makes me smile. so quaint, so honest, so true.
it’s like we’re all at some big dance club and there are these throngs of kids out on the floor trampling death pampalona style, straight gettin’ down and enjoying life, the head spinning beauty of their first crush, swimming in all that shit that we all swam in like the hudson those years ago.
Goddamn I envy them. But at the same time I don’t at all. You’ll notice, 16, 17 is when all those kids are most noticeable. then the world crushes them. no, seriously, full on. shitty jobs, shitty apartments, no dough or time for a computer or a night on the town, so they stay to their own, watch sitcoms and start very bad self-destructive habits like codependency and servility. Shit that makes drugs look like mom and baseball. I don’t envy them. I got out, I got through, I remained relatively whole and sanct. But still I see there’s something wrong…
So they’re all out on this dancefloor, right… and y’know, there are the loud ones, the quiet ones, the ones that dance like everyone else, the cute girl in the rocky horror wear totally freaking out on her own, the guy who’s having fun and doesn’t notice that everyone thinks he’s a dork. but if he did, he wouldn’t care. even the ones from the latter group that would care. there are the kids around the edge of the floor – well, wallflowers.
but look beyond that, beyond the further reaches where the 20-21 yr old ones are getting plastered at the bar, beyond the ones sitting quietly holding hands with their otherONEs, or foursfivessixesdozens meditating in their earnest serene circles. Out there. In the corner. No, look harder. Over in the dark. yeah, there. Hawkishly, protectively staring out at the dance floor with a darting gaze intent on preserving this movement this moment this “this means something” for the high school kids. That’s me, slouching, gazing, wishing, holding tight there with a chrome .45 under this filmnoirtrenchcoat. trying to avenge my growing up by making that seventeen year old moment last for as long as I can for these kids, even if I have to do it at gunpoint.
Because the thismeansomething is all you’ll ever have. lose it you wind up jaded, wounded, drunk. keep it, it’s the fire, the drive, the reason to get up, the glimmer in her eye, the spark of her lighter spiting darkness, the doublespressoshots to wash down the espresso beans. every crush should be your first. hold on to it. why am I doing this? because i don’t ever wanna see any kid lose their thismeansomething like I did.