Some mornings, you wake up and want every damn thing in your life to be different.
As I creep closer to 24, I'm beginning to develop this therory that us kids caught between Gen X and whatever generation the media is pandering to currently are about to explode in this patrick bateman orgy of materialism. It would explain the 80's revival and the current popularity of cocaine again, and the fucking retarded muppet in office... We are, in fact, in Hell and are damned to repeat eras over and over.
I've never been one for materialism. In fact, I'm rather spartan in my lifestyle. I don't even have a bed. It's a bed roll and fake animal skins. Seriously. My bedroom decor is Ghenghis Kahn by way of Dracula...but lately, I find myself aching for a leather couch. A car. Nice suits that I didn't buy 2nd or 3rd hand.
The exact and total opposite of fight club idealism.
House plants, blenders, liquor cabinets, hi-fi stereo, plasma screen, lap tops, MP3 players, tread mill, Signed prints, Video Game System. A pair of shoes other than my ratty black high tops.
Sushi platters, Wine rack, high thread count sheets.
I feel like a traitor. This mid twenties shit is a monkey's paw.
I need a cure. A bottle of something strong, maybe plumb wine and a joint dusted with damiana. I need to climb the cliffs up at 3'60, spit on the bridge and howl at the moon. Strip naked and float on my back in bull creek. Frogs and snakes and starlight.
Or maybe I should just finally get with my life of crime.
Armed robbery, wild spending, hot criminal sex in desert motels. I could always blame society.
Birthdays fucking suck.
As I creep closer to 24, I'm beginning to develop this therory that us kids caught between Gen X and whatever generation the media is pandering to currently are about to explode in this patrick bateman orgy of materialism. It would explain the 80's revival and the current popularity of cocaine again, and the fucking retarded muppet in office... We are, in fact, in Hell and are damned to repeat eras over and over.
I've never been one for materialism. In fact, I'm rather spartan in my lifestyle. I don't even have a bed. It's a bed roll and fake animal skins. Seriously. My bedroom decor is Ghenghis Kahn by way of Dracula...but lately, I find myself aching for a leather couch. A car. Nice suits that I didn't buy 2nd or 3rd hand.
The exact and total opposite of fight club idealism.
House plants, blenders, liquor cabinets, hi-fi stereo, plasma screen, lap tops, MP3 players, tread mill, Signed prints, Video Game System. A pair of shoes other than my ratty black high tops.
Sushi platters, Wine rack, high thread count sheets.
I feel like a traitor. This mid twenties shit is a monkey's paw.
I need a cure. A bottle of something strong, maybe plumb wine and a joint dusted with damiana. I need to climb the cliffs up at 3'60, spit on the bridge and howl at the moon. Strip naked and float on my back in bull creek. Frogs and snakes and starlight.
Or maybe I should just finally get with my life of crime.
Armed robbery, wild spending, hot criminal sex in desert motels. I could always blame society.
Birthdays fucking suck.
woli:
My 24th is still a bit off (8 months or so), but I know the feeling. I want to nest up so badly sometimes.I miss the days of stolen powerbars for every meal.
gallas13:
i don't know man. i think i saw that once in a movie. thelma and something or other.