I am not sure what they call this era. Modernity, post-modernity, recession, depression, crisis. It all refers to the same phenomenon. Everyone is lost. Everyone is running. Everyone is alone.
We all scream about sexual freedom and equality. We want control of our own bodies. We hold a disbelief in God, in love, in anything more infinite than space. And then we find ourselves enslaved by ourselves, by our freedom, by our solitude. We have compromised our emotional sanity and stability for sexual endeavors, our bodies for experimentation. We are all looking into a mirror, shattered, diffracting light in one thousand directions.
There are so many faces in New York City. Brown ones, sallow ones, baby ones, poor ones, dead ones. Everyone's eyes are empty, vacuous, soulless. We all look exactly the same--tired, impatient, and wet from all the rain.
Liberate us from the wakeful world. Scream about sleep.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
When Debauchery Became Legal
I turned 21 last week. I can gamble, drink, and create memorable nights I won't ever remember (probably for good reason). But now, after the initial excitement of being a legal alcoholic, I just feel old, sleepy, and in want of an old Disney movie.
In the last 5 or 6 years, I have experienced a slow liberation from legal enslavement. When I turned 17, all I wanted to do was drive (I failed my test and started driving one year late); when I turned 18, all I wanted to do was vote (I didn't register till I was 19); when I turned 19, all I wanted to do was buy cigarettes (I don't smoke). When I turned 21, I felt as though a great weight had been lifted: no more dressing older, no more passing back IDs, no more overly-priced cover charges for being under 21.
No more fear.
But it is this fear that keeps us young, that keeps our hearts racing, that keeps us alive. I was afraid to turn 20, to leave the decade that allowed me to make mistakes and eat burritos for breakfast with no effect. But 21 may be worse. It is too easy. There is nothing to chase. There is nothing to remark. There is nothing extraordinary about a legal adult paying $1 to see a concert in Webster Hall when all her friends paid $20, or about a legal adult dancing on furniture with her underage best friends. In fact, debauchery becomes debauchery when you turn 21. Before that, it is all fun and games.
Now, I am just awaiting my 25th, when I will finally be able to legally rent a car in Jersey (which I won't drive).
In the last 5 or 6 years, I have experienced a slow liberation from legal enslavement. When I turned 17, all I wanted to do was drive (I failed my test and started driving one year late); when I turned 18, all I wanted to do was vote (I didn't register till I was 19); when I turned 19, all I wanted to do was buy cigarettes (I don't smoke). When I turned 21, I felt as though a great weight had been lifted: no more dressing older, no more passing back IDs, no more overly-priced cover charges for being under 21.
No more fear.
But it is this fear that keeps us young, that keeps our hearts racing, that keeps us alive. I was afraid to turn 20, to leave the decade that allowed me to make mistakes and eat burritos for breakfast with no effect. But 21 may be worse. It is too easy. There is nothing to chase. There is nothing to remark. There is nothing extraordinary about a legal adult paying $1 to see a concert in Webster Hall when all her friends paid $20, or about a legal adult dancing on furniture with her underage best friends. In fact, debauchery becomes debauchery when you turn 21. Before that, it is all fun and games.
Now, I am just awaiting my 25th, when I will finally be able to legally rent a car in Jersey (which I won't drive).
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