Friday, September 8, 2006
Surrounded by Ghosts
I guess as a boy I always assumed that older people possessed something I didn't. I was sure there was a rite, a passing that occurred, that made known to my elders some profound wisdom, perhap's life's greatest secret. Among themselves, they spoke of exotic topics, far beyond comprehension. As such I gave them proper reverence; they were better than me.Last night I went to Kappa in search of them. There was a happening party. All the kids came down. Everybody was represented. Jerry's bizarro came over and we shot the shit for a few minutes. I looked at him - chain smoking, swilling rotgut. What the fuck are you doing to Jerry's body? I thought. How can he do that? Pernicious fucking animal! I hated him.
I stood in the corner rubbernecking. Scattered amidst the tumult were packets of upperclassmen. I listened to them, but heard nothing. I stuttered, dumbstruck. All the people around me. Whooping, chattering, all shared the same idiocy. Where did I come from? What do I have to do with all of this? I pondered it tenaciously.
A few days ago, Emily and I destroyed Pierre Cot's rancid cliché. We hammered it, cursed it, stomped it, spat upon it. We took turns ripping it savagely, blaspheming it, "Here's a feather for your cap, you mediocre, bucolic, filth-mongering troglodyte." Our hearts pummeled and our guts ached, each of us shamelessly placating some inner demon, who rolled inside us with a scurrilous delight.
MYW at 9:50 PM