Like a turtle who awakes balanced on a wooden post, I’m unsure of how I’ve gotten here. As of right now I’m trying to retrace the trail behind me, my memory murky and muddled with dead brain cells; all the while tempering a a growing urge to blaze a path which is both unique and ambitious for my future. These stories, poems and articles are simply my attempt to not only do the aforementioned, but also to keep my finger on the pulse of our generation. I’m only a college freshman as I sit here today, but I won’t be for long. Just as today won’t be.
If you deem me inappropriate, suck it.
As far as my own story, I’ve been the product of a suburban, middle class machine. I like to believe that I’m different than any other person in the world who has grown up under similar circumstances; sheltered, in a weird, unnatural way that is suburbia, by the community that raised me. Or at least I do everything in my power to make this apparent. See, Walnut Creek was it’s own world, it’s inhabitants blinded and preoccupied by artificial, material bullshit (the men intent on getting the most expensive, freshest S.U.V off the assembly line or cutting their front lawn shorter than their neighbors, the women obsessed with staying young and keeping their tits perky forever, the adolescents infactuated with who was blowing who and with looking, sounding, smelling and acting like everyone else) to deem anything else that was going on in the world too far away to comprehend as relevant. Most people went to church dutifully. Most people who had been born there stayed there until they died.
I got out, and now currently reside in a closet sized dorm room at Arizona State University. I write because, like a nervous twitch, I can’t control it. Maybe this is a product of growing up under the aforementioned conditions with, as was the case with my closest friends, an illogical intent on throwing off the rythym of the monotonous passage of time in the town, secluded from neighboring, identical communities only because of the self imposed, silent restrictions the population placed at the city limits. We did this in a few ways: Petty rebellion in high school, mindless vandalism directed towards rich people’s houses, the deflowering of innocent, mechanical deer during Christmas time or making complete, deliberate asses of ourselves whenever we were in public.
Still, I spent a good amount of my time smoking weed and being bored. And it was this boredom that was my biggest inspiration to leave home, not my disgust with how shallow the concept of ‘life’ was in suburbia.
I’m rarely bored here, in fact when I’m not drunk I’m busy as a ball sack. My mind also rarely strays in the ways it did from inside the gray walls of my high school. There it usually wondered and wished, while here I scheme, plan, worry, deliberate and struggle to relax. I struggle with the sudden realization that the world is about to go into a huge god damn depression, that most people in our country are ignorant and closed minded, behaving in similar ways as the residents of Walnut Creek only on a much grander scale (at least pertaining to their concept of ‘life’) and that there actually is a lot of fucked up shit that goes on in the world and under our noses. For instance, the county under which Tempe is located just elected an outspoken racist sheriff, a man who has ruined the lives of innocent stoners, broken up families and tortured inmates (many of them who had been detained for smoking weed) for the twentieth year in a row.
So, I suppose this blog is merely a glimpse inside the mind of a disgruntled representative of the generation thats going to have to try and make up for how bad the previous generations fucked up. It will consist of some bitching, some advice and also some interpretation and analization. But most of all it will grant entrance into a state of mind that I’m confident I share with everyone within 5 years of my age, sober or not.
Like a wise, dirty looking Dane Cook once said, Welcome to the Thunderdome, bitch.
