There is what I’ve lost and what has lost me and today I am thinking about the difference. Which of them, if two opposing sides, has been injured too far to ever attempt a comeback?
The distilled conclusion will elude me forever, I’m sure, because it seems to be less about learning and more about the actual fact that humans are destined to struggle with the same, boring searches forever. Emotions can’t just be regained, respect doesn’t materialize out of the fog of contempt, et. al.
We want. End of story. Children of the eighties want it all and more. Fame. Validation of the heart. To be told we’re special and, more, to be shown so. We want to remember things we were never integral to and hold them close, fists bunched, outwardly apathetic and inwardly conflicted. We don’t care what people think of us, we insist. And then of course, it means everything.
There is nothing unless you are liked, wanted, revered. It’s ridiculous. It’s shallow and silly and self-serving and pervasive selfishness is precisely the opposite of what we are supposed to do in this life and yet…the motives behind so much seem to be to only prove this:
I am worthwhile. I am important. I am good enough, even better than you ever could have hoped.
How else would we make art/get jobs/buy houses/have relationships/wear clothes that weren’t burlap sacks/etc.? To express ourselves with anything more than the bare minimum? Or to actually achieve such essential feelings—that we are living and for a reason. That what we have lost has only served to improve our game, that what has lost us will regret it for as long as memory exists. That the pulse of the world around us reverbs just slightly because of our banging.
And, maybe then, the most heartbreaking conclusion of all appears. That it might not is overshadowed by the rest. That this is nothing new, and will never be new, and yet, I for one, have learned nothing from experience; past, present, mine or otherwise, at all.
The distilled conclusion will elude me forever, I’m sure, because it seems to be less about learning and more about the actual fact that humans are destined to struggle with the same, boring searches forever. Emotions can’t just be regained, respect doesn’t materialize out of the fog of contempt, et. al.
We want. End of story. Children of the eighties want it all and more. Fame. Validation of the heart. To be told we’re special and, more, to be shown so. We want to remember things we were never integral to and hold them close, fists bunched, outwardly apathetic and inwardly conflicted. We don’t care what people think of us, we insist. And then of course, it means everything.
There is nothing unless you are liked, wanted, revered. It’s ridiculous. It’s shallow and silly and self-serving and pervasive selfishness is precisely the opposite of what we are supposed to do in this life and yet…the motives behind so much seem to be to only prove this:
I am worthwhile. I am important. I am good enough, even better than you ever could have hoped.
How else would we make art/get jobs/buy houses/have relationships/wear clothes that weren’t burlap sacks/etc.? To express ourselves with anything more than the bare minimum? Or to actually achieve such essential feelings—that we are living and for a reason. That what we have lost has only served to improve our game, that what has lost us will regret it for as long as memory exists. That the pulse of the world around us reverbs just slightly because of our banging.
And, maybe then, the most heartbreaking conclusion of all appears. That it might not is overshadowed by the rest. That this is nothing new, and will never be new, and yet, I for one, have learned nothing from experience; past, present, mine or otherwise, at all.
4 comments:
This says everything I've been thinking lately. Thank you.
I sometimes think as soon as we realise that what we're doing is nothing new, that's when we can start to revile these repeated and paltry moments and cycles for what they truly are; which is sometimes just a chance to commment and make art/reverb out of the concept of repetition and nostalgia and egotism itself?
beautiful. you are like 100 years old under there.
I think our diets contains too much emo music.
I say NOT ENOUGH EMO. NEVER!
*sob*
NEVER! NOONE UNDERSTANDS ME!!!
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