I went to see old friends and drink with them.
I went to the grocery store to buy six Heinekens and take a shit.
In the stall, I read that Obama is a Nazi
as I sit and wait excitedly for the pageantry of youthful excess to begin.
There, I felt free.
The city's livelihood is palpable
powered by rich white kids - privileged,
and blissfully unaware
of virtually every plight.
Somehow, Love permeates (most of) them.
At the party, there is no end to the ugly & melancholy cliche parade.
They cling to muscular shoulders, and are displayed on an ostensibly unending cache of mantles.
Among them, workout shirts (at 10:14 pm?)
empty chewing tobacco containers - utilized for their decorative properties -
unopened bottles of beer in back pockets,
old football jerseys from high school,
and, in addition to energy drinks, oversized advertisements for energy drinks
I meet a boy named Tosh. He doesn't know whether or not his drink is caffeinated.
Japanese tattoos & the word "bro,"
rubber band bracelets, bleached blonde hair
"I wanna punch the dude in the face who stole my energy drink! Who steals a FULL energy drink?!"
Dead relatives are an excuse for more "ink"
which feign abstraction,
but are in fact picked from a binder, with minimal modifications. (Careful, now.)
All of which would be completely tolerable. Enjoyable, even...
If not for the soundtrack:
empty artists grasping wildly for a song
which men will like
and women will tolerate.
The skinniest of these bitches mistake their easy pussy as validation, approval - or even praise - of their figure.
I doubt they have considered whether or not
it is the same psychological battle causing their reckless dieting, self-induced vomiting, and starvation
which leads them to jerk off the nearest P.E. major with a working car and sufficient hair-gel.
Jesus, these broads are fucking dumb.
But I cannot condemn them, nor their adoring jabronies.
thoughtless horsemen of a sluggish apocalypse
They have merely chosen the more gilded of two equally misleading showcases.
For not only do they welcome me to their sub-culture (is it my throwback?), but they are, after all,
products of a society in which ignorance is praised rather than ridiculed
& bands born of focus-groups thrive with the help of relentless repetition
while art suffocates
Where have you gone, Dave Chappelle?
A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.
But you are dead, and so is Joe DiMaggio.
It is not their trust funds that I envy. It is not their physiques, their hoes, or their beer-pong proficiency. It is their ignorance.
I am alone, stuck between them & their intellectual counterparts: elitists filled with bitterness for all the parties to which they were never invited - or perhaps just for better parties which were never thrown.
In this gap, I alternately revel in my peaceful solitude and thrash in a desperate search for validation, company, sanctuary, connection
Where else would they roam but in this elaborate, lazy mating ritual?
As insulting to the intellect as it is to the liver,
it somehow sustains them
and leaves me searching
for a place of permanence
in between all these nights of fractured, ugly bliss
where peace & understanding
are as simple
as finding sobriety between the soiled couch cushions where they let me crash