***
In writing a mock erotica at work today (it was a slow day), I wrote out the following line while my co-workers giggled on behind me, “He went in, and then he went out, he went in, and then he went out...” The more I typed this out however, the more it seemed that my own joke was starting to escape me. I, with the original intention of humour, could not help but look at my own joke and see a terrible, less funny joke in its place. In this sense, sex seemed ultimately indecisive. To me, it became as though sex was the result of a choice between if one should want in or out. My supervisor then came by later on and I had to close my document before I got caught.
As I continued to work however, I could not get this idea that my generation, amongst all of its other misguided stereotypes, comes to also be defined by indecisiveness. I played with this idea more, and this story sort of came from there.
Obviously this is a more experimental/stylized approach to telling a story, something with a raw emotion that also reacts to the world as I see it now. If I had to label that emotion, I would call it fear, a fear of coming to know fear. Which is to say, I’m terrified of the day when the “safety blanket” that our generation was supposedly raised on comes to lift itself away and we see the ugly head of the reality that we are living in today.
I’ve become more obsessed with ideas concerning the supposedly, “Lost Generation,” and how it was written about during its period. Hemmingway and Fitzgerald, to provide the best examples, seemed to see a world around them rich on splendor, yet so indifferent to the world around them. If today proves anything it’s that history is repeating itself.
I’ve never known poverty. In this world, I could have anything if I really wanted it. Anything except for love, which in being material, while not being material at all, eludes even my grasp. I’m not sure this is entirely my fault, and yet probably it is. I’m part of this generation, this generation that makes love so hard, so material, makes it into wasted splendor. Sometimes I feel like love isn’t really romantic anymore, not special at all, but rather wasted in the dollars we can barely earn.
I did however just go through a break-up, so maybe I’m just pessimistic. But do all relationships end with a total and agreed indifference towards the other person? In the end it was as though the passion we had was only ever an illusion, only ever a mirage to bring us towards the sex which we both only ever really wanted. Once all was said and done, there was nothing there. No matter how hard we tried to push ourselves together, there was nothing there. I wanted to try, and we did try, but like bread, it grew stale after a couple of days.
...Sorry. I don’t mean to become just another furry drama-bombing y’all. :3