Recently a very deep friend of mine told me that nobody had ever captured the soul of the angst that we all pass through. He saw hopes in the book I am writing. But it got me thinking. What is this "angst"? What is it? It's everywhere I look, in books, in movies, in music, in people. But I cannot grasp it, I cannot identify and dissect it and peer at it through microscope. And so I do not know. But I go about my life, I go on my way, uncaring about this "angst". But I do care. I do. Allen Ginsberg talks about the best of his generation being swallowed up by all manner of things. I see my generation being consumed.
I see them drinking to drink, to be drunk. I see hands groping blindly at each other, crude and carnal convolutions, contorting limbs, conforming lives. It happens in the back hallways, in dark bedrooms, on stairs, in cars. I see it wherever I go. The lines of lust drawn out of their eyes, desperately searching for a connection. I don't know why. I can't see. These clutching corpses, what do they search for? Are they bodies, desperately searching for that ideal, for love? Are they hearts, reaching out to still the fear of being, of dying alone? The grip and claw at their faces. They hold each other as if the day would stop for them.
And what do we do? All we can do is utter those simple reassurances. Those mantras. It's going to be all right. It has to be all right. I promise it will be all right. It must be all right. It will be all right. It is all right. These simple little utterances carry them through the day, sustain them till the next party where they can drink for the sake of drinking and fuck for the sake of fucking.
We reassure ourselves. It will all work out. It's just high school. It's only for now. But what do all these do? They blind us. They give us hope, but the worst kind. Hope that is false. Because we know that it won't end. We know it carries on. No matter what the college tour guides say, college is just like high school. Your job is just like high school. Your life is high school. You will always exist in those tapioca colored halls standing at a locker remembering a combination. You will always drink for the sole sake of drinking. And even though you will fuck to make a child, part of you is still fucking for the sake of fucking.
So fuck and drink away. I am bitter now. I am finished. I am done. I know that I am just as guilty as you are. I say that I am so done with high school. I say that it will all change in college. But I know just as well as you do that it won't. I too utter those false assurances. And though I do not saturate my brain with tequila or vodka, I saturate in my own bullshit. I sit in my own lies, my own false assurances and I soak. I cannot stop. I simply cannot. It's vicious, a vicious circle.
I dream the same dreams as you, spread across the all too American sky. My sky is your sky, and tonight it is just so clear. And for once, I can see past it all. Not far, but far enough. I have the answers, I know what to do. You have the answers, you know what to do. We have them and we know. The sky is clear and we know what to do. It is time. Time to stop dreaming and start creating. A dream is just that, a dream. Nothing more. I do not believe in dreams. I believe in my future. And by God in Heaven, I will attain that future. It is mine. And I will not suffer anyone to take it from me. My future does not rest in my head on the shaky basis of faith like a dream does. No! My future lies on the road ahead, firmly grounded in my armor of self-conviction. My future is the road that is yet to come, the years that sit in the waiting room, waiting to be seen by the doctor.
And they drink. And they fuck. The day comes and they drink and they fuck and they drink and they fuck and they drink and they fuck. Oh how they fuck! Like weasels! Like rabid little weasels. They fuck as if the day will end all of time, as if time will stop, as if the stoplight will fall from the sky, as if the sky would break, as if their hearts would mend. Oh, they fuck. And they will always fuck. And they will always, always, always, fuck and drink and reassure themselves. And the veil will become part of their face since they've worn it for so long. They won't notice the masks, the facades, the walls.
And then they will die. They will die regardless of their belief. Regardless of their faith. Regardless of their convictions. Regardless of their reassurances they will die. And most likely they will die alone. And so what was the point of all that fucking and drinking and reassuring? It's a rhetorical question, but I'll answer anyways. There was no point.
There never was.
There never will be.
There never is.
