It was a dark and stormy night. Tonight I smoked half a pack of cigarettes and some crack, but there's often this emptiness in me that substance abuse can't fill. I was in a club peopled with the soulless proletariat that I detest and I was talking to G.
Why do you push me away? he said.
I realised that I didn't know, but that I had stopped feeling since I was 16 and started indulging in a combination of self-starvation, suicide, and apocalyptic folk-rock. I felt a sudden, devastating wave of sorrow, which often happens when I reminisce about the past, but he would never understand. Fuck off, I said, but he refused to.
Long ago I realised that life is more dramatic than most people believed it to be, or experienced it. Their indifference to the tombs in their eyes and the fucking meaninglessness of their sorry, tedious, factory-line lives, sinks me into a bitter distaste of the ordinary mortals who surround me.
The other day G worried at me for watching rape videos on youporn, I ignored him. I despise how men expect women to be fragile, doting, suburban housewives. I'm sick of it.
It's anti-feminist, he said. I don't care.
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1 comment:
dude. wha'ts wrong with you
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