Another Night and Day Alliance 106

eZine lover (@eZine)

Published in 

Another Night and Day Alliance

 · 5 years ago

  

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 .   .   .   .  .   .  .   .  .   .             "GIMME THAT NEEDLE"   
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        Fellow scribes rant and kick at the stupefied, hoping to shake a few 
 of them loose from their barnacled grip on their TV’s, on their sports 
 teams, on their SUV’s, on their churches.  Homo suckerus, the human tick. 
 Give ‘em something to bury their head in and enough satiation for their 
 bellies and crotches, and they’ll purr till they die.  And we of the 
 Underground Intelligentsia want to stop them, to expose their pincers to the 
 cold, bracing wind of reality, refreshing and brisk as the air in winter. 
 Right? 

        Fuck that and fuck you.  I’m jealous as hell of those shlubs and 
 their stupid diversions.  Do you think I want to sit here in the middle of 
 the night, brimming with five-dollar words and four-dollar wine?  If I could 
 possibly slap on an Abercrombie hat, hop in my Tracker, crank up the 
 Cristina Aguilera, cruise to the local sports bar, pick up some brain-dead 
 bit of fluff with surgically enhanced tits and have selfish, pointless sex 
 before my equally faithless girlfriend got home from her nail technician job 
 – I’d do it!  I can’t, and chances are you can’t, and are we mad at those 
 dipshits because they’re so pathetic, or because they look so much happier 
 than us? 

        If I could blindly, blithely go to church, believe in God, and feel 
 the absolute swaddling comfort of unswerving faith in utter bullshit, I’d 
 go.  If I could truly have big fun sitting around a big-screen TV with some 
 like-minded mulletheads, watching race cars drive in circles and getting 
 drunk, I’d do it.  If it could fulfill me to go to the mall, buy Kid Rock 
 CD’s and count down the hours till the next date-rape-fest at the local 
 college bar – hey, count me in! 

        If only happiness was that easy! 

        One of my mentors, a wrinkled English teacher with a heart as bitter 
 as her coffee breath, said to me once that she’d wished her children had 
 been born stupid.  That seemed cruel to me ten years ago (as did many of the 
 things I heard her say, I believe I even called her callous once!) – makes a 
 helluva lot of sense now, though.  Why NOT be a happy asshole?  Why NOT be 
 as shallow as a puddle?  It seems to be working for a lot of people. 
 Caring, thinking, hacking out your own identity in a life made up of bogus 
 choices and dazzling, vapid distractions – what does it do?  It doesn’t make 
 YOU happier, and it convinces all those other people around you that you’re 
 a snobby prick.  And is that wrong?  Do we get anything but a grim, nobly 
 doomed self-satisfaction by being different?  We spend our lives crucifying 
 ourselves, martyrs to our egos, slaves to the desire to be slaves to 
 nothing. 

        And the worst part it, we can’t fake it.  If I could convince myself 
 I really wanted the pasteboard and rags, the charlatan’s smile and the 
 shitty music, I’d leave you all in a second and mainline myself on the 
 mediocrity everyone else seems addicted to.  Smack me up – get me out of 
 this angry head and into some Tommy Gear, pronto!  But it won’t stick.  We 
 can’t bullshit ourselves – we don’t know what’s right, but we know it ain’t 
 that.  So we sit in our foxholes, in our e-zines and song lyrics, in our 
 coffee shops and bedrooms, and we throw rocks at the squares, because it’s 
 all we ever learned how to do. 

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 .           anada 106                   by Infernal  (c)2000 anada e'zine . 
       
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