an oversolemn college kid:
His wandering through the roiling feast of revelers traces the pattern of his discontent. When he takes air, as now, a void of relative silence pulls his mind back to the squalor, the injustice, the outrage he has never seen but knows like a visiting uncle, staying too long in the master bedroom.
And how can it be otherwise? For in his mind the burning indignation and the vacuous frivolity annihilate on contact, leaving behind only his discontent. So his merriment comes only through forgetfulness of his truer self. And his returns from this land of sweet forgetting needs must precipitate the onset of shame, and oaths sworn with great vexation never to lapse again. Amidst this gloom, heralds of joy vibrate gaily in his pocket.
"dude where u at were goin to the pub"
He sighs, looks to the stars. Smoldering down at him from above, white-hot and accusatory, the demanding eyes of the universe upon him heavy with the command to do something, to do something, do something - he makes his melancholy way back to the party.
"What year're you?"
His accoster leans on the doorframe, flesh spilling from her blouse and scent dripping from the air around her.
He considers. "I don't go here." He sidles past.
He was struck sorely with temptation, but then the scene resolved into clarity and he comprehended. Like two faces becoming the goblet, the young woman becoming the crone, he saw two realities overlaid. The prospect of a good night with a pleasant partner, this misguided youth made wayward in her pursuit of what she did not know - could not know, she, or any of them now crowding thick around, escaping headlong not to any end but away from the terrible realness and potency of the greater selves.
The party is too loud again, and the pub seems more unappealing than ever.
His wandering through the roiling feast of revelers traces the pattern of his discontent. When he takes air, as now, a void of relative silence pulls his mind back to the squalor, the injustice, the outrage he has never seen but knows like a visiting uncle, staying too long in the master bedroom.
And how can it be otherwise? For in his mind the burning indignation and the vacuous frivolity annihilate on contact, leaving behind only his discontent. So his merriment comes only through forgetfulness of his truer self. And his returns from this land of sweet forgetting needs must precipitate the onset of shame, and oaths sworn with great vexation never to lapse again. Amidst this gloom, heralds of joy vibrate gaily in his pocket.
"dude where u at were goin to the pub"
He sighs, looks to the stars. Smoldering down at him from above, white-hot and accusatory, the demanding eyes of the universe upon him heavy with the command to do something, to do something, do something - he makes his melancholy way back to the party.
"What year're you?"
His accoster leans on the doorframe, flesh spilling from her blouse and scent dripping from the air around her.
He considers. "I don't go here." He sidles past.
He was struck sorely with temptation, but then the scene resolved into clarity and he comprehended. Like two faces becoming the goblet, the young woman becoming the crone, he saw two realities overlaid. The prospect of a good night with a pleasant partner, this misguided youth made wayward in her pursuit of what she did not know - could not know, she, or any of them now crowding thick around, escaping headlong not to any end but away from the terrible realness and potency of the greater selves.
The party is too loud again, and the pub seems more unappealing than ever.
