New Revolution

Mon, 12 Nov 2007 04:25:46 GMT

Last night was a nightmare. E got drunk. She's a nuisance when intoxicated: terribly rude and it brings out this odd aspect of her personality, the middle-aged southeastern white man Christian conservative from the fifties. It's a rare occasion but the last time it happened she shouted in the middle of a crowed cafe, "Is that the gay one?" This time was no better - we were talking about abortion (at Saturday night dinner, really) and she insisted it was totally wrong, killing babies is an absolute no-no, that it's procreation not recreation, sex is for babies, take responsibility for your actions, vagerah vagerah. This lead to R asking her if she was a virgin, to which she replied no though it's a lie, and then he inquired if when she had sex she was expecting to have a baby and if she had told the young man she was fucking, to which she replied yes. And O, who is still fatally attracted to her, told her to stop sticking out her tongue as she does when being cheeky and cover her exposed leg. And P's mom played beer pong with him and N (who wasn't nearly as awful as he usually is) and S. I often have these nights now, where I have to ask myself what sort of addled dream I've stepped into. P's mom was plying us with alcohol the entire night, glass after glass of wine (another of which I broke, a thing I can't seem to stop doing). I don't understand this life at all. Dinners were promised to people and those promises are not going to be kept. This morning E didn't remember any of it this morning. Not even the proclamations she made that she would drop out and have kids somewhere in the plains of Montana. Little wonder we as a group became so infamous in the old dorm. They still talk about us there even though we've all left, the hate still lingers. They still talk about the time I lubed that girl's doorknob.

I'd been away from that particular scene for a while now, a few weeks. It's got a quite negative aura, but I did remember the attraction for a little while. I find it hard to describe. It's the terrible self-destructiveness, so dire and so anti-social that it almost feels revolutionary. We won't be taken in, we'll just crumble ourselves. The far distant cousin of the hipster's erotic boredom, refusing to have a passion, refusing to join in, only willing to explode and deprive the world of another worker. And there are some days when I delight in that, when I revel in it, rub up against it and have a cigarette with it. Most days though, I feel like I might burst from wanting to do things (though more often than not I get riled up and am inactive).

In that vein, I finally declared as a theater major. After the meeting I went out in the Hutch Courtyard and did a little twirl. And hugged a person I don't even really like. Pure joy.

Oh! I finally got back together with rock and roll. All last year I felt so delicate and thin skinned that I could only listen to folk music. And I'm not talking about greasy men with guitars and bad hair cuts, I'm talking traditional music, without a writer just passed from generation to generation. That's all I could take. I didn't frighten me. It was comforting and soft, easy to swallow and certainly not at all revolutionary. But I finally made my way back to screaming guitars and the drum kit. I'm letting it thrum through me again. Late at night I pretend I'm in a punk band and dance around in my underwear, crawling on the floor, singing to my futon. It's fucking hilarious and liberating. Maybe I'll join a rock band. So I can sweat on the crowd and fondle myself in public. That is after all what rock and roll is about. It's going to have to be hardcore that's all. Real hardcore.

I really have no idea where I'm headed these days. I hope it's a good place though. I really do.

oneofthatlot

New Revolution