(Self-fulfilling prophecies, banal rhetoric- Endless self-persecution, flights of wasted energy, arising from deserts of solitude-)
Why is my response to the world a violent one, a disgusted one? Why is the impression i get when i look out into the world one that makes me sick?
What is it that prevents me from having that ordinary, commonplace connection, that all the other boys and girls, the ones who aren't mental cases or suicides, seem to have?
I can't understand the impulse to create, to have fun, to laugh, to "party"- It seems so desperately out of place, so vaccuous, so meaningless. This is the flavour i get from youth culture. Devoid of thought, endlessly spun out, all based on someone else's cynicism, banal and frivolous.
On the other hand, i can very well understand the impulse toward nihilism, destruction, anger, and out of this comes a kind of social connection, and the only one i can really relate to. Hence my flitting around the edges of the hardcore scene.
I have my own dark forms of fun of course, but having that kind of fun held up as an ideal, the cliched fun of parties, alcohol, girls, dancing, has always seemed to me to lack something when put into practice.
When you get to "the centre of Saturday Night", you find there's nothing there. The truth blankly uncovered. The rotten facts revealed. A conspiracy to pretend that love exists, or that sex is an end in itself. Striving for things you will never have, in the midst of a void.