What goes on in my head
SeXy_AnGeL
03-31-2005, 01:08 AM
I read this in a book today and I think it really sums things up. This really is some of what goes on in my head...although many of you think that cobwebs grow up there...Think what you may, but it's very true...especially the last paragraph.
What goes on in my head
Everyone knows now what people want to hear. We all know exactly how to show the socially acceptable sides of ourselves. Don’t listen to what they say. Watch what they do. They can’t disguise that.
We’re fighting for our emotional lives. Guides to dating rules might as well be called Lao-tzu’s Art of War. As soon as you let down your guard, they knife you. Then you crawl back to your friends to have your wounds licked while they analyze where you went wrong and what was going through your attacker’s head with the finely honed skills of people who have already paid extraordinary amounts of money about to have their sensitive psyches probed by analysts.
We dress in gray and black and khaki. Combat trousers, big sweaters, bags strapped across our chests so that our hands are free to defend ourselves. The bare minimum of makeup. Big ugly rubber-soled shoes, in which we can run away from trouble. Our one sign of frivolity is the occasional bright, lace-trimmed thermal vest. And pretty underwear, seen, alas, mostly by ourselves. We are urban survivors, striding across concrete pavements, ducking and weaving to avoid being elbowed by passing strangers who think we’re in their path; dodging cycle deliverymen riding the wrong way down one-way streets, navigating through subway systems and a network of late-night bars where we drink too many martinis and smoke too many cigarettes to forget the last person who looked as if they could be the one and turned out to be a liar on a quick break from their ex.
We are perpetually sensitized to possibility. Phrases of cheap music run through our heads; we’re always at the stage where they’re meaningful. Even the most banal lyric seems directly applicable to our current tortured situation. “If only you were here tonight, I know that we could make it right…”. We would rather die than confess to liking the singers; our images demand that we listen to the latest hip bootleg remix, not trashy, sentimental pop.
We are terrified of being like our parents, either trapped in unhappy marriages or undergoing bloody, prolonged divorces. We all remember what those felt like; our limbs strapped to 4 horses all running in different directions. Even now, we are barely managing to put the pieces together again, with the help of the aforementioned analysts. No way are any of us getting into that kind of mess ourselves. Our parents’ pathetic excuses for the misery we went through are still vivid to us. The lesson we have learned is never put up with anything. Any signs of trouble and we’re out of there.
We are all desperate to be in love. But we are more desperate to hide it. So, for pride’s sake, we pretend, to ourselves and others, that it’s all about sex instead.
Our pockets are full of matchbooks from bars we can’t even remember, hangouts we have been swept along to at 3am by groups of people we don’t know that well. It’s not so much that we think if we stay out till dawn we might finally stumble across The One, bleary eyed and blinking , like us, in the daylight; no, we want to postpone the moment of going home alone to our single bedroom apartments until we’re too drunk or tired, or both, to be anything but grateful that there are no witnesses waiting up to see that state in which we stagger thought the front door, throwing our keys clumsily at the hall table and missing.
What goes on in my head
Everyone knows now what people want to hear. We all know exactly how to show the socially acceptable sides of ourselves. Don’t listen to what they say. Watch what they do. They can’t disguise that.
We’re fighting for our emotional lives. Guides to dating rules might as well be called Lao-tzu’s Art of War. As soon as you let down your guard, they knife you. Then you crawl back to your friends to have your wounds licked while they analyze where you went wrong and what was going through your attacker’s head with the finely honed skills of people who have already paid extraordinary amounts of money about to have their sensitive psyches probed by analysts.
We dress in gray and black and khaki. Combat trousers, big sweaters, bags strapped across our chests so that our hands are free to defend ourselves. The bare minimum of makeup. Big ugly rubber-soled shoes, in which we can run away from trouble. Our one sign of frivolity is the occasional bright, lace-trimmed thermal vest. And pretty underwear, seen, alas, mostly by ourselves. We are urban survivors, striding across concrete pavements, ducking and weaving to avoid being elbowed by passing strangers who think we’re in their path; dodging cycle deliverymen riding the wrong way down one-way streets, navigating through subway systems and a network of late-night bars where we drink too many martinis and smoke too many cigarettes to forget the last person who looked as if they could be the one and turned out to be a liar on a quick break from their ex.
We are perpetually sensitized to possibility. Phrases of cheap music run through our heads; we’re always at the stage where they’re meaningful. Even the most banal lyric seems directly applicable to our current tortured situation. “If only you were here tonight, I know that we could make it right…”. We would rather die than confess to liking the singers; our images demand that we listen to the latest hip bootleg remix, not trashy, sentimental pop.
We are terrified of being like our parents, either trapped in unhappy marriages or undergoing bloody, prolonged divorces. We all remember what those felt like; our limbs strapped to 4 horses all running in different directions. Even now, we are barely managing to put the pieces together again, with the help of the aforementioned analysts. No way are any of us getting into that kind of mess ourselves. Our parents’ pathetic excuses for the misery we went through are still vivid to us. The lesson we have learned is never put up with anything. Any signs of trouble and we’re out of there.
We are all desperate to be in love. But we are more desperate to hide it. So, for pride’s sake, we pretend, to ourselves and others, that it’s all about sex instead.
Our pockets are full of matchbooks from bars we can’t even remember, hangouts we have been swept along to at 3am by groups of people we don’t know that well. It’s not so much that we think if we stay out till dawn we might finally stumble across The One, bleary eyed and blinking , like us, in the daylight; no, we want to postpone the moment of going home alone to our single bedroom apartments until we’re too drunk or tired, or both, to be anything but grateful that there are no witnesses waiting up to see that state in which we stagger thought the front door, throwing our keys clumsily at the hall table and missing.
Oz
03-31-2005, 04:40 AM
:werd::werd::werd:
cbeck
03-31-2005, 02:17 PM
Deep. I like that.
TexasF355F1
03-31-2005, 04:31 PM
Sweet. That's some good writing.
I agree with "Don't listen to what they say, watch what they do", particularly.
I agree with "Don't listen to what they say, watch what they do", particularly.
DGB454
03-31-2005, 05:45 PM
I'm just glad I'm happily married. Good writting though.
dirtydx
04-01-2005, 08:57 AM
too exaggerated for me.
crayzayjay
04-02-2005, 10:08 AM
pff.. i dont think like that at all....
96Civ
04-02-2005, 11:27 PM
I am going to a party tonight and drinking my ass off. I won't be having sex... why? Becase it's NOT all about sex. Just because we have no one to care for doesn't mean we can't drink ourselves till we forget about being lonely... just for one night.
RickwithaTbird
04-10-2005, 06:19 PM
Its all about both love and sex. Thats definitely something I have thought about many times as well.
Steel
04-10-2005, 07:10 PM
Love and sex.. heh. Sex is sex.. love is..dumb.
Dumb becasue i'm still in love with the ex who broke my heart (who I never had sex with).
Now, gotta make sure the current g/f doesnt see this, or i'll never be having sex again!
Dumb becasue i'm still in love with the ex who broke my heart (who I never had sex with).
Now, gotta make sure the current g/f doesnt see this, or i'll never be having sex again!
-Josh-
04-20-2005, 04:28 PM
that definately gets one thinking
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