I read a Guardian article not so long ago that branded us the ‘Stitled Generation’ it was a definition that to so many others meant nothing; yet for me, hit me like a cinderblock. With the title still swirling around in my head now. And ironically, I’m meant to be the guy, who doesn’t believe in labels. Hypocrisy makes us human? I guess…
Amidst the 4 day holiday I’ve had, The Weeknd dropped Dear Melancholy, and rumour has it 13 Reasons Why drops tomorrow/this weekend (Oh Netflix, please don’t tease me like this).
Whilst Listening to Dear Melancholy, it got me thinking about tortured artists and what Selena Gomez did to poor Abel, and all of that only served to reinforce the terrifying notion of love for me, it made me stop and realise, one of these days someone is going to come along and change my life for the better, they’re going to psychologically deconstruct me and lay bare my anxieties and neuroses, that terrifies me. Will happiness find me then? I fear the answer leads to change- with both the good and bad prospects, ultimately as unwanted as each other, as everything will descend into a whirlpool of uncertainty. Alongside the idea of a family; and more terrifyingly; children. Hell, I figure I’ll never have children, go the way of Morrissey.
Whilst the cynically romantic notion of being an obscure artist, ala Nick Drake or John Kennedy Toole tantalises me- bad enough as it. All of these anxieties and horrors could be branded under growing up. The folly of youth, as it fades into distant memories of what once was and what can never be repeated leaves me naked and bare in the world, No longer do the warm confines of warm, dead village estates offer respite. Instead I’m reminded that in 2019, I’m going to be forced further into education: university more specifically, from there I will remain and die in debt.
You see parents fail to see it all: the world has changed, opportunities have been burnt to a crisp, and we are right now; from this moment, to tomorrow to the next month being faced with emptiness, chemical imbalances, that can only be fixed by chemical highs, and a nihilistic horror that borders on Lovecraftian. And they brand us the snowflakes?
The world is burning, and I suggest we let it burn, descend softly into the darkest of nights, and the shallowest of holes, or is that too pessimistic?
Ah, i thought so.
(Photo taken by me)
Ben Brizell 