As I sit here, sipping on coffee after having a Lucky Strike, my new cigarette obsession, I have been finally compelled to start a blog, one in which I shall describe my amusement with this generation, invent stories through which I shall embellish my college memories and simply complain about my misfortunes. First, I shall emphasize that most of what I will write is fiction. I will try to change names, although those who know me and those whom the characters are based on shall know the identities of the people I speak about. Second I shall state that I have become fascinated with the destiny of our generation, so, as a result, I will describe my discontent and fascination with what I feel is a truly lost generation. We, the last wave of Generation Y, have absolutely no idea where we are going. While this is true of every generation, particularly in this stage of life; I truly and honestly believe that for the first time in a century a generation doesn't know where to go and has nowhere to go as well. At any rate, I want to begin this blog by narrating experiences, made up and true. I will attempt to keep the line blurred in order to stay out of trouble.
Last night I became aware of an aimless wandering and an aimless wondering. What I mean is this; as a generation, one that has become closer to family, but that hides more than most generations have; we as a generation have lost a sense of familiarity with our fellow people. The people I meet have lost the ability to make friends. I, in the process of joining a fraternity (I know, don't judge me), have seen an absolute lack of personability people have developed. The person who unconsciously inspired me to join the fraternity told a story of 'brotherhood'. Another person told a story of, as he put it 'Brother-ending shit.' I must say that the state of affairs concerning friendship is very, how should I say... untrustworthy? spurious? I don't mean to say that it's false, but I find it fascinating, especially in the fraternity, how brotherhood to these people is what friendship or even acquaintanceship, if that is a word, is to me. To me, brotherhood is listening to a best friend cry about his frustrated attempts at something. To me, brotherhood is looking at the stars with a beer with no words to say. I can only call two people brothers genuinely and they understand the level of our friendship. The level of that friendship is, to say the least, higher than any I have witnessed here. To be honest, I share a level of impersonability with these people. However, I also have something which I find distinguishes me from most of these people. My friendships have been tested, I have friends who have done unspeakable things for me. I can honestly and accurately say that I belong to a culture in which friendship is much, much more valued than in this one. As a result, I see people mistrust, I see people failingly attempt to relate to me. You can't. You really can't. So, seeing this I pose a question to myself; should I join their bandwagon? Should I reciprocate the lifestyle and the pattern of thought? Should I replicate the mistrust?
I'll digress for now, as I do not know the answer to that question or the actions I would take in any case. I'm not fake enough to hypothesize on such a decision without taking it. I act on instinct. I am still a man, a human being, a young individual. I sense people here have lost the sense of instinct. I see trained animals, domesticated humans who have no desire to live as we were born to. I, as a whisky-sipping, chain-smoking, story-telling, fist-throwing, obscenity-laden, world-observing motherfucker, act on fucking instinct. A couple of weeks ago, a state of hostility existed between myself and someone who simply looked at me the wrong way. It wasn't that I had a well-developed problem with this person. It's not that I am a particularly aggressive individual, which as my friends would state, I am not. But when a personal problem arises, when a hostility is established, I do not hesitate in engaging in violence. Not because I thirst for it, or because I like it. I engage in it because my instinct calls me to do this. The difference between instinct driven violence and a cerebral calculation of fighting lies in the thought that comes before action is taken. If at any moment an individual counts the pros and cons, the observer knows this is not instinct driven violence. Instinct driven violence is not pursued for the sake of vanity or achievement. My mind called for it, my fingers rolled up to form a fist, my thumb sought protection behind my nails, my right hand index and middle finger knuckles itched, my forehead wrinkled and my eyes locked in. Now that I think for it, the other individual looked like he might have kicked my ass severely, but at the moment, with instinct, that is of no importance. Now, I illustrate my point with this short blurb of violence. I want to emphasize that I am no fan of violence. The point I am leading toward is the difference between instinct and domesticated thoughtfulness. This domesticated thoughtfulness is our self-imposed chain that allows us to design our approach to sex, education and friendship. Domesticated thoughtfulness has been perfected. I act on instinct. I cannot design my approach to sex. I simply project my personality and shoot for what I'm aiming. I never point my efforts at something I don't want because, truly, I act on instinct. And, you know what? I fucking refuse, I refuse to domesticate myself for the sake of sex. I'd much rather be sexually frustrated than lose my instinct. Because my instinct makes me earnest, makes me truthful, keeps me on the edge of things.
This fucking fucked up fraternity, one which I love with all my heart, has taken away my only comfort. Alcohol is no longer available to me on demand, as it used to be. Alcohol keeps my mind clear. It keeps me thoughtful and it keeps me alive. By alive the last thing I mean is that I am addicted. Alcohol allows me to reconvene my daily, or now weekly, thoughts. Alcohol helps me judge things from an isolated point of view. Alcohol helps me reflect. Now, I am forced to simply live and learn to domesticate myself. Without alcohol I have no way to stay off edge unless I stay off edge everyday. Now, I will state that I don't drink alcohol for fun or for any actual particular reason. I drink alcohol because it's what men do. I drink because it feels better than crying and it hurts more than punching a wall. I drink because it makes me more comfortable than any pillow and it can make me angrie than any crime. Drinking just makes me feel alive passively. It lets me feel my instinct, but without the latent explosions. So, I face the hardest decision of my life. Should I continue in this, and perhaps lose an essential part of my instinct by temporarily domesticating myself? Or should I not give a shit and continue what I am doing without regards to my goals? I refuse. I REFUSE to lose my instinct that constitutes a HUGE part of who I am. But at the same time, I REFUSE to let this goal go. I am unable to make a straightforward decision. I want to rely on my instinct for this, but I remember this endeavour would make me lose that part of me, if temporarily. Must I conform to conform? Must I become one of them in order to become one of them?
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