intervention! intervention!


what would me at twenty say to me now? he'd probably sit down on the couch, too, and watch a little bit of the bachelor, but he wouldn't enjoy it. he'd silently judge. he'd analyze it, the show itself, and the audience it appealed to. what makes people watch this crap? what makes people watch tv at all? such a passive activity, it's downright harmful. he'd look over and think, this guy is hopeless. he's not even alive anymore. i wish he'd read a book, enrich his mind. i wish he'd go out, try to make friends, take up an activity, stop being so afraid of life.

you should've seen this kid, this twenty-year-old know-it-all. his friends would get in little tiffs, and he'd hold interventions for them. they wouldn't even know what hit them. one of them, a girl, would just be all alone in her dorm room, spending some quality time with a good book, and all of a sudden, it was intervention! intervention! he'd show up with the other party, the quarrelsome girl, and he'd sit them down and make them talk. like he was a certificated relationship counselor. the blind leading the blind.

motherfucker had hope, i'll give him that. don't even know where it came from, some crazy obama-type hope, real jedi shit. he was just an undergrad, but he thought he was gonna be the next che. dumb nig didn't even have the sense to realize that che would eat pieces of shit like him for breakfast. he was always gonna live outside his comfort zone, and he was gonna help others do the same. no time for bullshit, life was too short. i'm twenty, he thought, if i live to a hundred, a fifth of my life is over. i'd better change the world, or die trying.

watch him now, watching the present version of himself. now here's the exact opposite. i'll never be like this guy. look at this shoegazing, hands-in-pockets scrub. his best friends are just words on a computer screen. he has a credit card, for fuck's sake. he buys things as a solution to cabin fever. poor kid's lost it, though what a perfect place for him to be: seattle. like the cartoon rain cloud perpetually hanging over his head. suck it up, foolage! shit ain't so bad. what you're doing now isn't forever. unless you happen to die soon.

what would he be doing now? that smartass prick who believed himself superior to all because professors praised him for reading books they told him to read. for writing papers they told him to write. for thinking for himself (did he ever, really, though?). eventually, he'd probably also learn to turn off the nonsense. fuck the interventions, the idealism, the hope, and all that other childish bullshit.

just choose tenley, goddamnit.

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