As I sit here in this cool cold den of fakery I am amazed and disgusted by such wastage. This youth, this energy, this idle time consumed by empty pursuits of fake smiles, pretend conversations and illusions of destination. Why must youth be devoted to the fulfillment of self-satisfaction as though one's life depended on it?
Why must we devote so much concentrated effort on entertaining ourselves? Show me the new book, the new movie, the new video game, the new CD and the new coffee house within which we may spend hours upon hours to discuss the minute and intricate details of each. And after which we may all go our separate ways smug in the knowledge of the empty. We lay on our beds and dream of yet more ways to satisfy our hunger for nothing. So much trouble, such hard work for pleasure.
Show me the cool way our generation speaks and I will master each linguistic turn and slight of tongue. Show me the new club pulsing with the unique generic music of fake artistry and I'll dance the same familiar grooves. I'll shake my bootie to disappear within and amongst the ambiguous swaying mass of other disembodied bodies. Show me the newest smokes, the latest clothes, the coolest fads and I'll suck 'em and wear 'em and ride 'em hard and strong for this is what my youth must rest on. Such arid emptiness in this cool cold desert of the young. Is there nothing else? Can no one show me the exit?