Static

A short abstract narrative.

I was seventeen. And I caught a glimpse of who I might become. It was a crippling disappointment. Maybe it's why I choose not to think about the future now. Or maybe they're unrelated. Maybe it really is an unmotivated decision, borne out of my own personality. Independence scarce exists without you. Us. We. It all. Being young is powerful. Let them not realise it, for we'd be at the beginning of the end, though who knows what of?

 

What are you supposed to do when you find out what life, for you, really means? Do you suppose it's what the magical word "cope" was intended for? It's so terribly negative. How much coping can we be expected to do before we realise that it's just not worth it? Yet we're still here. Here and disgusting. Threatening the very empty chaos that we perpetually try to understand.

 

So I was seventeen, as many people tend to be, despite however much they wish that they weren't. Though I doubt they'd complain if they knew the alternative. Who am I to ignore the countless millions of less "fortunate" teenagers anyway? Apparently we're all contradictions, maybe it's evolution. Africa, we salute you.

 

I was seventeen and doing nothing out of the expected. That isn’t true. I barely knew what my mother wanted of me, how could I ever hope to comprehend the impossibility of a universal expectation? Oh, the stupid things we say. At least most people don’t wilfully immortalise their words. Or do they? For a second I had forgotten about the most catastrophic invention of modern times (the whole phrase “modern times” is problematic, but for now I’ll have to let it slide); the internet. Yes, it’s probably worse than nuclear power, and yes, you’ll probably live to regret everything you ever did on it.

 

Do you ever wonder how we can rely as heavily on memory as we do when it’s so unreliable? Surprisingly this isn’t a lead for a joke about the postal service, though I’m sure you can fill in the blanks if you’re that desperate for a giggle. No, the reason I ask is because I’m sat here trying to remember what I actually was doing when I was seventeen, and I’m struggling. Did I imagine…? What have I forgotten? How has an abundance or lack of photographs shaped my memory of events? Has a focus on these events skewed the real passage of time in my mind?

 

If I were so inclined this would be the moment that I’d destroy my room for interfering with my artistic credibility, and for quietly mocking me. All the same, I think that my point remains reasonably clear; memory means tricky business. But I must keep up the struggle against it, or what am I going to do for the next few years? Gradually degenerate until the children that I never had can look after me, and the world can finally appear as a blot in between my dreams? When false memories can be planted in a person’s head, the rest have cause for concern, or jubilation.

 

At this junction many questions could be posed on the nature of reality. Though I fear that the matter would only be confused further by my involvement, reality isn’t something that sits well with confusion, or stupidity. Instead I’ll try to maintain the idea that in what we perceive there is a discernible point, so as not to question myself on every single step I take, life runs much more smoothly that way.

 

Was I seventeen? I’m so heavily in doubt now that I can’t be sure whether today is even the same. What did I do yesterday? What happened four years ago, or was it five? I’m trying to count backwards but I’m running into negatives.

 

For argument’s sake I’ll stick with seventeen. You see, this is how memories become twisted; I place my finger on a definite to save on further complication, after all who really cares if it’s true? You might think you do, but the most convenient possibility will shine through eventually. Trust me. 

 

Did you know that humans are inclined to see patterns where there are none? I don’t need to verbalise the most obvious prevailing side-effect of this ailment. No, it’s not the existence of conspiracy theories, although I suppose if you thought about it in a certain way it could be the most sophisticated conspiracy theory that we have ever been tainted by. John F. Kennedy, eat your heart out. People have opened that can of worms enough times, and few people have enjoyed swallowing the slime that coats them – when they’re not playing witness to “visions”, that is.

 

Would you leave if I told you that when I was seventeen I did nothing? This is all a hoax. Would you leave? Either way, I suppose it can’t make a difference to me. Do we even know each other? That’ll have to wait. It’s not a hoax. But where could we go if we didn’t have doubts? The alternative is trust, and trust hurts.

 

It’s really a neither nor affair. What right do I have to speculate about my past? Did I ever think to ask for its permission? No. We can’t claim ownership over memories, just as we can’t we can’t claim ownership over stars. I can see the end of the earth. Evolution has to start from scratch if it wants to recreate this particular artistic endeavour. I doubt there’s a backup copy hidden behind the sofa.

 

When I was seventeen everything moved so quickly. If it was blurred it was beautiful.

 

If it was anything, it was anything. It was beauty. We wrestled with our beating, open hearts. Our lustful generosity turned inwards and outwards. You were the best f**k I ever had. And so were you.

 

What happens when we are unconscious? Rather, what can happen? Time is a myth, and its passage is a Siren to universal progress. Progress is a myth. I was unconscious once. Excluding before I existed of course, I can’t remember that far back. It was surreal – poor word choice, this is also surreal – it was calm, my own happy place, beyond the reach of everything. Hopefully I’ll go there again when I can’t remember that far forward.

 

I might have been at a restaurant at some point on (during?) my seventeenth birthday. Apparently something of the old days is still alive there, and nowhere else. It’s all winding up so quickly now that when we finally wind down we’re not going to remember which leg is attached to which foot. That is if they’re even there. Like the dolphins, they’ll have abandoned us to improve their social standing.

 

What do you eat in a restaurant anyway? Overwhelmed by the corrupted politics, I take my plate outside and dash it against the scattered ideals of those who wish to tease me. Satisfy me with simple food. I am convinced.

 

Yet, I apologise, for I’m not being straight with you. In order to tell the truth, we must know the truth. No one knows the truth, therefore everything is false. But not everyone is a liar, or is everything a lie. We are in the realm of the bemused. I will press on.

 

When I was seventeen I was infinitely more naïve than my current self.

 

We underestimate fear. Technology has drawn us in. The warning signs are there. The elite fight for control. Convinced that if the day ever comes to shrug it off will be easy. Little they know, the day has already passed. Freedom fails; maybe it’s for the best. After all, what are we doing here?

 

Living, for what it’s worth, helps to maintain a healthy heart rate. 

 

An insightful person once announced that people have more desires than needs, and more needs than means of satisfaction. What do we stumble upon in our musings? Ah, what supreme luck! Where does our joy reside?

 

Then tell me what to do with my head, or the past will remain present. Again, I begin and end with dreams that will leave unfinished. I can only escape with new life. I must build new memories, that will one day be missed again.

 

I was seventeen and I wanted to be older. I couldn’t see my future. I couldn’t imagine myself. How does one grow?

 

Suddenly I knew.

 

When I was seventeen I learned to lie. This was it. This was the turning point of my personal existence. Goodbye charade, hello confrontation.

Reviews

[WriterMe]

This was a very interesting piece. It seemed very personal somehow, but in a good way. Open. =]
I think you self expressed yourself beautifully here. I could see many thoughts go into this piece and it made it very insightful.
I liked this bit:
When I was seventeen I learned to lie. This was it. This was the turning point of my personal existence. Goodbye charade, hello confrontation.

I can really relate to what you have written. God made humans go through being teenagers so he could give us a glimpse of hell, or so it seems.
But a very good write all the same. =]

--Niki.