So basically, I don’t have the patience it takes to do these in a digital format, so I’m just gonna say fuck that and post the originals. Anyway, here’s a new one about how unreachable and pointless all your goals are. Enjoy.
How did we, as a species, arbitrarily come to agreement that breakfast consisted of eggs.
It’s amazing that we as a species could ever agree on anything, even something so insignificantly meaningless as breakfast, but somehow it just became a common, unspoken agreement. Eggs are breakfast food. We can’t even agree on big things like world peace or simply not murdering one another because someone parked funny. I was thinking about this while making eggs this morning, which is a rare feat for me as I never eat breakfast or use the stove. But standing there, staring down at these eggs hissing in the skillet, it just sort of dawned on me that we unanimously found eggs acceptable as the true breakfast food. That’s right. Breakfast gave me an existential crisis.
Across the world, there’s a million differing opinions ending in harassment, murder, pain, suffering, oppression and yet somehow, we all agree that breakfast consists of certain foods. If only we could apply that same sort of agreement to literally anything that matters. If only simple arguments or disagreements in relationships, places of work or family matters could be boiled down to the universal law we’ve assigned to breakfast food. My parents had me, despite my father being a raging alcoholic at the time and on and off of drugs, all while senselessly beating my mother. He eventually told me he’d come see me, and always left me alone on the weekends, either not showing up at all, or taking me to his place and then passing out for hours. My mother was addicted to pain medication at times, drank a bit and told me that there was something wrong with me, that I should just “try harder” to fit in, and at one point told me I should probably just kill myself already.
This is how my parents treated me. These people were my parents. People who’re supposed to love and protect the children they knowingly have of their own volition, and yet this is how they treated me. We can’t abide by the simple universal truth that parents should just unconditionally love their children, no matter who they end up being, even if they disagree with the life choices their children make.
Yet we can all agree that eggs are a breakfast food.
But I suppose the world can’t be that simple, can it. It has to be complex, otherwise it’d be devoid of meaning. Foreign policy and marital problems can’t be solved by something as simple as hashbrowns. But wouldn’t it be nice if it could be? Wouldn’t it be nice if we all just took a step back, realized we all, at one point or another in time, accepted that eggs are a breakfast food and go, “Hey…we all agreed on this. We can get along.” They say peace is impossible. I don’t think it’s impossible, but it is hard. Yet, we’ve shown time and time again that we do have the capacity to get along, to agree on things, to follow a certain line of thinking where we’re all okay with the outcome. If only it could be applied to everything really important.
They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day.
I’m starting to think it might be a lot more important than that.
When I was a little girl, every year in elementary school at the end of the year, they piled us into the auditorium like cattle, made us sit on the floor and watch a video presentation of photos and video clips and such taken over the course of the year of the kids, and along with the video was the song “Forever Young”. Every single year they did this, every single year we heard “Forever Young”.
Do you really want to live forever?
That’s an actual lyric from this song they played to kids in elementary schools. To be honest, I doubt a lot of kids wouldn’t take any note of that, but being who I am, I did, and it fucked with me. I had family members die when I was still in elementary school, it’s true, but I don’t think it was until having that hammered home in my head every fucking year that I truly became self aware of mortality. Ever since then, I’ve had a problem accepting that I will die, and once I had that realization, the realization that we all die anyway no matter what, I hit an even bigger realization: Why bother living at all. Hello suicidal tendencies, thanks Alphaville.
And with there being so many songs out there about mortality, about life and death and sadness and existence, why the fuck was it the quintessential 80s prom slow dance anthem that made me question life as I knew it? The real issue is that once you hit that peak, there’s no going back either. That’s one oopsie you can’t unwhoopsie. As if a kid doesn’t have enough problems leading into adolescence, I hardly doubt nihilism is something they also should have to deal with. I had a lot on my plate as it was; being autistic, keeping my sexuality a secret and being somewhat ashamed of it, and great now I have to wonder about the meaning of life itself on top of it. Great. Book reports? Fuck book reports. Existentialism is where it was at.
But…there’s shockingly an upside to being that self aware, especially that young. It really puts everything into perspective, makes you realize you need to make the most of the time that you have, if you want it to mean a damn thing once you are gone. For me, that meant writing as much as I could and creating as much art as I could. Something to leave behind. Something that meant something to someone. Something that meant anything to anyone. The way I saw it, the only things that lasted were the things we created to last, so we needed to leave behind as much as we could for others to remember. Or, you know, remember at least until the sun explodes and literally everything dies, but still.
Existence, it’s…a weird thing, honestly.
People literally tell you that life is a gift. That it’s precious. They often tell you this while they’re eating an animal. Life is only precious if it fits their idea of what life is and who deserves it. Not that I’m any sort of animal activist, but still. They tell you that you’re so lucky to be here at this point in time in history. Really? A planet plagued with overpopulation, with war and famine and injustice and hatred and greed? I’m lucky, huh? I guess we are, because it allows us to create art mocking these things. It allows us to write songs that speak out against these things. Songs that enlighten us and change our frame of mind. Songs about being young forever. Yeah, I would like to be forever young, actually. When you’re young everything is fresh and new and exciting, not stale and cold like when you’re older. Maybe that’s the point of the song. To recognize how jaded you can become. To push the truth that to survive, you need to stay forever young, even if only at heart, because otherwise you risk becoming cynical and spiteful and cruel. Being forever young allows you to deal with things with a childlike innocence, a view of the world where everyone isn’t just painted black and white but with every color in the crayon box. People say kids are inherently evil. People say that hatred is taught. I think I’ve stated before that I think love is the one that’s taught, because you have to teach kids not to hit and to share, but that doesn’t mean kids are entirely evil in general.
Kids should get more credit than they’re given for seeing the world a lot more clearly than any adult really does. A national tragedy happens and all the adults look for meaning, search for reasoning, ask “why did this happen” and mourn for years. A tragedy happens and a kid says, “Well…that sucks. Nothing I can do about it. Oh well.” Is it because they simply don’t understand the enormous ramifications? Possibly. But they say ignorance is bliss, so maybe there’s something to that.
People say Bob Dylan is a spokesperson for the world. People say John Lennon was a lover for the world. We’re all allowed to have our opinions, but honestly, Alphaville are the true heroes.
Do I want to be forever young?
Yes. And I will flourish because of it.