carvngintowater (carvngintowater) wrote,

A night in the dregs

I bombed a math test and then flew sky high in guitar lessons. Non profits did wonders for my outlook, made me feel invested in the future. And then I spent 15 bucks at the door of Deja Vu, or 'the vu' as the regulars call it. And things changed quickly. Outside the place it smelled so strongly of piss, like a gerbil's cage that hadn't been cleaned in too long. Lanky women in boas walked from the doors, fully clothed, yet swaggering as if they were still asserting themselves on the catwalk, their eyes nude and searching our faces for some kind of approval. Or maybe I was just drunk. Ben had a water bottle filled with vodka, and we were swigging it like cough medicine until he was done sucking down cigarettes. Inside, the lights were dark, the women were so bare, and the men were ashamed to be alive. Stll, they sat and watched as girl after girl took her place on the stage and suffered through two songs. Some of them searched the crowd with a prowess, deciding which portion of the room to point their ass at. I couldn't help but feel a part of some great and perverse social experiment, with dollar bills as rienforcement for our drugged up and underfed subjects to continue debasing themselves, making the most sensetive and private parts of themselves vulnerable to the room. I felt, after a while, removed from it all, withdrawn. Maybe the strobe lights dulled my conscience, or maybe I was so consumed with keeping Ben subdued that the degradation flew under my radar.
I don't know what to say. We talked about travelling and what it meant to Ben. arrive, meet, and go, arrive, meet, and go, over and over without ever planting roots. Sure, it's a way to maintain freedom from societal shackles, but it also leaves so much of our needs as humans unfulfilled. I tried to explain to him that leaving all the time would deprive a person of valuable self knowledge. I was about to tlel him that I learn the most about myself when I am truly involved in another person's life, when I have concern for them, and when I am engaged in what is going on. But the subject changed again, he fell against the car and spoke in circles for a few minutes. Finally, he told me that he felt unfulfilled, that he felt as if nothing would ever satisfy him, and that he was an alien in his environment. We cannot have it all. I choose stability, safety, self exploration and self absorbtion. These things are as temporary and functional for me as Ben's vagrant lifestyle is for him, yet when this lifestyle becomes obsolete, the seeds of something much deeper and more fulfilling will have been planted by it.
I told him that he will be many different people before the age of thirty, that his world view will shift like a kaliedascope of variables over the constant elements of his personality. The pieces will be the same, but they will be forever in a state of reorganization and resettlement. Nothing is for certain, and nothing is permanent. ASs long as we navigate with the surface level, basser parts of ourselves, and deny our minds the privelege of delving deeper, we will continue as slaves to our animal selves, satiating only in the moment, building only upon typical and limiting skills that any other speciese relies upon for survival. It can all be summed up in the rippling of a stripper's ass, vaguely puckered with the beginnnings of old-age and celulite. She will continue to present it, to sap it like a piece of fruit before the shallow, depraved eyes of equally hollow people until it is withered, and this approach will leave her, quite suddenly, destitute, with nothing else to sustain her, and no deeper understanding of herself to console her. The possessions I seek are those that will stay with me when everything else leaves, the things that are present when everyone else has gone, when I have forgotten all my notes at home. When I have nothing to show for myself, they are there, and I have confidence in them to carry me through most anything.
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