Indelible Memory no. ?

Unconcerned at the moment with an unclear future, void of goals or intentions — a poor excuse for a future scholar, lawyer, journalist, physician or whatever high-status job that awaited my 21-year old self after graduation — focused only on the road leading from Logan back to my haunt, the lone pine above her, to classes i’d learned to bullshit my way through to an “A” or “A-” with minimal effort, an education spent working through 8g at a time of the Northeast’s finest, learning who the Bad Brains and Mission of Burma were, Deleuze and Fellini. Sitting on the same gaudy 80s-era rainbow on grey themed seats so many asses before had rested upon, listening to “Heaven or Las Vegas,” having visited neither; — since, I’ve found that both are vastly overrated, gazing in a perfect imitation of thoughtful repose, not really thinking but just watching the late March filthy snow clumps and the eternally unreal pines. A landscape someone with real talent, unlike me — an Eliot, maybe, or a Lowell in his lucid moments, would have found true majesty among the menacing pines, ragged in their malevolence. The journey would end predictably — those of us who were students would collect our luggage, return to our respective sororities or fraternities, reorient ourselves, and prepare for a night of which (as with so many) we would not remember the end. In a day or a few, our girlfriends or boyfriends or — as for many of us, both — would return to perpetuate the lasting charade, that we were the best of the bunch, the tide against which to swim, though we knew the truth: to join the tide was to swim against it. All is fair in the end. We win.

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~ by Benji on May 14, 2018.

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