The first angry generation

It seems that everyone who grew up near me, at the same time I did, in the same sort of pseudo pretentious, almost deprived, Saved by the Bell kind of world, has had the same sort of fucked up things in their life. They feel too much. Drink too much. Take a few too many of this or of that. Or the knife on their vein feels a little too good, cuts a little too deep. I know a couple too many people who've died this way, heard of another the other (was it Saturday, Friday? I lose track) day.

A beautiful, mad, crazy girl on a heroin binge. Just another one of the lost brilliant ones. Just another of our brothers and sisters, lovely in her ballet flats, feet torn apart on the cement pavement of the steel jungle where she lived ... last seen riding around in her touring seden, four nameless and blameless crack addicts meandering with her, heads hanging out of the back seat.

It's a wonder she woke from the coma.

I went to get my hair done yesterday and found myself paying $145 for a cut and dye job so beautiful it made my eyes water - but when I was done I still borrowed money for the rent. Just until Tuesday.

Is it me?
Is it our generation?

My hair dresser is a beautiful boy sabatoging his relationship with a gorgeous man because he cannot allow himself to be happy. And even if we have all known for years he is gay - he still won't live with the man after 7 (seven!) years. What if his parents found out? What if he lost his freedom?

Meanwhile, we dance in circles and play pretend at jobs that praise us and over pay us. It's like school but with drinks after work ...

Peace