I’m Not Dead

As the title says: I am not dead, yet in all honesty I wonder fucking why not. Obviously from my own observations I love myself too much for suicide to be a literal thing, it’s more of a deep dark wallowing feeling like how I imagine the Queen feels talking to Jeremy Corbyn.

I’ve betrayed the little promise to myself to write more perhaps because I’ve managed to, in a few cleverly placed fuck ups, dismantle my life again and again much to the dismay of my co-workers and friends. The highlight of my month was a very drunk ex coming into the bar where I work to call me a shit and chat up my manager to make me jealous. Unfortunately, the desired effect was lost as all I felt was confusion and a stress headache from all the to-and-fro I did from the sink to get her glasses of water. The general manager legitimately considered changing my name on the till to ‘Bastard’. Something I’m not sure what to feel about which perhaps indeed, makes me a bastard somehow.

In the last two weeks things have settled and I’ve started seeing someone who has thus far been perhaps the most stable human being I’ve been with. Although last night post a mutually disappointing sexual encounter I felt so much like a pissing puppy I quickly left much to her dismay and confusion by midnight.

People always say that sex isn’t the be all and end all but considering the highly integral part in pretty much everything in our lives sex plays, the unfortunate truth is that it is. From Bratz dolls with mini-skirts to pretty much Kevin Spacey, sex is in the forefront of the media circus that is humanity in 2018 – what an incredible fucking ‘covfefe’ right? Christ even the literal big cheese, Donald Trump, is embroiled in a scandal around sex; by all accounts on an entirely different level to the lack of any climax issue from my night, but it just helps the point. BBC News sent me a news alert on my phone to inform me that a porn star is suing the president because apparently, we live in a disturbing episode of South Park rather than the intelligent Orson Wells dystopia we all sort of didn’t wish for (but definitely did for the sake of the sheer fact we can all boast we’ve actually read anything by Orson Wells – I for one haven’t). It’s all fine though of course, Freud was about as disconnected from reality as Theresa May is from the youth vote so not to worry, blame the media not your weird relationship with your mother.

Aside from the internal screeching I’ve been experiencing for the past day the whole situation seems very arbitrary from an outsider’s perspective. This shit probably happens to millions of people every day and then they, like me, spend the next twenty-four hours wallowing in pyjamas, binge watching Hell’s Kitchen – it’s been updated on Netflix for anyone wondering. The most depressing thing though is that this normally comes to people having sex for the very first time or are in their mid-forties which means once again I’m coming across like an unfortunate Gen-Y not really adapting to the world outside of my AOL dial-up internet and Sabbutteo.

Fuck, I’ve become my dad. That’s it: time to take me off to the local for unnamed amber beer; confusing, ill-informed racist rants; all while wearing at least five-year-old polos. Obviously shoot me immediately after because it would be the kindest thing to do. It’d never be for me I can’t stomach racism, let alone amber beer.

I’m Not Dead

Beyoncé Culture

I saw something that offended me terribly on Facebook the other night. It was that someone who I knew and someone who I cared about for a time just updated their status to being in a relationship. Reading this it definitely sounds like a personal admission of jealousy, yet honestly, it isn’t. This is an expression of sheer disappointment. Why is it, in my generation is everyone searching for ‘the one’ already? I mean, come on, people! It’s almost as if it’s a backwards step with everyone devolving into penguins trying to find life partners to keep our eggs warm than be the natural mammalian predators that we all are and do whatever and whoever we want for as long as possible. The problem isn’t a gender specific thing, I know plenty of men and women, and variations thereof, who I hear constantly whining about lack of a girlfriend or boyfriend. I for one, blame Beyoncé.

Everyone out there seems so hard to ‘put a ring on it’, and the young and free of the 21st Century are becoming far more traditional. I saw a study recently (don’t quote me on this, I saw it on Facebook) that said that this generation is having sex for the first time later and later than ever before. I’m seeing more and more documentaries pop-up akin to the sadly more and more common place 40-Year-Old Virgin. Strangely in the era of super-STDs, we also seem to be having an epidemic of sexual repression contrary to what the masses may think about young people – students in particular.

It could be that I generally associate with the particularly socially inept sect of my course, but I’d say most have never had a relationship yet alone slept with anyone. It’s a win for every worried parent about their child at university as well as a win for a budding comedy writer. Yet I’m worried about the personal development for these people and if they are to be a microcosm for young people in the UK in general, the future as well. Everyone’s living life in a strange sexless Hollyoaks storyline where those who embrace sexuality are often ostracised and relationships and romantic politics is the key to a happy life. Fuck that.

Unconsciously, we have, on the majority, waved goodbye to the free-loving of the sixties to usher in this new era of accidental repression. People are replacing human contact with more and more porn and body-pillows with anime girls on them, while simultaneously slagging off whatever sex won’t notice them sexually. On the other end of the spectrum we have the serial lady-killers and man-eaters who are frowned upon by nearly everyone so much so, that these people form packs that you can see a mile off. Even now, these people are pairing up like seahorses, something personified in total by the reality-TV train wreck, Love Island.

A prime example is being told by someone that they have commitment issues, only a week later being told that they love you. Obviously because I’m the idiot this happened to me and I had no idea what to say other than: ‘oh, that’s nice?’. I’ve never known a worse turn-off but apparently it works for others as the very same person just updated their Facebook relationship status. When did things become so unnecessarily complicated and all about commitment and feelings? The answer is August, 2009, the date ‘Single Ladies’ was released and infected the world with expectations of the instant gratification of saying yes to the purgatory of premature, long-term emotional and physical commitment.  Fuck you, Beyoncé, and your damn catchy song.

Beyoncé Culture