Thursday, February 25, 2010

The "Pussy" Generation [by erika]

By my darling sister Erika, has something to say about all you boys out there.


Let's face it. There are no real men anymore. At least, you never see them. And here's why--

This is not to disparage guys who aren't bigbeefy steroid slaves, this is to disparage the people raising my generation, the generation before, and the upcoming generation.

You, the current People In Charge...what the fuck are you doing? In your mad dash to be politically correct, to not hurt any feelings, and to be 'cool' you not even consider the consequences of raising kids on the internet, on reality shows, on constant lectures on how, exactly, to look at everything. You end up with MTV without the 'M', you end up with more crappy emo bands per capita than the offices of AP Magazine combined, you end up with Kardashians, you end up with the triumphant return of wearing sweaters around your shoulders, and Hot Topic, and My Chemical Romance, and kids so retarded they don't know how to run a country when the reigns are ventually handed to them.

Let's take, for example, bullying. Nobody likes bullying, right? It sucks, but it's always been there, and will always be there. But the way it plays out over the years is...interesting.

Pre-1970s. You had a beef with someone. Maybe he stole your wool underwear, maybe he looked at you funny, I don't know. You just didn't like him. You took it outside. And, yeah, when it was over, you'd be bloody and bruised and in pain for the next two weeks. But at least you both could walk away with a sense of pride, that you fought it out, that no adults saw, and now you can be pals.

1970s-1980s. Okay, toughness has seriously decreased. But, at least you stand face to face and maybe trade clever insults.

1980s-Now. That kid look at you funny? Post on his facebook page that he's a fag, spread a rumor among the lunchline that he has feline AIDs, go see 'Twilight 16' or whatever, go home, and send slightly harrassing texts to the guy until South Park comes on. Bleach your jeans, practice looking gangsta, go to bed.

Fuckers, you see what's wrong with that? I'm not saying eveybody should go out and punch random passerbys, I'm saying grow some fucking balls. Don't hide behind a computer, take action, goddammit!

And then theirs this so-called 'Cyberbullying'. Jesus. Christ. If someone kills themselves over a nasty email by a chick with bulimia and pink highlights, they probably had someproblems to begind with. Don't use the internet as a scapegoat for your incompetence, Parental Units!

You, the older generation, treat us like retards. Which we are. But it's not our fault. Stop making it a requirement to take Health (because most of the shit taught in there should either be common sense or one conservative's standards on sex), or useless sports like volleyball. You know what you should be teaching in gym these days? Fucking Tae Kwon Doe. Nunchucks. Something.

In conclusion, everybody grow a pair.

(yes, I realize the hypocrisy of me blogging about this shit. Shut up.)

PS Really good article about the loss of tough-guy actors at Acidemic-Film here.

Monday, February 22, 2010

within the mind [by margaret]

Crazy? That's just a term that doctors try not to use. So cut the crap, 'cause all that's a load of horseshit. Don't mean a fuckin' thing.

Stop that.

Oh, you really wanna know? Fine. We're not crazy – we're addicted. We're addicted…

Addicted to movement and sound and smell – quit squirmin'; you asked me, and now I'm tellin' you. See, there's a point that every person reaches – seein' as they live long enough – when they lose interest. Some people – yeah, like me – reach this point early on, and that's when the fun begins. Psychologists and psychiatrists and neurologists and all those frauds…they'll all tell you that this kinda behavior is 'cause of some "traumatic event" when we weren't but toddlers. Well, bullcrap. It ain't 'cause we were groped by our daddies or beaten by our mommies or kidnapped by our teachers or even 'cause we were unlucky enough to be born the middle kid.


What you see here…

This is a product of humanity.

Nobody ever sees us comin'. Now, why d'you think that is? It's 'cause we're nice. We get spat on every fuckin' day of our lives – so much that it becomes…what's that word, monotonous. The world calls us sick in the head, but we're not. Not really. We're sick of the head. And we'll do whatever the fuck it takes to break out.

See, we…we're not happy with just rain. We need thunder! And lightnin'! But, that's not the way life works for us. Nah, after awhile we don't even get clouds. It's sunny all the fuckin' time, and we start to deteriorate. See, look, my hands are shakin'.

Don't give me that look.

I am not irrational, and I am not unstable.

I am not satisfied to smile and say Yes Ma'am and No Sir any more. And since we don't get our share of the lightnin' and thunder, we gotta take it! We gotta take it from the likes of you.

Yes, you.

You are all the damned people in the world who are happy with just rain. You're scared of thunder. So we're gonna force it on you. And that's our thunder. That's ours.

reader discretion advised (by margaret)

A contemperary poem, with italisized lines by Chinese poet Duoduo, by Margaret.


I write the poetry of the degenerate youth

Reader discretion advised

Every word is a bird with its head crushed

They were getting too fat to fly, anyway

A few tired emotions

Then they stick their fingers down their throats and slice their own wings off

This is a dream, but a dream, your dream:

Ha! Nice try.

Perfect rows of desks, deadpanned stares, the squeal of an almost-dry whiteboard marker

No more than one memory allowed

Always the exact same: "write about what you did over the summer!" (as if they really want to hear)

I live in Jersey, how exciting could it be?

I and she and he and all of us will tell you:

Mosh pits and tattoo parlors, self-piercings and tabloid magazines

Then you'll bury yourself

In that dream you once had, and pretend

That nothing's happened

intro--why we're here and why you should be, too

People say that high school is either the greatest four years of your life or it is the worst. You find yourself, lose yourself, fall apart and come back together. You make friends and lose friends and nothing is the same four years after you've begun. When people are in the midsts of high school all they want to do is get out and once you are gone all you want to do is go back.

The best way to pass the time, to get through the day, is to write about it. Poems, essays, journals, rants, stories, anything. We cope and we make it and sometimes the writing we get out of it isn't so bad.

Are you a writer? Everyone's a writer. Anyone can be a writer. Have you written something you want the world to see? Have you written something you dont want the world to see? Either way, we want to read it.

My name is Robby and I blog at Once Upon A Book Blog/Fourteen Years. I'm a fourteen year old boy who is always reading, always writing, always listening. I write novels and poetry, songs and essays. I write about anything and everything, but also absolutely nothing. I love the world I live in.

My name's Danielle, feel free to wear it out. I'm the head honcho of the one-girl reviewing party Opinionated? Me? (google it). You'll most likely find my doing one of two things; whining or reading. I don't so much love the world I live in, but I really hope I can do something to change it. Within the law? Optional.

we are the future we are the mercenaries we are the recipients of a world we did not create we are the disrespected we are the disaffected we are the dissatisfied we are the volumes turned down down down we are the unimportant we are the lonely alignments who cannot acknowledge one another we are the dead and we are the alive we are the lint under heads held high we are the one we are the only we are the reason to get up and the reason to get down we are the ignored we are the mindless we are the stupid we are the forced we are the slaves of conformity we are the wet molds imprinted with the mind of another we are the words taped inside we are the numb the diseased the unholy we are the carriers of each other’s cancer we are peddling down a road we did not pave we are holders of fates not our own we are the used we are the abused we are the weak and we are the strong we are the rabid animals caged until we turn on each other we are the scholars of facts we feel nothing for we are the desensitized we are the disorganized we are wholly we are the hungry we are the poor and the rich we are the friends we are the enemies we are the innocents turned ugly we are the hard turned harder we are the lessons learned we are the people we are told to be we are the muffled intelligence we are the unheard we are the future we will not have we inherit a world that is dying crumbling destroying itself destroying each other we live with decisions not our own we live with lives not our own we live we live we live like nothing we live we are the minds we are the brains we are the what we are we are what will never be we are the beginning and we are the end we are the ups and we are the downs we are the revolution we are the youth of america and we are not happy

Do you have something you've written that you'd like to share with the world?