mad drunk genius

I used to have all sorts of problems. Now there's just the one.

Tag: childhood

It’s like nostalgia except I’m living it.

The long stone stairway of myth, of legend, but really surrounded by
city. And there under the tongue till it disappears.
——’ “Oregon Holocaust Memorial.” The bathrooms?’
Rose Garden, enjoyed in our slender rainbow while the bees are keen to
what the flowers mean.
——Picture taking, to prove we were there.
Little daughters in galoshes dont want to take the easy down the amphitheater.
——The hedges are walls natural acoustic. It’s a lot to take in all at once.
‘When you’re a child, a year is forever.’ ‘Shit, a week is forever.’
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Marriage is a desire to do life with someone else.

——To wish things arent as they are
——is a useless & unfulfilling thing.
He is 14 & precocious, so it’s cute.
But his sister is not precocious & what
she does in front of him is not so cute.
——The best of the young fathers has no
——children but has uncled three generations.
I have a perverse sense of obligation when
it comes to stated contract.

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My roommate just destroyed my childhood

I’d heard him and one of his friends fucking around last night in living room, but I didn’t let it bother me very much and just slept through it like I usually do. I probably should have gotten up and done something but it’s too late for that now.

This morning when I woke up, I found my N64 crunched in in the middle with part of a broken a Perfect Dark cartridge still sitting inside it. On top was a piece of notebook paper with the word, “sory” written on it.

I nearly started bawling right there.

I went to class anyway, tried not to think about what had happened, but it didn’t work. I don’t even know if we have homework today. I wouldn’t have been paying enough attention to know to leave if everyone else hadn’t gotten up around me. I skipped the rest of my classes. I think one of them had a test today but I don’t care.

I don’t think you can understand what I’ve lost. N64’s and used games are easy enough to come across on eBay or whatever, but man, this was priceless. You can’t replace what was inside that cartridge.

When I saw him again, I asked my roommate how it had happened and he told me that while playing Madden on his PS2, he and his friend had gotten into an argument and started wrestling. They’d accidentally gotten wrapped in the cords of my N64 which was nearby and pulled it off the top of the counter onto the floor.

Just like that, gone.

There’s a line in the movie Blade Runner where one of the replicants says something to the effect of, “All these memories gone… like tears in rain.” My Perfect Dark cartridge wasn’t lost in rains, but it was full of memories. Memories of my childhood and adolescence, the greatest time in my life, bar none.

This was the game, understand. This was what I and all of my friends played. Two of my neighbors also had it and we played it so much that we all became really good at it. It’s part of why one of them became my best friend. Other, farther away neighbors didn’t, and most people who came over to visit didn’t either, but they weren’t all that important because they didn’t compile stats like me and my two neighbors did, especially me and my best friend.

See, Perfect Dark keeps track of everything you do in the multiplayer mode. Time spent, kills, deaths, victories, accuracy, the whole lot. Everything you do is recorded for posterity, usually yourself at a later date.

Literally, days of our lives were recorded in that game. Literally. They weren’t wasted, if that’s what you were thinking. No, they were preserved in a time capsule that I could access at any time. Lately, I’ve been the only one going back to look, but that doesn’t matter. It’s still there, preserved perfectly. My best friend could come over and play it with me again and it would be like nothing happened. Or he could if it wasn’t broken.

We haven’t played Perfect Dark together in years. I’m not sure what he’s doing now exactly because I haven’t kept up with him, but I see him in his profile with 4500 kills and that’s him. That’s him as I knew him and I remember all of the stuff we got to do. We played other games, of course, but this was the game and the players recorded in it are us.

But now he’s gone, and I can’t get him back. I can play the game again on a different cartridge and start compiling new stats, but why bother? I don’t want to relive young adulthood.

I don’t know what I’m going to do to my roommate for this, but I consider him a murderer and nothing I do back will be enough.

Better than it ever was

When you’re young, all you can think about is growing up. That next birthday, that next grade level. Getting bigger, getting to do more things. When you’re very young, you’re not self-aware enough to analyze your life or be able to imagine what a different kind of life is like, so I guess you could say they enjoy what they have, but they don’t appreciate it. A kindergartner can throw herself into a game of duck-duck-goose, or be swept up in a game of tag, but they can’t understand how much fun they’re having, or how great a feeling it is to be able to do that and think or worry about nothing else.

When you get a little older, you don’t even have that. You don’t want to play kiddy games or enjoy stuff you consider to be immature. You’re totally self-aware and completely unsatisfied. You want be twenty-one or older, able to drive and drink and be on your own and be the coolest dude or chick around. You want to be old enough that no one treats you like a kid or a nuisance, and you can’t believe how stupid everyone is for doing it anyway. You don’t realize how happy you could be, or the gifts you have right now, the relationships you can have with people and things you can do that you’ll never be able to do again.

You can’t appreciate your life as a kid. You don’t know how good you have it, and if someone told you, you wouldn’t believe them anyway. You get to be happier than you’ll ever be again in your life, and then when you get sad, it gets to be about trivial stuff that usually doesn’t end up mattering anyway. Schoolwork, teachers, having fights with your best friend since forever, or breaking up with the boy/girl you were going to love forever. Stuff people would kill to worry about later. Kids can’t appreciate how special that is because how could they?

If they could, they wouldn’t be children. If a child is wistful, nostalgic, and mature, he’s already grown up. It’s too late for him. It’s too late to go back, and even if he was in the body of his younger self again, he couldn’t enjoy it the way he did before.

Children don’t appreciate what they have, and that’s a good thing for what’s mentioned above, but also because that’s our job, because the appreciation makes our lives better. We get to be adults and experience all of those joys and sorrows that come along with being “grown up”. And we also get the memories of the childhood we want to remember, forgetting or ignoring the bad, so we get something that can be close to perfect. We get to appreciate the joy we felt as children as observers, so we can have both that pure feeling, and the deeper understanding.

I can’t go back in time and be seven again, but in my head the years melt away and it’s better than the past ever was.

The Last Spring Shower

When I was a child, I did as children do
I loved the whole world and it loved me, too
When I played in the field, Nature was my toy
And each new day exercised my joy
In those days, Man was my friend
I never thought that it would end

But then one day I saw it had
And saw I was no more a lad
And nowhere could a joy be found
And no friend could be seen around
So I cried out my last childish tears
And wept a dirge for wasted years

When those were gone, I dried my eyes
I knew a real man never cries
I knew I was not what I ought be
But I didn’t know what life had brought me
It’s said a real man can’t be so fettered
I know it’s said, but I know better