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Apathy Girl and Other Tales

Musings of the Overly Naive Cynic

“Yeah, adjectives on the typewriter
He moves his words like a prize fighter
The frenzied pace of the mind inside the cell.”

-Cake, “Shadow Stabbing”

At times it is difficult to come to terms with the image of self one projects out into the world. There are images we wear in various situations, one for your parents, one for your professors, one in the professional realm, maybe different ones for various groups of friends. It may not be the difference between comedy and drama, between color and a lack thereof. It could be simple, how animated one is, what person you jostle to the top of your list, your favorite song (this may push the limits) or what is the most important to you.

Or, maybe the difference is in genres of music. I used to be punk rock. I wore a lot of black, listened to a lot of Good Charlotte, Green Day, and Blink 182. People that saw me in those clothes, to that tune, they knew a different genre of myself than others. At that same time I was in a long distance relationship, over winter holiday this young man and I got to steal a few hours with one another and I recall his curiosity, “why are you wearing a studded arm cuff?” “I think I’ve only seen you in black.” Because my genre to him was different, Acoustic Alternative Rock. He had the luxury of only seeing me once or twice over a period of time, so he could project whatever image he wanted  onto me, and it would not be a lie, simply a different version of the truth.

It could also be different writing styles. For four years, longer actually, eight, I have been involved in the study of politics. In high school I participated heavily in speech and debate, competing in cross-examination debate primarily. Here one’s linguistics, how one talks about politics, the jargon, is only part of one’s immersion. The rest of it is social. You want friends? You want to be accepted? Be cynical, be arrogant, be anything but a Believer. Talk about international relations, political theory, news, deficit, bizcon, concon, Pork Barrel, disad, K, CP, Solve. Road Map. Say ‘fuck’ a lot. Play poker. repeat. Take that into college, where you better be majoring in some form of politics, here your writing style may lose some of its flair, it’s pizzaz. It will certainly get the point across. How shocking it was, then, when I had a professor in a different department call my writing ‘dry.’ Because it was. Toast. As opposed to the prose I would indulge in when my homework was done and I had too many thoughts in my head, and not enough room in my political cell to express them. Here, here it may be closer to what you are.

It is all about description though, who we are, what we stand for. As individuals, as groups. You wear the mask of comedy, ok. What does that mean? You are so Rock ‘n Roll baby. How do you afford that lifestyle, oh tell me! Democrat, conservative, Libertarian (with an obligatory snicker)? So, are you pro-life? Pro-tax? Pro-war? What do those mean? Every word, every thought, it is just a fight we are having within ourselves to find out what that adjective means.

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