It Aint The ‘30s Anymore.

Bah, humbug. That’s what I think. You never know, I might’ve cheered up by next week. Ah yes, you’d think I’d stop moaning for Christmas, but I’m not going to do that. I haven’t been touched by a Christmas spirit yet. I could’ve worded that better. But I’ll save my moaning for next week. Yes, my 30th post will coincidentally fall on Christmas Day. Yup. How very exciting. Is the sarcasm showing? Yes? Good.

I don’t like parties. That’s why I’m in a mood. I’m also tired. It’s 1.25 in the morning, what the heck am I doing writing a post? I was out tonight. At a party. We got home at 11. I mean, that’s really late. What? It isn’t? It was in the ‘30s. Or, as I call them, the good ol’ days.

It is late for me. I’ve never been on a night out. I think that usually refers to going to some night venue with terrible loud music, full of raucous, drunken, drugged up youths. You know the type. They have some alcohol. Get wasted. Do some drugs. Sex in toilets. It wasn’t like this in the ‘30s. Am I talking about the ‘30s too much? Yes? Good. Get used to it.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’m some conservative nutcase in his 60s with an awfully unfair biased view on the young people. You’re right. I know it’s outdated to expect the young to behave. I’m only 21. I didn’t have a normal upbringing. Whilst those I grew up with were out having fun, I was at home organizing the folders on my computer wondering why they were the weird ones. A psychologist would argue that is simple justification to help me cope with my ‘situation’. Of course this is true, but it wouldn’t be if it were the ‘30s. We didn’t believe in psychiatry back then. They were shamans to us. Still are.

It’s just an opinion. I was looking around at that family party at the teenagers and the young twenty-something’s and I couldn’t help but think I was the dinosaur. I couldn’t help but wonder if I should stick to the belief that the path I chose in life is the right one or is the modern existence of people my age the new belief I should adopt. It’s just an opinion? I don’t think so.

Everyone has a different perspective on every aspect of life. I’ve always stuck true to what makes me happy. Writing my stories, my photography, my favourite books, things along that line. Of course it’s right to say that there’s nothing wrong with sticking to this key to personal happiness, but then you meet others who believe the opposite. They believe getting drunk is the new poetry, doing drugs is the fundamental path to adulthood, and love is nothing more than a word spoken by dreamers. Love is 20 seconds in a toilet cubicle. If you’re lucky. Certainly in the UK, that’s the life the youth choose. Good for them. Everyone I’ve known in life is one of them. They asked me to join them in the nightclubs to taste that world and I feel disgusted with them for suggesting such frivolity. They laugh at me. Rightly so. I would. I mean, I just used the word ‘frivolity’. Funny word.

I suppose the best analogy is to compare it to this new hydrogen technology for powering cars. People who slate it and stick with petrol and other gas-powered vehicles are dinosaurs. Even they admit that. That was an opinion, that the hippies in their corn powered flying carpets were wrong, but now it’s the other way around. I think the same has happened for the life of the youth of today. I think I’m the dinosaur.

The youth of day don’t care about poetry anymore. Writing is ancient, man. Etiquette? Don’t you tell me what to do. Rules, rules, rules – everything is so unfair so I’ll rebel. Burn and loot on the streets of London. We’re moving in together, mum. But you’re not married. A baby? You’re 15. Who’s the father? What do you mean you don’t know? What? Any one of five guys on Friday night? What’s this? A pill? Are you a drug addict? Get with it, old man, it’s the way of life. Bah, humbug, I say. Join me if you will. After all, it wasn’t like this in the ‘30s.

I should be more tolerant. The world is changing and I’m not getting with the times. I shouldn’t complain about others way of life, nobody should. Tolerance is a virtue. That might be my message for Christmas. Tolerance. After all, Christmas is for every race, creed and culture to enjoy.

‘I think of myself as an intelligent, sensitive human being with the soul of a clown which always forces me to blow it at the most important moments’, said the late, great Jim Morrison.

Peace Out :|:

(I’ve been aware of a problem with the blog for the past few weeks whereby the latest post on the ‘Latest Post Page’ isn’t the latest post on the ‘Archives Page’. This meant that those of you following were inadvertently getting week old posts, unless you cottoned on. Either way, this problem is now rectified, but to rectify it, I’m going to have to publish two posts in one weekend. Despite the blogs age, I’m still working out how to use this site and make everything as easy as possible to use, so I do make mistakes. Sorry for any confusion, unless you didn’t realize there was a problem, in which case, forget I said anything. Next new post: Christmas Day).


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