Of Age and Ugliness

You and I, we’ve both done good and bad things. We hope one might compensate for the other and in the end we’re good people at heart, which I think is true for most of us. We wouldn’t have made it this far as a race if the majority of us wasn’t intent on constructive input.

It’s difficult sometimes, I know. I’m a man of principle but before I know it, I’m struggling to keep up with them. I avoid making excuses but in the end, there’s plenty reason to hate myself if I didn’t have some excuse made up, with “I am only human” as a last resort. It’s true though, no? We do bad things and on a good day, learn from our mistakes and become a better person. I think we can all agree that is a thing to strive for: To become better.

And yet…
2 names spring to mind when I consider the possible exception to that rule. 2 people that I know personally, who distort my faith in humanity and leave me wondering how they live with themselves.
Surely they too have some excuse for their actions but I don’t see how, without lying to themselves so grotesquely that they have got to be blind or lost their moral compass somewhere in the smog clouding their mind.

How do you trade someone’s happiness for satisfaction and justify it? Surely they can’t believe that what they did was the right thing to do? One might forgive them if they would learn from their mistakes, but there is a point where the moral code is broken so many times, that the only conclusion is that you’re dealing with a bad person, plain and simple.

I don’t necessarily like you (in fact with my mood of late, the chance is slim) but I trust that your flaws can be tolerated. I don’t bother doing so but that is my failing and I know that: I know that, if I should search a little better, I should be able to find a reason to like you. I just don’t feel like it.
But with some, I’ve really tried, but just as I’m starting to see a little light in the darkness, they pull another spiteful trick and I am left wondering how they can live with themselves. Such ugly people, vile characters, that they bring out the worst in those around them.

Those around them seem to like them though, making me wonder if it’s just me or if ethics are just an unknown field of thought to them. It don’t think it’s plain stupidity, so what is it that blocks these intolerable acts to their perception? Those friends are popular, beautiful, intelligent people so there’s no reason for them to need friends so desperately that they settle for the worst kind.

My tolerance isn’t so high. Not only do I not bother with those that rub me the wrong way, but I fucking run as hell from the kind of people that have ‘Bad News’ written on their ugly faces. The only contact with them falls under the motto “know your enemy” and checks to see what they’re up to and how I can avoid any business with it.

Because fuck ‘em. I hope they realize how miserable they are making themselves and others before they do any more harm, though I wouldn’t feel much regret if they and up sad and alone- which they probably won’t but sometimes karma catches on. Should they ever come to that enlightenment you and I take for granted, I won’t know because I’ll be far, far away, doing my best to actively ignore whatever they have to tell me. I’d let them know what unsightly people they are, if that wouldn’t draw their attention towards me and my friends.


Welp, who ever wished me health and good fortune this year, put your back into it a little more next time please, as the first 2 things I did was getting my shit stolen and falling ill.
I must be getting old.

I’m turning 30 this year in fact, which means I may as well start writing my will. Pretty much all my colleagues and friends have kids now and are asking me when I’ll be getting at it. So dressed in roadie gear and a spiderman tee shirt, I give them a look and shrug.

My father had a son around this age: Me. He was married to my mother and working hard to build a house near Gent, where I would grow up.
There’s a lot of pressure to behave like someone my age, which is confusing. I wouldn’t mind a bit more security, a place of my own and a job that wouldn’t make me have to guess wildly if I’ll still be able to eat in a few months.

I feel like my body is telling me the same. I remember quite vividly as a kid, how my father used to do things that didn’t make sense to me. The weird arm thing grown men do when bending down on one knee, or taking obstacles slowly and methodically instead of jumping them like a kid would.

When have you last sat down without sighing? It’s the little things that are beginning to annoy me. How muscles take forever to recover. How my stamina in bed has about halved. How colleagues and friends are grown men and women with grown men and women problems. They say age is just a number and you are as old as you feel, but they didn’t mention that everything else ages like Swiss cheese while you’re not looking.

Everything ages, except the city. Which is equally annoying. Because Ghent is a university city, it feels like its residents stay forever young. When they get older and graduate, they move to some boring place to breed and make way for a fresh batch of kids. So when I go out, I am often surrounded by 20 year-olds binge drinking and making noise.

I guess some part of me has grown up, against my will and expectations. A part that is happy, vicariously, about my friends’ kid being born.
I think starting next summer, when I come back from across the Atlantic, I’m going to start settling down a little. See if I can find an actual job (or if I can handle the routine at all) and in time, a place for myself. I’ve become increasingly aware that I can’t do this stagehand work forever, sooner or later it’s going to catch up with me.

So yeah. It might be time to start acting like my age, a little. And if not, at least move on from age 21 that I seem to be stuck in.

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