“if i get old, i will not give in, but if i do, remind me of this: remind me that once i was free, once i was cool, once i was me; and if i sit down and cross my arms, hold me into this song – knock me out, smash out my brains if i take a chair and start to talk shit.”

it’s kind of depressing that the natural cycle of life kills off youthful zeal and replaces it with bowel movements, contentedness and conservativism. that isn’t a pop at you at all. in fact, it’s quite the opposite. i guess i am just terrified that i’ll become the smug old man that answers my every probing anxiety with a shrug and a pat on the back. i want to reach forty, fifty, sixty, ninety, and still be able to tell the young people that death really is a horrible prospect, that they’re right to think that only a deluded man could let life turn into a routine, that nobody sane welcomes permanent the looming spectre of permanent inexistence as a reprieve or a well-earned rest. sorry, major tangent, you’re not old, and you didn’t mention death once. i’m ranting. about nothing in particular. i apologise.