Author S. K. Nicholas

Watching Donnie Darko, I’m taken back to my university days and how everything felt possible in regards to my future. In many ways, it still does, because I’ve done my best not to settle down and become a regular and respectable nobody-who-thinks-he’s-somebody. I mean, of course, I’m a nobody, but it’s okay, it doesn’t bother me. Not much, anyhow. Gretchen Ross was my dream lover, and for many years, my eyes were drawn to whoever bore a passing resemblance. Come to think of it, haven’t all my lovers been brunettes? And haven’t nearly all of them been of slight build? Yeah, I guess I’m still living in a fantasy world, but it’s okay. There’s no shame in my failures, not for me. Those that try to become regular just end up drifting through life as if they were never even here. Respectable, bland, and above all, just so average. Do you want to be like everyone else? Do you have a hunger to disappear into the plastic womb of modern life? If you do, then you’re not alone. Even those that claim to be on the outside would do anything to join arms with the crowd if it meant they could make a few dollars and have their photograph taken. I’ve known those with fire in their hearts throw it all away so that they could breathe easy knowing they could become part of the machine. And now they are, and they think they’re beautiful, and they believe the world is watching in awe, but anonymity will be their epitaph forever more. Sometimes, I can see the shadows of their former glorious selves, but they’re buried beneath so much shit there’s just no chance of a comeback. They burn for a while, and then it’s fifty years of silence. They dance for an hour or two, and then they sleep easy knowing they’ve made it. If I could, would I be just like them? Most probably. If things had turned out differently, there’s a chance these words would’ve remained unspoken, but there’s no denying fate. Despite my best efforts at being just like them, the music of elsewhere is where I was destined to be drawn to. If you want, come round and watch Evil Dead with me. Drink too much wine and laugh at every fuck up- laugh at the pain, and laugh at the tears. While the rest exist in their pretty vacuums of nothing, link your fingers with mine and know we did it the right way. They say we’re dumb; that we don’t understand how the world works, but we know exactly how it works, which is why we’re here, and they’re out there- fading away while we rise for eternity with our middle fingers held far higher than whatever plateau they’re about to worship next.