My early 20s

This is the appropriate age to complain that life is the secret enslavement sponsored by repetition and powerful distractions. I speak for my generation when I say we're cynical, angry, resentful, bitter and indescribably anxious to disentangle the ropes and volcanic chains of youth despite our strong sympathies for nihilism and the comfort of self-pity. Words like Inertia, Depression, Love and Hate circulate our lexicon without the conscious idea of our own level of inexperience. We're stubborn, though everyone else believes we're ideologically flexible.

In love, we behave like drunk animals. Our romantic relationships(if you can call it that) are by-products of lecherous tendencies and neurotic passions. Confounded by the irreparability of romantic rupture, we hide behind protective walls, cursing humanity in the dark, becoming more resentful and hostile to the possibility of amorous triumph.

Youth is a winter storm in the deep ocean. It is the clashing of rogue waves and the carnage left after desperation conquers all aboard a ruined vessel. It is the last stop for passengers of an ill-fated aircraft. Or the distant weeping of young voices confined to rooms without windows. It is a tunnel, perhaps, with holographic visions of escape and disappearing orifices with every human step.

It is the first real sign of disenchantment and the choice between survival or constant lapidation.