Birthday Blues and Benevolent Bivouac’s

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This story is about a man deconstruction his past and evaluating his future in the last ten minutes of his childhood before he turns 18 and reaches adulthood.

Submitted: June 18, 2016

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Submitted: June 18, 2016

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10 minutes of my childhood left, wow.

So, yeah, ok. My name, well, that’s irreverent now isn’t it; it can be changed at a moment’s notice if I really wanted to. I am about to become a legalised man. I can buy cigarettes, beer, scratches, and homes. I can have sex in most countries legally, become a porn star, and buy lighters and even gamble. I can drive without provisions, with our restrictions, without care. I can enter strip clubs, rsl clubs, gambling dens, Jose & Lauren. I am afforded all of these freedoms and rights to indulge in my personal proclivities. The question that I must ask myself though, a question asked by one virulent, helluva awesome fellow, is do I want it already?

I mean, I am still a childish soul. I play with action men, teenage mutant ninja turtle’s collectables, wrestling figurines and Dragon ball Z toys. Do I really need to put that aside to raise real children. If I tried to perform a double Fujiwara armbar on my colleges instead of my wrestling figurines, I could go to actual gaol, like the gaol depicted on TV shows and films. If I play with my crayons, I’ll be depicted as childish, immature or, worse of all in a rapidly expanding business-driven world, an artist!

Worse of all, I can no longer spend my weekends locked in my room playing Minecraft, watching suspicious 1970’s Lithuanian art films whilst running through my tissue collection like a flu ward. I must interact with males, females, elderly, senile and, my former kind, children. I must get a job, but what? I cannot accomplish a comfortable lifestyle working at the local paper mill. I cannot wait tables or wash dishes. I must get an apartment, move to another city, get a… and I hesitate to say this, a girlfriend. They have cooties, they are smelly and ugly. How am I meant to live with one? I probably wouldn’t even be able to get an attractive girl like the girl from the office or cat women in Dark Knight Rises. My girlfriend would realistically be somewhat like me, out of shape, out of touch (Im just saying 1970’s was a revolutionary period in Lithuania cinema with visionary director Jonas Meskas making classic avant-garde such as Lost, Lost, Lost and Walden). What I hesitate most, the one factor of a so-called relationship that I cringe at the thought of, is the infamous kiss. I’ve seen kisses before, Sharon Stone and Micheal Douglas is Basic Instinct, Kate Winslet and Leonardo Di Caprio in Titanic, but never have I ever experienced this phenomenon.

Oh no, I only have five minutes of childhood am Im backed into a corner worrying profusely. I have another sweat on my brow to fill a small 750 millilitre water bottle. Need to think positive, ‘the cause is Ozymandian, the map of Sapokanikan’ No, c’mon. I can’t listen to people like Joanna Newsom and Hurray for the Riff Raff, that’s for southern American females, not Ivanhoe males that live on a sheep station. I need to get my Holden Commodore 96 model and listen to AC/DC and Metallica, right? No longer must I go to the Canberra folk festival or buy First Aid Kit concert. I need to rave, I need to live. I need to go to ‘real man’ activities such as V8’S, Cold Chisel, bucks parties. I need to, for lack of a better term, be a Bogan.

OK, so we are approaching the final 3 minutes and 43 seconds of my adventurous childhood, well, at least I thought it was adventurous. I was an introverted kid whose only real focus was on himself. I had several close friends, such as… Ho.rat.i.a.go.roku. Ok, so I didn’t have any real friends, but you try living in  a town fall of ‘battlers’ whose main mission in their futile lives was to accumulate another paper to transfer for an automobile. The funny thing is, they all what the exact same car, a 90’s Holden commodore. They like to modify it, ad flares, lower the so called ‘suspension’ add kneecaps. The automobile sensation that has swept the globe over the course of the last one hundred years is somewhat unfathomable to an often ridiculed, and I use this term in context ‘bloody barstard ****”

So upon reflection, and with two minutes of my childhood left, who am i? My name is Crespo Xanthe and I am into toys, female folk artist and the artist. Will I succumb to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that is adult life? Will my life be worth anything? Will whatever contributions I make to the world be recognised by my great, great, great, great, great grandchildren? Probably not, because there’s a good chance that a little boy or a certain fat man will destroy my legacy with a single flash. I could write epic novels, build outstanding mega structures, become a Peruvian celebrity, but my life will just blend it, just like the other 7 billion people I happen to share this planet with.

 The clock reaches the 11:59 pm on August 10th 2017, and I am about to become an 18 year old Caucasian Australian who lives in a dingy house on a property in Ivanhoe. The futile attempts to reminisce my childhood has only resulted in further worry, and I feel like I am losing my grasp of my situation. I have, well, failed my parent. I get nervous when talking to women, but love the likes of First Aid Kit and Anna Von Hauswolff. I love being a child, but hate the thought of having on... Oh crap. 30 seconds and Im bitching about girls and gossip. Im have become the very person I have attempted to avoid, the trap of conformity I have dodged throughout my pitiful existence. Now, as the clock strikes 12 and Im wallowing in my self-despair, there’s one thing left,

“Happy Birthday Crespo”


© Copyright 2017 J.A.C Luland. All rights reserved.

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