ahhh i wrote this one for yooooou
haha i was right
She has green hair, and look at her lovely sitting on the sidewalk with that cigarette dangling from between those ripe, plump lips. As a young beautiful white woman, and when I say young I mean she’s probably skirting somewhere around the age of 19. Wearing clothes that I’m sure in some way express who she is as a unique individual, but I know that when they look at her they’re not seeing the clothes at all. She reeks of naivete, but in a fashion punk kind of way, in a way where she doesn’t know about all the things she doesn’t know, and she doesn’t know that everybody else can see those things, too. Which is probably the thing that makes her the most attractive creature on Grand avenue this sunny afternoon. There’s just something so delightfully fuckable about someone who doesn’t know what’s coming to them. About taking a young innocent and just fucking her and fucking her and fucking her, and then pretending to care when she starts to talk about her daddy issues twenty minutes later. It doesn’t really matter, no one has ever nor will anyone in the future every care about her daddy issues, but the beautiful thing about it is she’ll never know so it doesn’t matter. Feigning interest for a minute while she lights up another cigarette, and she talks about how old she was when she started drinking, and whether or not she’s done intravenous drugs yet, and the quantity of people she’s slept with. They’re just meaningless statistics that don’t really stack up to a personality, but, my god, feigning interest is the key to making sure that she never finds out.
She is the glistening epitome of disposable. I wonder if she’ll ever figure that out, and realize that just because someone is sticking his dick in her, that doesn’t mean he has to care. She’s got it all backwards, and while she might feel like an empowered female for slyly smiling and walking away, the amount of things that people don’t care about is astronomical. She could have arrived in this city with the same face that she left her home with but a completely different set of lies, and no one would bother to find out that they’re lies. That they’re all just lies and more lies. Nobody cares that she’s reinvented herself into something shiny and new. It doesn’t matter. So she can say whatever she wants to say and do whatever she wants to do and be whoever she wants be, and there will be no consequences for that. The only consequence for anything she’s doing ever is aging. She’ll get older, and as her face starts to sag, and her lies start to sag, I think that the truth will start scratching from behind her eyeballs and begging to get out. But no one will be listening, and I wonder if that will kill her. Because everybody was satisfied with the lies she was telling, so there’s no point in reading her redacted version of, “these are my problems.”
She left her home because she didn’t like the history that it had given her. So she set out to make a new history, which is why she’s listening to punk rock with her headphones on, and staring blankly. It’s a coy kind of look that is begging the people walking by to ask her what she’s thinking about. Although, at the end of the day, the only thoughts swirling behind those pathetically fashionable sunglasses in some way lead back to a deep well of self pity. Some way for her to talk about herself. Her problems. Her reasons for being here, and the significance of the Misfits t-shirt she is wearing, and what it means to her. Vastly seeking male attention at any cost is her agenda, which might be clear to you and me, but what she doesn’t realize is that everything she’s ever done is for this sake. She might delude herself into thinking that dropping out of college, or wearing 4 inch stiletto high heels to hang out by the lake, or that her burgeoning interest in any one of her inane new hobbies, is about her, and her own self improvement, and her own happiness. But she’s wrong because it’s all just the impending ego validation that male attention affords her.
She doesn’t have a history, she doesn’t have a past, she doesn’t have a family, she doesn’t have a future, and she likes to say that she’s fine with that, but her ceaseless efforts to build a history, and a family, and a future for herself are evidence of her inability to overcome the most basic human need for other people a sense of belonging. So, in lieu of this, she is recklessly creating her own new, hackneyed version of the truth. Designing an empire of lies, destined to only someday become a crumbling prison. She makes art like she knows what art is, which she doesn’t.
Will she ever grow up and by that time will she hate herself for becoming boring? Fondly careening through memories of not giving a fuck, ruing the day she didn’t become the woman that she always wanted to be. She is no Jane Fonda. She is no Marilyn Monroe. She is not the center of attention, and it’s because she frittered away her youth being the type of girl that they fucked and didn’t have to care about, and she didn’t care about herself, either. There’s no “should have” in there at all, she just did what she thought was best and somehow she was wrong.
basically…i’ve gotten 4 responses to this ad within 30 minutes, making it my best craigslist post yet!