It is the unnecessary detail
that is so depressing. If only we
could jump cut straight into dramatic scenes
or slow dissolve / soft focus our romance.
Instead, we keep following this snail trail
of sleep / work / eat / excrete and hourly tea
breaks, which determines that each moment means
no more than any other. Even ants
lead lives of greater purpose, while we fail
to get to grips with dull reality.
Teenage angst must be coded in our genes:
We want to save the world and wear cool pants,
but cannot cope with boredom. Both bizarre
and banal at once. It is how we are.
