On Misanthropy (?) and the Aesthetic (!)

How does that one poem go?

That one from the movie?

“I hate the way you talk to me And the way you cut your hair...”

“I hate you so much it makes me sick...”

“I hate it when you make me laugh, Even worse when you make me cry...”

Something something .

“ But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, Not even close, Not even a little bit, Not even at all.”

Feelings, feelings, feelings

Grand and Trite. End-all-be-alls

For the average teen.

I am no average teen. I am an untouchable rock. A pillar of strength and solitude. I am a Misanthrope.

School? Boys? Life? No (!), I am the Nauseous Man. Stoicism, Buddhism, Lyricism

Please teach me all the -isms, For that knowledge keeps afloat

A boat on splitting, nebulous glass That sails through foggy air.

See, the key to life

Is to never use it. Don’t open the door. That’s when the questions appear: The problems, the quagmires, the dilemmas.

The . . feelings. Take a chill pill, man, And when the body feels removed from “Reality,”

When the mind is at the door, And the a** is on the couch, Don’t worry

When your patience for HoSaps (Homosapiens, for the unenlightened) Has a fuse as short As a bright and sunny morning, And information does not readily register Whether spoken once or thrice, Don’t worry.

When you can’t bring yourself To hate or cry or scream or love Or care or sleep or pray or loathe, Don’t worry. It’s all part of the process!

Eat words (they don’t matter). Rot your brain

With unending music (until it becomes drivel). Media will be your best friend.

Days will get longer and shorter: You will be as immovable as time itself, And isn’t that just the best way to live?

Sally Jamrog ’23