this year i spent more time figuring out how to avoid the village parade than i did on my costume, but it all worked out...i went to a friend's apartment for a small gathering and she loved my get-up and everything was the best. but i left before getting too gathered because i needed to return some videotapes.
so i'm walking back to my place with my sony walkman blaring, hardbodies everywhere. new york at night is something you have to see to believe. while i'm sidestepping puddles and i start thinking about the lifelong process of identity development, a common theme to every class i've taken at NYU, minus basic statistics, but math doesn't count for anything other than major requirements. i do believe that there is no better time or place to examine these defining qualities of self and other than here in these moments, in this city. this city that keeps us up at night with its freedoms, its big, fat licenses to be whatever our little hearts desire. no prerequisites, and no commitments until the morning comes, this is what we love.
so we spend all kinds of time deciding what to wear and then even more hours actually getting dressed and deciding how we look. we look hot and we're forever running late. but we make it just in time and we cram ourselves into a room somewhere, and look up in hopes for high ceilings (is there roof access?) as we talk amongst ourselves about how ridiculous everyone else looks. amidst the loosely organized chaos, we'll note the excessive make-up and too tight clothes, the hot and the heavies. you'll laugh a lot at some things, and something else will make you want to cry as there will be some sights you'll wish you had never seen. you'll wonder what your mother would think as you wait in line for the bathroom and wonder what in god's name is taking so long. then something else will catch your wandering eyes. some thing will amaze you, and somethings will attract you (hey, nice glasses...). plus you'll get offered all kinds of candy from all kinds of strangers, you'll give up trying to catch a cab and in that long walk home you'll see a lot of men in very little women's clothing. it's great.
believe it or not, a lot of that happens on halloween too.
really the only difference between halloween and any other night in new york is that on halloween a bunch of people dress all crazy-like and take to the streets.
really the only difference between halloween and any other night in new york is that on no other night is there easy access to so many pumpkins.
when i got home i realized, there are no more barriers to cross. all i have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem i have caused and my utter indifference toward it i have now surpassed. my pain is constant and sharp and i do not hope for a better world for anyone, in fact i want my pain to be inflicted on others. i want no one to escape, but even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and i gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. this confession has meant nothing.
relax, it's from a movie based on a book.
RIP Patrick Bateman.