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  • This leaping between scenes and people, it’s not as flighty or callous as it seems. It’s just, somehow, along the way, my friends left me.

    They went divergent ways. Surprisingly, disturbingly, the number that got taken: by accidents, by depression, by crime, by overdoses and underachievement, by wives and husbands, by jobs and children.

    The things that sounded like fun or smelt like the future. But soon became dead ends.

    Maybe that’s not how they saw it, but I’d meet them and it was like their bodies were vacantly moving forward, their minds suspended elsewhere.

    The distance becomes too much. Each time you see them, there’s less magic, less connection, the increasing ability to measure difference…to go: you. You have not turned out like me, you have not turned out like you were going to.

    The sheer volume of people whose lives are over – or decided – by their twenties. What then. What happens when uncertainty is expelled, when your future years are marked out by the growth of your children/family/business/neuroses or the management of your drug habit or divorce. Too quick. Too one way.

    Somehow I swerved and dodged and danced past all the traumas and predicaments and sadness and madness that seemed to tangle up my friends one by one in their teenage years.

    Even as we partied all week and fucked whenever we could and got as wasted as our cashflow allowed and felt young and strong and unique, even then they were loading up prematurely on a lifetime’s supply of anxiety and regret and disappointment.

    And giving up: changing, exploring, wanting more, better, colorful.

    Suddenly, the people I’d grown up with were no longer there. They’d grown up into a shape and state they were happy with, but I couldn’t recognize. They were finished growing. And I’ve only just started.
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