Ben Bonkoske

I was having one of my famous existential quasi-communist Philosophical conversations with my (and I hate to break it to all my other friends) BEST friend Patrick. He is in a league of his own, because while he pushes me to be a more generous and caring person, he casts no judgement when I fall short. I tend to sort of try and build up my other friends to achieve their best as a sort of way to make me feel better about myself (and yes, I can be a judgmental prig (and yes, parenthesis are tonight’s forte)). Anyway, we were talking about free will, the order of society (if it is organized by laws, income, location) and dialectical materialism when we fell on an old friend, my favorite ex-girlfriend, Love. I am a bitter party pooper now. For everything. I hate everyone younger than me. I don’t want to be reductionist and lump everyone into one category, but man, for me, an old soul, the party is over…or at least I am having trouble hopping onto the right brand. I am my own kettle of fish. I do buy into, ya know, internet glory or whatever. But I’d prefer to be recognized after I’m dead. I just want to be a millennial. An old fart basically. And I suppose I am. A part of me is sad to have missed the boat with a swarm of attractive young egotists, but I’d happily buy into the virtues of my parents instead. Love is just a great way to feel inadequate if you ask me. I don’t suppose I loved “correctly” but I’m sad to say I’ve been jaded by the experience. I hope everyone finds love and I do believe it is out there, but I just don’t seem to be ready for what I’m looking for. New word of the day, Demisexual. Also, I am going for a Straight Edge vibe.