The 4am Crowd

"You never listen to a word I say. You only see me for the clothes I wear, or did the interest go so much deeper? It must have been the colour of my hair."
Public Image Ltd

Friday is always a whirlwind for me. Running from place to place trying to get everything sorted for the night ahead. But i always make time to meet with my elderly Grandmother for lunch in a little cafe near her home, and listen as she tells me stories ive heard a thousand times. I nod and smile politely, gasp in all the right places, the perfect audience for someone who has lost so much of who she used to be.

After our meal, besides feeling vaguely ill, she must think that i might promptly expire unless almost forcibly fed great quantities of food, i return home and begin getting ready for my evening. I wash and style my hair, spend almost an hour doing my face and applying intricate eye make up, before moving on to choose an appropriately slutty/chic costume for the night. Throughout the entire process i am plagued with a constant thought - why? Why am i spending so much time and money - something which i am constantly in need of - on my appearance when any other day im more then content in an old pair of skinny jeans and a battered band t. I wonder sometimes, should I just turn up like that one evening? Run a comb through my hair, a dash of eyeliner and throw on some old clothes. What would they think? Thats the problem with me, with all of us. We're so fucking focused on what other people think of us, that we're willing to spend an extortionate amount of time and money on trying to fit in, match up to the conceptions of what other people think is appropriate, the right clothes, the right hairstyle. How much longer until its the right friends, the right career? How much longer are we going to let ourselves me tied up by a society that judges us on the way we look?

Venturing out into London on a Friday night can be an, interesting experience, those 'Bright Young Things' are out in force, the fashionable ones, like vampires they hide by day and come out at night, preying on eachother, taking it in turns to be the hunter or the hunted. I pass them on my walk, the further i get into the citys heart the more of them appear, until arriving at my destination i see that not only are they there, but they're my friends. I may have these wild dreams about throwing of the 'shackles' of society, but i wont, these 'shackles' are of my own making.

This fantasy world, lifestyles ungoverned by any of the 'normal' constraints of society, are intense, carefree and impromptu. Looking around I try to see past the fantasy, through the cult of materialism - i can see the citys tears. This life, the people in it, some subside solely on alcohol and sex, their faces wholly consumed and corroded my pleasure. Nagging thoughts about what I should do mean squat when they are not acted upon. Wrapping myself in ideals doesn't stop me from being one of my vampires, narcissism is most certainly my dominant vice. I can only hope that one day, ill stop caring what people think, before i lose my bearings and sink, like so many others into this dark underworld of our own creation.