I wake up in the morning and spec still stands. I roll out of bed, landing on a pile of shredded newspapers. I vibrate as I rise, and walk cloaked over to the bathroom. My spine is like that of a pterosaurus, ridged and curved. I spit in the sink in disgust of specscum i dreamt about. I wipe my mouth. I look in the mirror and don’t recognize the man looking back because i am wearing a mask. Where have the years gone? I ask myself. What happened to me?
Once I was young and full of hope. In NSOP everyone was the same. I had the naive thot that my friends, full of talent and energy, we would all find creative fulfillment, would all find and pursue the destruction of the spec. But they didn’t—many I lost to spec, many to bwog. On the way to class (CC), I walk past pinkberry. I see people waiting at Nussbaum, out of purpose , out of energy, out of hope. This much I share with them.
When I was younger, I remember how magical the firsts were. The first time I post in Bwog comments, the first time I burned a copy of the spect, the first time I got a c+ in lit hum all by myself without any help (no ok like getting tutoring doesn’t count if you only do it once a week.) Those firsts are what the college experience is about. You looked forward to the movement, the experience of college. Then you experienced college and being above a specster GPA became normal, posting on Bwog became mindless, and you thought about other stuff while burning spec.
I talk to other people my age (sophomores), and many of them feel similarly. We are a generation of #sbwal—specsucks but we are lazy. You’re an #sbwal if your bones creak when you get out of bed in the morning. You’re an #sbwal if you look at specscum and feel so much better than them that you dont even need to write dum posts. You’re an #sbwal if every post makes you feel like ur more relevant than spec.
As an #sbwal, I actually leave my room and sometimes talk to freshman. Their ideas, their youth, it makes me feel happy. I enjoy mentoring these young people, showing them the way, showing them my mistakes about where I went wrong in taking down spec. Hopefully they can learn something from me. Maybe I can live forever through them and then they will take down spec because i am lazy.
I write this tapping away on my wordpress. It’s a wonder I’ve figured out how to use it. We didn’t have wordpress when I was a kid—technology has changed so much in my lifetime. I remember when I was younger, there was only Bwog and Spec. We didn’t have any way to fight them. Now, these kids, they can post something on the internet and someone else can see it. What kind of dark magic is this, I ask myself as I light candles in my room.
These new TV’s, I swear, they’re too realistic. I look at them with wonder. Since when did a TV screen become a window?
I was in LA recently, where I met a young specster. She was 17, I was 19. Her body, her smell, they were too dum for me. I had to let her go.
When I exercise I run on the elliptical—on the days I’m not too tired to work out—because my knee blew out when I was in 9th grade. I wear a mouthguard at night so as not to gnash my teeth from nightmares about spec still standing and there’s nothing i can do about it. My google search history includes “biggest regrets before you die that spec still stands” and “what is there to life other than destroying spec.” I’m tired—physically tired, yes, but also mentally and spiritually tired. I listen to “Young and Beautiful”—the line where Lana Del Rey sings “I’ve seen the world”—and I agree.
I’m going to turn 20 soon, but I might as well be 80. I don’t know what else there is to life other than this. I’ve seen all the campus, tried to destroy the spec, and now I’m not afraid of death. Spec,Bwog , the Lion—I’m through with that shit. Leave me alone in a house with a laptop, a library and a nurturing, kindhearted 18-year-old girlfriend and I’ll die in peace.
Here, at the end of the night and the supposed beginning of spec’s destruction, I just feel so, so old.