Stories...the depressing one

Childhood, adulthood, it's all stories. School, work, home, you're always
shoved in with weirdoes and shallow people you have no choice but to
tolerate.
                   He said, "I hate having to be affable all the time."
                   She said, "Just get used to it, but whatever you do, don't hide."
          These people get hope from their music; they feel it speaks to them. Lyrics
are just poetry trying to sugarcoat itself into two minute, 34 second
intervals. Listening to this music is like watching Spongebob Squarepants.
You know the beat, the chorus, the message, the rhymes. I can sing a song
I've never even heard before, these days.
          I mean it doesn't take a rocket scientist to rhyme "up above" with "need
your love."
          No one listens to symphonies anymore. Everything has to be prepackaged and
fed to us in SoundBits, news briefs, and video clips. When I go into the
kitchen, I won't eat anything I have to microwave, much less anything that
requires usage of that firebox, that odd yellowed monument in our kitchen
mom uses sometimes for dinner and dad uses sometimes for birthdays. It's
just too hard. Besides, I can grab a meal bar and be on my way. "a great
source of calcium and protein!"
           No one listens to symphonies anymore. Would one even fit on a CD? Would you
have the energy to change discs to enjoy the next movement while you're in
your car talking on your cell phone with the windows down and the AC up?
The poetry now comes in pocket-sized applications barely as long as your
fingertip. You need so much storage on your iPod because you can't live on
sugar alone. The people singing these songs are the weirdoes and the shallow
people from work, school, and your family, but you only claim them now that
they're famous.
                  He said, "I wish I could get paid for playing video games and masturbating."
                  She said, "Why don't you consider an office job?"
          Love is toned down to on night stands and heavy petting on the first date.
Yeah, we're dating, yeah, we had sex, but I'm worried I may be developing
feelings for him.
                 He said, "I should go."
                 She said, "If that's how you feel."
          Not to get too nihilistic on you, but nothing is of any consequence. If
you're mad, you can sue the people who have angered you. You'll make them
pay so much until money dries them up and heals your hurting.
Not to get nihilistic, but everything cool now will be old in the future.
Everything old now was cool once. Including symphonies. Remember the Vincent
Van Gogh never sold a painting in his lifetime. Childhood, adulthood, it's
all stories. You'll tell your kids what you wore and ate when you were their
age.
                 He said, "Bell bottoms were all you could buy."
                 She asked, "Did you grow your hair long, too?"
          Not to get fatalistic on you, but you won't remember the things people you
love have said to you. Friendships die and ideals change.
                                       She said,
                          "Yes, I know I loved you.
                Yes, I know I haven't treated you well.
                    Yes, I know ignoring it won't help."

         If I could write you a poem, I would. If I could play you a symphony, I
would. If I could tell you a story, I would. If I could, I'd cook you a meal
so fulfilling that you would last for weeks. But I only know how to use the
microwave, and I'm so full up on sugar that I'm choking on my own
sugar-sweet tongue.

         And if everything old is new, and our lives are but horribly biased novels,
then I am a fool for tending to the romantic ideal that times were simpler
when Beethoven and Mozart were rock stars.