Things rarely affect me one way or the other, but sometimes I read things so ridiculous that they cause me to quake with indignation. That's not what this post is about, though -- just saying.

I'm not sure what got me to thinking about this the other night, but somehow I started considering the various causes of my descent into the gothic world -- and it dawned on me that the picture of the ideal goth boy is pretty much the stark opposite of my own physical appearance. The physical attributes that have caused women to constantly and consistently curse and spit upon me over the course of my life -- my lack of height, the shade of my skin, even my shape (you have no idea how many of my crushes -- like, all of them -- have squeezed my arms and then, after making what I took to be a complimentary statement about my form, added, "But I hate men with muscles! I prefer skinny guys.") -- all find their antithesis in the tall, pallid, gaunt form of the gothic Prince Charming. And I was always dark, mind you, but I wonder if the desire to be close to these apparently perfect specimens dwelled had something to do with it.

In the halls of the goth clubs, I might have thought, these men fancy themselves tormented, alone -- and yet look how the women flock to them and press their vinyl-clad bodies against their pale, birdlike chests! And they think themselves goths! Whereas I know all too well the feelings that they merely feign, wearing their sad expressions like so much makeup and kohl. Yea, they look the part -- but if depression -- isolation -- alienation -- is the core of their culture, then I belong far more than they, because they and their women will look at me and, simply based upon my appearance, immediately assume that I do not. I will haunt these halls, then, dejected and unloved -- and do it better than they ever could.

I don't think that my thoughts on the subject were so detailed, of course, but some rationale along those lines was probably lurking in the depths of my subconscious mind.