Anarchist Hippies Want to Save Your Babies!

I've never thought past 18 until I was forced to. I remember as a young girl I would ask myself, “I wonder what it would be like to be 18-years-old. What will I look like? Where will I be?” and most importantly, “Will I be dating Brad Pitt?” I kind of already knew the answer to that last question, but as a child, 18 was the age I thought about. I didn’t much think about life past 18. I mean 21 was a passing thought. The legal drinking age is always a pivotal moment in a young person’s life. But as a little girl, I cared not a thing about the perks of legal alcohol consumption. No, I just wanted a good-looking boyfriend and to not be fat or unattractive at 18. Because that’s where life ends and begins when it comes to future aspirations.

The adult life just seems like some comical myth. Something you know has the possibility of fleshing out, but not really. Reaching that age is like climbing Mt. Everest, fucking impossible. Oh, the naivety of youth.


Maybe this is why 23 is such a strange stage to be at. I’ve passed both of those age mile markers of 18 mph and 21 mph. And now the road isn’t even a road any more its more of a wide open freeway; no lanes, no signs, no speed limit, just a chaotic exclamation point of twisting and turning and shouts of “What are you doing after you graduate?” and “What are you going to do with your life?” and “Hey! You’re getting old!”

But am I really getting old? I mean in the grand scheme of things I’d say I’m pretty young, unless I’m about to die in the next few minutes, otherwise I am pretty old because my pre-determined lifespan is a sad timeline of 23 years. It’s even weird to tell people my age because I've never thought I’d make it to this point. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m at a fantastic stage of life. Some would say my peak. I say, screw those encompassing the “some” who think they can equate your life to the opinions that they so surely mark as truth. Yeah buddy, I’m talking to you who has already passed their peak at 21, my peak is my demise, so fuck you. I don’t want to hear your sad loathsome bullshit about what I need to do, what you’re saying is what YOU need to do, so fucking do it. And leave me be.

I’m starting to get the feeling that this free spirited, take life as it comes at me way of life isn’t just some 3 year phase I’ve been going through, I’m thinking it’s a permanent fixture. I think my friend (use that term loosely) Matt said it best in one of his Facebook posts, “It’s really difficult to rewire a brain.” I’ve been called a “hippie” so many times over the past two years I can’t even keep up with who said it to me. But I don’t understand that evaluation at all. I looked up the definition of the term on Dictionary.com and here is what it said:


Hippie = [hip. Eee] a person, esp. of the late 1960s, who rejected established institutions and values and sought spontaneity, direct personal relations expressing love, and expanded consciousness, often expressed externally in the wearing of casual, folksy clothing and of beads, headbands, used garments, etc.
Oh shit. That’s kind of true. . . . . I did grow up in 60s and I wear head bands, like, alllll the time. I’m not being sarcastic, man. No way.

But I also looked up the definition of anarchist partially because it’s pretty much the opposite of hippie (at least I thought) and because it’s just random and the third definition of this term kind of sounds similar to the definition of the hippie:
Anarchist = a person who promotes disorder or excites revolt against any established rule, law, or custom.
The key difference between the anarchist and the hippie: rejection and revolution. It’s debatable whether these two terms are interchangeable.

So, I’m a Hippie-third-definition-Anarchist, but let’s check out the meaning of bipolar. I’ve gotten that staple a couple times. Let’s see what the bipolar personality really means.

Bipolar disorder = an affective disorder characterized by periods of mania alternating with periods of depression, usually interspersed with relatively long intervals of normal mood.

Holy shit son, I think this is me. Maybe I’m in my manic stage right now. Who the hell knows? But I’ll take this deduction and use it as my own.

Jessica: The hippie-third definition anarchist-bipolar girl. That’s got a nice ring to it. I think she’d make one hell of a super hero. Wearing a peace sign cape, saving your baby, and then throwing it on the floor whilst head banging to a Dead Kennedy’s record. Oh yes, my future is bright indeed.


So, what is my point in all this? There is no point. I’m just rattling on because I got inspired to write after watching James Franco masterfully portray Allen Ginsberg in the film Howl. I’m sitting at a bar called The Manhattan Café in Athens, Georgia, alone and sipping a cup of Kahlua and coffee just because I can and because I’m old enough to do that and most importantly because that’s what I enjoy. Drinking hot alcoholic beverages and doing things on my own. Oh, the things I wish I could do but I don’t do. How does one erase F.E.A.R. and just D.O.? Maybe that’s what life at 23 will be about. Erasing fear and replacing it with action. I know one action that will be immediate. Cup of Kahlua number two. Let’s get it pumping. Oh and I know, I’m just so Hawaiian because I opt for Kahlua instead of Bailey’s. You don’t have to tell me. I already know. Did you also know my favorite fruit is Pineapple? I’m so authentically Hawaiian.

The 23-year-old Hawaiian hippie third definition anarchist bipolar girl: She wants to be your friend, won’t you let her??

Read Howl. It's cool. Bye Bye.