RUINS OF CHILDHOOD is an excavation and recontextualisation of a childhood spent in the 20th Century.

Originally posted April 8th, 2020 in the emotional throes of a just begun pandemic.

I just had an emotional break down to a Goo Goo Dolls song. Not because of the Goo Goo Dolls song … it just happened to be on… and at the right length to cover most of my shouting. Angry, angry ANGRY shouting spawned from some deep sobs that have been gripping in my chest for two weeks. Holding back from coming out. Sort of like my fandom for this Goo Goo Dolls song.

Full disclosure, its the most recent Goo Goo Dolls song I know. 2007’s “Before Its Too Late ” from the first live-action Transformers movie but as featured on their first Greatest Hits volume. Not too surprised if you don’t know it. And .. again .. not saying it triggered this not really cathartic bender that overtook me, my mind and some of this desk. Not that’s its a song I don’t like … nor one I HAVEN’T turned to. .. in the past ... as the backing track to dealing with something emotional. But there’s a difference in scoring your personal needs with an intentional radio hit to the randomness of a shuffled internet station as you scrawl through your Twitter feed.

Its no shock that I’m broken. I should be breaking down MORE and on more of a schedule. I’m stranded home. Unemployed. In a tiny apartment as my partner ventures bravely into the world each morning to still work her job. Our refrigerator is bare on anything but essentials, parsed out for dinners which means no snacks. I need to do laundry. I need to go grocery shopping. I need to step outside and wander. But the world has told me NO. Or rather ... humanity has told me NO. Actually, its a chance at survival that has forbidden it. And that’s part of the part I’m bawling about.

There are real deaths out there … so many and more to come. And while that’s always been an occurrence, its made horrific by this epidemic contributing to those numbers. Life has essentially been shut off. No days of the week to wander… just the familiar wails of internet news, bingeing distractions and sporadic efforts on personal projects that seem so selfish in this moment.

A 13 year-old has died. Someone I didn’t know but they got referenced in a hashtag I’m following. A woman at the grocery store I’ve frequented a few times is the first to be lost in my town to this. I already know people whose lives are impacted with the loss of a family member. And I’m just sitting here, following this eye-stained outburst , rambling about simplistic fears in a secure location.

Fuck me. And fuck all the entertainment that made me think when the apocalypse came I was going to ride it with the valiance of an eternal need for art. I figured I’d be a wandering jester giving the middle finger to whatever fascist regime instilled itself. I’m no fan of zombie films but I get that zeitgeist. My after the bomb scenarios usually involve robotic hunters, subterranean survival and broken relics of past pop culture carried in tattered bags as a reminder of what once was.

Turns out the apocalypse came through natural intentions. Pandemics are still nature so what’s causing this circle of death to take on a horrific bent is that a lot of the lives lost are human fault. Selfish, rich, empowered American humans who have the luxury of hiding behind executive titles and well-stocked white walls. The designation of these rich old men… sitting in their pulpits controlling the minimal divvying of needed supplies makes them unstoppable. They have the power. They will be elected again. And the only hint of change I can fathom is the inhuman wish of their own infection. And I don’t want to be that person.

So I started screaming. Screaming at them while knowing they’re not in this room. Knowing they’ll never hear me and knowing ... if they did … they wouldn’t care. My words were harsh. Accusatory. Cruel. Broken. And painful, Because they’re choked out of a concerned breathlessness. True helplessness makes emotion (please forward that sentence to Johnny Reznick).

The part I hate about all that… everything I just typed … is that it’s a luxury to feel this. Here ... at the desk of my workspace where, moments before, I was making silly promotional images for tomorrow’s podcast. I’m stretched thin but .. its still my schedule. I’m not outside. I’m not at work. I’m not risking my well-being to be. And that’s … that’s barely worth mentioning. Because the only people who will read it … are in the same boat.

So I’m blaring the Goo Goo Dolls ( a greatest hits compilation) and I’m sitting here knowing that … at some point ... some day ... I’ll have to leave the house. But only for the Laundromat. My partner has to go out every day. To work. As do nurses, bus drivers, shop workers, anyone only now recognized as “essential” by the rest of a society that can afford to cower.

Sure, there’s the false hopefulness meant to make sure we don’t loathe ourselves. It says “every little bit helps” and “make use of the free time” and “flatten the curve.” Yes, that last one is true. But not everyone can do so. There are people who HAVE to be out there ... working on a cure … working to feed us … working to keep the things running we need to continue to cower.

I’m not going to find solace in these Goo Goo Doll tracks ... specifically this previously unheard hit “Better Days.” But I am going to play the whole album. Because I don’t want to put the energy into putting together a playlist or programming a stay at home binge suggestion for others. I DON’T WANT TO BE IN HERE ANYMORE! Not if the reason I stay is cowardice. But that’s why I’m here. Not making a difference by racking up a word count.

Ugh.

Fuck.

Fucking ugh.

I thought writing immediately would be cathartic, editing would be productive and posting it would be … what … that answer to millions of unanswered emotions? Truth is .. there’s little impact in this. And i don’t know if I’ll feel like this around the clock. I just know I feel it right now. Awful. Like shit. And helpless.

I’m going to feel like shit. And with toilet paper at a premium, nothing in the moment is going to repair that. When I’m angry, broken and lost… I’m just going to have to go through it. There’s no way to filter something that’s incomprehensible. And that’s what all of this is right now. Those perceptions might change, but I’m not there yet. So, I might at least tolerate this Goo Goo Dolls song … as that’s NOT something that might happen again.

-sigh-

Tim