Editorial: A Lament for the Unemployable Hopeless Romantic.

I no longer believe in love. I have been cathartic for months. I am too much a failure to live, and too lazy to go out to pasture, dying Ina bleak whimper. I used to think I wanted love, in-truth I probably only wanted lust (a far more complicated situation indeed.) yet I tend to find myself crying out for this life to hand me anything! I've been unemployable, unable to work, lethargic to pick up anything but a pen and write on. I always wanted something beautiful, loving, and hopeful in my life. I always wanted understanding. I just don't want my life. I'd trade a loved in, brutal life than this stasis I call a living. I want something, en if its knocking at Death's hollowed gates. I would like more than what I have. I am not greedy, I'm just hopeless. I'm unemployable, I don't fit your think tank mold. I don't care for your pains and ails, I don't want your pity or remorse. I don't get hurt by your scorn, and I don't harken your dismay. I hate being me, but I love what I stand for. I want my life to change, not necessarily end. I expect things will gradually pick up, or more likely decrease, worsen. I'm not a loser, but I fear no failure. I would like to not feel like I'm a pro at failing however. I'm the generation that was left behind, the lost boys of the digital age. The last of the great men, that are stripped of all things male. I'm pro masculinity, and humble to feminist qualms. I'm not apathetic, just fed up with this life. If I ever do get better, if things turn out for the best, I'll never be great in my critics' eyes. That's just fine with me. I love the haters, I'm my own biggest one. mcasteditorial@yahoo.com twitter.com/mcasteditorial or @mcasteditorial