Fucked Up Angry Men

“We’re all fucked up. The sooner you realise that, the better.”

“Who are you calling fucked up?” I thought. My spine tingled with righteous indignation, sensing an opportunity to vent some anger. Anger is coiled up within me, waiting to pounce at the merest slight against my character and calling me “fucked up” felt like a great oppurtunity.

Of course, this statement implied he was also fucked up, along with the rest of society as a whole. This swiftly nullified any potential explosion of anger, but I could feel it prickling away underneath, itching to get out there.

That flicker of anger was triggered inside me in a flash, before I’d had a chance to consider balance, nuance or reason and was a timely reminder that yes, I am fucked up, just as you are, and that I am also angry. Very, very angry.

Not only was my friend correct, but the poet Philip Larkin was bang on the money with his poem ‘This Be The Verse’ —

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.

They may not mean to, but they do.

They fill you with the faults they had

And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn