2015-Its all over. After high school everyone has to jump out the nest and hope instinct takes their precious light body safely through the air. But not everyone flys, some just sink to the ground and become crushed ruined potential. Then again some soar but it’s hard to keep heavy criticisms buried when your wings are broken and your peers flap above you.
The starving artist is dead, nobody’s really out there praying each night to find the next voice of a generation. They’re praying for their amazon order to come in on time. I call writers historians of emotional and overall mentality of a period. They let us know in humanistic terms what was happening, what people were thinking, and what we were doing whether similar or not in another partially lost time. With technology moral dexterity loosens and as we approach an age with the ability to compute faster than the human brain. It seems to some like we live in Sodom and Gomorrah.
The youth is hypnotized by money and festivals and we don’t consider the ramifications of aiding and abetting with our new informed demographic of scabs. We beg to be part of the establishment. It’s fun to be young. We haven’t quite taken up with the monster controllers of the world. We still consider ourselves individuals unique in some strange way that makes us different from the rest. But that’s just a Disney concept. We all see ourselves as the animated protagonist. But if you dissect the facts entirely we are all part of the heard.
We all aspire and wish ourselves to be separate but we are all products of this commercial cluster-fuck. Chances are the person you like is going to have five out ten major similarities because there aren’t that many choices. Choices will die when the last scrap of ingenuity and creativity is conditioned. But who cares there’s nothing you can do about it, but then again that’s so sad. All you creative people who havn’t let the world bring you down to the ground crushed by your own aspirations and ambition just wait until you try to fly.
What a bummer.