.
When we reach the threshold of our aspirations
We know that the uplifting beam of generational self approval will fall over us
Slip quietly beneath us without our really knowing it
And transport us as if by magic carpet
Into a challenging yet inspiring new dimension in which
We will take on the amazing ability to stand upright under our own power
And reach up with fingertips at least partially extended
And maybe even almost touch the ceiling
And maybe even almost touch the ceiling
So as to change the world
The Millennial Or: The New Lost: photo by Logan Zillmer, 11 November 2013
[Untitled]: photo by wiissa, 25 March 2013
Young, wired and living life on the digital edge: Meet the Millennials. (Or maybe it's all BS.): photo by Erin Nekervis, 24 December 2007
13 comments:
Full refrigerators, plastic inside and outside, old velvet makes way for black leather jackets dappled with moonlight: this is the green absence of winter... of pre-paid ballet... and the move back-in with mom and dad really isn't that bad, despite the parental unit asking and asking, "What're you planning?"
They're all around us now, and yes, it's impossible to avoid the sobering thought that, yes, they are the future.
Then again, it's also not easy to avoid the less sober thought that, hey, maybe the best thing for these kids, who appear SO badly in need of a lie-down, would be to spend a Saturday night on the streets of Cardiff.
(An "International Study Program"?)
Red,
And what is the parental unit for, after all, but to pick up the bills for every self indulgent, self important multi-facebook'd adolescent whim... and ask annoying questions like that one?
But let's be fair to them, as they've taken over the world and therefore we must want them to... well, not exactly to LIKE us -- who's kidding whom? Let's face it, we're strictly for blank-check-signing, and then it's straight into the retro-gear bin -- but to permit us to wheeze and gasp through our tiresome final throes...
Still, just ever so meekly asking, what recycled style trends will there be left to rummage-through when all the litter and paraphernalia of all those benighted and superseded generations of upright bipeds is no longer there to acquire by the simple trick of simulated proximity?
Not that Game of Thrones isn't the most intellectually stimulating thing ever to tease devolution that next step down the ladder. But just saying.
They’re animals
just as we are animals,
supernumeraries like ourselves,
existing in a world of too many people
and too few jobs;
in a world of scarcity
taught to be consumers of the not-really-necessary
to work, obey, buy stuff
to drink the kool aid
to compete with machines
that perform the same mindless routines
at a better price-point
and that never demand unions
or sick days
that never ask for enough money to live on;
which is the same thing . . .
as they have been so egregiously lied to . . .
as just enough money to keep buying
the same never-really-necessary crap
and so on
"To change the world" one badminton racquet at a time.
Some phrases never die, they just fade away.
I never thought I would think well of the concept of self-loathing, but in contrast to generational self approval, at least it offers the opportunity and a starting point for considering self-improvement. This is funny, very well-observed and painful. Yesterday I read an odd story (I forget whether it emanated from the US or the UK) about pre-schoolers and kindergarteners lacking the skills to put together toy blocks in the usual fashion, but being dexterous at iPad and iPhone swiping. I wish I knew what to say, but having been on the receiving end of some irritating put-downs from millenials and their immediate predecessors (I never could properly identify or distinguish between Generation X and Y), I really don't. I guess my daughter is a millennial, but she's pretty much on the ball and avoids most of the stereotypes and cliches. Now, if she could only avoid the irritating put-downs, but I suppose that comes with the territory. Curtis
Can't we have the rage of Caliban back? I don't think I can face another charming bowler hat or a smoothie in an Old Skool Milk Bottle.
We are all a part of it
but the question remains:
how much a part of it
are we unwilling to be?
At such times (yet never entirely)
when so much seems lost or lacking
and no matter how thoroughly the hallucinations overtake -
the way back less epic: that is through plain
hard work -
glorious whims are arriving
in extended glimpses and like the episodes of a dream only half-
recalled on waking
Or a storm driving over the distant mountains
bringing much needed rain
Or as I read in an email today from a company I had done business with:
"It’s Been a while! Come Back & Save"
"WE MISSED YOU!"
Oh to feel wanted! To make a difference!
"To change the world" one badminton racquet at a time.
A tall order for a young sportswoman, but what we're all about here is aiming high. That and trying not to press our backsides into the rubbish bin TOO hard, in like, yknow, a non-ecologically-sound way.
All I can say, in addition of course to all I have already said, is, things have come a long way down since the time it was possible for parents to communicate meaningfully with their adolescent children... over the hearthside, or the tv dinner, as the warm, emotionally-securing case may have been.
"How can there be two Antichrists?"
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