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anti-tweet

Dedicated to Oyl Miller.

I saw the worst minds of my generation uplifted and upkept by commerce and goals and finance and booze and pbr-fueled late-night whatever-tv-showathons, spritually starved for satisfaction in a world void of satisfying factions, stomping through playgrounds made up of scholarships and inadequate financial aid packages — Obama-led fiscal promises of a scholarly sort — surrounded by stale dorm food masquerading as environmentally sound nonsense, ethanol-fueled utensils that crumble and whimper into pebble crumbs when broken I saw. . .

I saw the most fortunate souls of any generation, cluelessly, desperately seeking…something, anything that will fill them up in every and any way possible, and failing, fmling their ways through the dark lols and lulls of their lives of amplification and gentrified and mollified and exemplified and saturated lives of overwhelming significance.

I saw this, I saw that, I saw me…part of that and this mess alike. And I say nothing. Because there is no point. Only dull, numbing, monotonous, claustrophobically silent panic gnawing at the fringes of my moral and civic consciousness. Endlessly and ceaselessly. And mercilessly. And carelessly. With an eerily, scarily, frighteningly exacting, random precision that outpaces any of my post-modernly scattered, fucked up best intentions. And “So it goes…” a wise, grumpy, jaded old man once said when he wasn’t that old and grumpy but just enough jaded.

140 characters? Sorry, 1,499 is all I have. For now.

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