Never mind the best of us I, I have seen the rest of us wander out into the desert parking lots, exodus from bars and rest stops with no sleep drunk behind wheels that take them no where in particular. Bodies and minds prostituted in our highest universities. “Before I throw you out of my class may I ask you why you have such a sense of entitlement?” We are all entitled to learn and to do it at no greater cost than our time and our blood and fears and ambition.
We have gone on too long to see men without women and men with out men. Men without *** because there is no revolution. The women are too busy texting while driving and they are now dead. Free love is as dead as communism and the act of necking at the drive in.
Men are turned boys again who live on couches in one room basements in basements in basements in cages. Just where they ought to be, youthful beasts, who wish to make more of their lives, wish to make anything at all.
I have worked shoulder to shoulder with those that do not want to work because it can’t even pay the bills. Why dig your own grave only to die trying to dig your way out? And yet even to the lucky ones death never comes. There is no cold, only the burn of want, ever and always.
Perhaps money is a sickness far greater than those who suffer and sweat through swine flu and strep throat, have broken legs, loose bowls and AIDS. HA! For money won’t afford them the 300 hundred dollar lift in the ambulance. So even the dead are not dead, they are being ****** instead.
Then there are the zombies those that walk both day and night, rather, endless night, loyally addicted to a tin of tobacco or a real wicked pack. Forget what they tell you about health risk, at 7 bucks a pop tabbacy can’t feed your baby and winter is coming fast.
People have forgotten the elderly that walk the sides of the roads waiting for handicapped access to their graves. Perhaps it’s because the old has forgotten the young just as much. But lest we forget, I speak to you as a fountain of youth.
“Let them eat cake!” OR feast on handfuls of Slim Jims and pour me a tall, warm Pap’s Blue Ribbon because bread and eggs and water are for the Prince of Monte Carlo and food stamps are too passé, besides they aren’t even stamps anymore!
I want to cry for the many with broken hearts sewn together through strings of text messages and with the precession of a Nike sweat shop worker. The heart of the world is coming undone. Touch the next person you see before it’s too late.
Finally a word to the wise, more specifically the literate: My generation knows God is dead (we found his body in one of those soggy bar parking lots after a night of Quizzo) yet so is science (Discovery Channel is way boring nowadays). We are alone as a tree in Brooklyn.