Generation Stupid

The sins of the father

are visited upon the son

and the daughter

and I’m not sure it matters.

I see a lot of finger pointing,

chest thumping,

sabre rattling,

with little conviction

and no real bloodlust,

aside from the occasional

unbalanced whack-job.

 

I thought this

was supposed to be The Revolution?

Maybe instead,

it is time

for the Uprising of The Whack-Jobs.

Where the hero is the fool

and the fool the hero.

When the child rejects

suckling at its mother’s tit

and yearns for sugary beverages,

infused with synthetic pig bile

and enough caffeine to jack up an army.

 

Eyes drawn down,

transfixed by handheld oracles

divulging sole sourced factoids.

Eye of Horus winks playfully;

talismans that seek to capture

wailing monsters

and drifting demonic spirits.

Catch the ghost!

Catch the fire!

Feel the Bern!

Gotta catch ’em all

and make this place great again!

 

The sound bite,

bites,

with no teeth left in its head anymore.

Deluges of the deluded

drinking deeply

of that small batch,

Kool-Aid rosé

and proclaiming that

every handpicked information demagogue

is proselytizing and waxing nostalgic.

 

“Remember the Sixties, man?

We were the champions,

who stood for change,

while our brothers came home in body bags.

We marched on Washington,

dropped acid and fucked ’til our cocks burned.

We the progenitors

of modern human avarice.

We lived long enough

to visit our bad trips on the nation.

We have been to the mountain

and we have plenty more

body bags to fill.”

 

“Our cause is just.

Our hearts are righteous.

We, the drawstring beggars;

too cool to rule the roost,

but now we have no time left

and we must fulfill

our end of that blood soaked,

back room bargain.

Our deal with the devil is due.

We’re cashing in our chips

and if there’s anything left,

we’ll take that too!”

 

Yes, this is truly

the Time of the Whack-Jobs.

Welcome to The Revolution.

 

HG – 2016

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