Whine (in response to Ginsberg's 'Howl')

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 08, 2018

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Submitted: August 08, 2018

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Where are the greatest minds of my generation? No angel-heads or even cherub-cheeked... Those precarious few, scattered so thin they could intersect yet not recognize each other.. probably not even speak the same language. Also, not hipsters, not today’s.. ours are Facebook Twitters and selfie solo acts waiting to be made famous by random chance... And to compare the drugs of today, even they don’t bother to promise some ‘Nirvana’, but advertise a distraction for a duration unspecified... though, we are reluctant to listen with our skeptical ears... and we scrutinize them through narrowed eyes, distrusting and ready to criticize and point out exactly how they fail to deliver as described... We like to focus on critiquing the effectiveness of our means of tending our escapes. We seem no longer that bewildered, shocked and shy kind that hides its shadows from prying eyes but charges brutishly forward at the blackness and kicking down its door... yelling at the Night for being too damn bright. tell death to ‘just walk in...’, hang up his own friggin cowl and to wipe his damn feet this time...
There’s no more magic at the edges of our lives, no more beyond the beyond, no supernatural... no jazz. All we have are bubble gum Pop thats already been chewed and blues that has been remixed by idle Icons, little kids with too much make-up and money...always chasing a moment that happened 20 or 30 years before... attempting to relieve a memory they never knew and now will be forgotten...
The minds of my generation wouldn’t know ‘El’, wouldn’t recognize Heaven and only know Mohammed from the 6 o’clock News version all distorted and askew... Universities today don’t ‘spark righteous fires’ but rather ‘provide safe rooms’ and wailing zones for the traumatized tantrums from pampered ‘participationists’... the great mass of equally unique and mob of the special individuals all different exactly the same. The often offended we must tiptoe through.... Our wars, they are both, elaborately choreographed and delicately dressed Mummer’s games... and invisible conflagrations, silent, bullet-less and violent. The halls of Academia place academics and education behind economics and monetization... Through profit margins the fiscal virus has twisted the word ‘value’ itself, become a pandemic and unchecked plague... unchecked and rampant because we are blinded by the frenetic worship of the substantial financial mythology.
The greatest minds of my time? Either they have drank the poison and now slowly die in dogmatic delirium deliberately drowning in desperate delusion... or they chew their fingers in solitude... thinking what they know doesn’t show, and they’ll slip through a hole... they intend to blend in among the zombies... hoping their songs are subsumed and swallowed by the course, constant, compounding, collective WHINE...
 
-6/13/18 K. Rieke-


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