A Letter to the Youth of America

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Written as i like to thing Hunter would have liked

Submitted: May 28, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 28, 2011



A Letter to the Youth of America

Much of what you are about to read is fact, dusted with fiction... Or is it fiction, laced with facts perhaps? You, the reader are the only one who can answer that question. I am but the messenger, the storyteller, the blind prophet, cursed to see the future, but to always have it fall on deaf ears. Tell me, how deaf are you?

I remember standing on the edge of a cliff, a magical place where I could see the end of Texas, way far out, to where the Pacific sea met the white sand of the California coast, and all I wanted was to be transported there. To instantly become vapor and travel through the wind and the rain, out to a place where I felt the sun would always shine on my face... but alas, my magical cliff wasn’t real. It was made of lights and smoke, no soil or trees. I knew there was nothing for me left in Texas, yet I felt trapped under the weight of the things happening around me. So I sat there, on my cliff, dreaming of the things I would always want, but would have to strive to get: a family, a life free of strife, and people to love me for me. Yet I knew in my heart of hearts, the juice was worth the squeeze.

Yet, as we sit here, aimlessly waiting to the death rattle of “The American Dream”, we smile, because we don't know what better to do. I saw a man the other day, wandering around a random overpass in one of the “nicest” parts of the city. He paced all over the ground, looking down, at the same spots over and over again... he was searching for something. I wanted to ask him what he was looking for when it hit me, this man was all of us. Constantly searching for something we know to be important, but just can't seem to find, and no matter how many times we look in the same spot, if there is the smallest glimmer of hope, we will search that same exact place again. To my own regret, I never asked the man for what he was searching. It could have been loose change, or cigarette butts, but I like to think he was looking for something we would never begin to understand, his own tattered end to the ball of twine that seems to connect us all in ways we can never see.

I had a dream the other night, I read from a book, inked in gold. The pages carried more weight with each sentence written, and oh the words... Like poetry, it flowed like a river from my tongue and mind, and it helped me unravel the mysteries of myself, and made me wonder, 'could I write a book like this?'. Page after page I read the words of sparkling ink, and they touched me deeper in my soul than any sermon ever would. Then I new God was in those pages, maybe not the God that each person believes in, but the God that connects us all. As I looked through the book, I saw pages of the lives of people gone, my grandmother, both my grandfathers, my friend who took his own life, and in those pages they seemed happy, even content. And as I read those words, I promised myself I would never forget them, but I should have known better. Normally being truly enlightened is like a passing fancy, noticed by all, but only understood by some. I believe we see these things when we are ready to open our eyes. Day to day, we walk around in the dark, ignoring each other, like ships in the night. It's sad how we act to each other, yet most people would say, “It's only human.”. What a sad state of affairs our race must be in if to be “human” is to ignore the others around you, to only care about yourself, and where everything else is a means to whatever end we choose to make.

My thoughts, seemingly random, are woven tightly together more than you could imagine. We tend to make prisoners of ourselves, unlike any other. We are controlled by emotions like: guilt, lust, and apathy. At times it seems like the book of life is a long and boring one, and it seems that each one of us is waiting for the climax to happen. After all, it must come to pass. All stories have some sort of climax, some high point in life, or a terrible problem or fear needed to be overcome. Sometimes the catalyst of these climaxes in life can pass us by, and we won't give them a second glance. We all have the opportunity to change things around us, we all just need to find the drive again. What happened to us? Was it technology that put the first nail in our coffin as a species? It seems throughout this war between old and new, words themselves have taken the most casualties. People forget the power of words, and the things they have done in the past. It seems so long ago when words had their meaning understood, and appreciated.

Words have made kings, and toppled crowns. Words have uplifted hearts, and shattered them into a million pieces. Words have founded countries, and started revolutions. And now thanks to age of “texting” and “blogging” words have lost the power they once had. But that power still resides within them, a sleeping dragon, wild and fierce. Only by using words can we change things. “And though the truncheon will always be used in loo of conversation, words will retain their power. They are a means to meaning, and to those who will listen, the enunciation of truth... And the truth is, there is something wrong here isn't there?”. I sit here, in a dark room, and laid out before me are eighty-six keys, but like know not a single one can open a lock. I stare at them, and notice that each one is different, unique compared to all the rest. Then I realized as I puff on the shrubbery in my pipe, that even if none can open a lock, all of them, if used correctly can open many doors. So I reach down and lay my hands above the keys, waiting, letting them hover, waiting for something to happen. Then a jolt comes from my heart and I feel electricity in my hands, and they strike down on the keys in a rapid succession. My eyes close as the 'clack-clack' of the keyboard buttons cease, and I look at what they have written. And it simply reads, “And thus, it begins...”

In the beginning, they say there was God... but whose God? No one really knows, except for the people already loosed from this mortal coil. Although most of the Nation, if in fact the world itself, believe Texas to be as backward was certain tribes in Pappua New Guinea. The strange fact it that could not be farther from the truth. In its own, American right, it's a “mecca” of different religions. For instance, the Christian God, who all people pray to, yet there is a Catholic God that everyone hides from. A Baptist God that everyone fears, and a Lutheran God that no one understands. So many different denominations over the belief of being saved. They have paved the streets and country roads of Texas. Every single line on the map. People are so concerned at who is right and who is wrong, they lose the whole ides of what being “saved” is supposed to be. Grace. Unconditional love. But still we find many people who claim to believe in the same God justifying any means to outdue one another. So we sit and watch, as an audience on a football field, beer and food in hand, we watch who will destroy the other on the field of battle, all in the name of the same God. The God of peace and mercy. So in the beginning, there was God.

Few people fear God these days. Everyone tries to not think about someone over us, watching our every move. Many act as if there is no God, and perhaps they may be right. Perhaps life in this place is just a cluster of different atoms, violently colliding with one another. Maybe our actions that affect us and the ones around us mean nothing in the long scheme of things. Maybe we are just all walk clocks, waiting for the final tick. I like to think us as a race are capable of more than that. I believe there is some unknown force, connecting us all. I can feel it, walking through the streets of Houston. Most people ignore others as they pass them on the sidewalk, but every now and again, you find someone smile. I like to believe at we all have a purpose while we are on this Earth, the question is: who will fulfill their purpose? And who will fall short? I think we are all at some point given a time to achieve something extraordinary, but with the laziness of this new “doomed generation”, people are seldom willing to risk any discomfort, even if it meant they themselves could do something as amazing as saving a life. It's a dark day when man begins to loose his humanity toward other men, but alas, that day came and went decades ago.

Now people of the lower class are confined to zoos, man made gilded cages meant to satisfy one need: survival. People stuff families of four in one bedroom apartments stacked four stories high. As drive up to the broken “security” gate, I notice the massive parking lot filled with cars with only a handful of places to park. I look up at the building and find it reminiscent zoo exhibit. Children playing on the edge of handrails, swinging like chimpanzees, having the greatest fun of their lives, not knowing one slip of their hand would end their short lives. Parents sit in the small apartments, watching television as they peer outside once in a while to check if their children are still alive. On the ground floor, the “courtyard” amounts to a large pile of soft dirt for children to play in. During the summer they would turn on a hose and make mud, looking like hogs, read for the slaughter, rolling in filth. What ever happened to the American Dream? Hunter left this world because he was disgusted with the way the world was going, and what it was becoming. When did people stop wanting better for their children than they had when they were saplings, just waiting to grow. It seems the children want to be adults, and the adults want to be children. Mothers out at the club, leaving their kids with parents or in-laws. Single moms getting so drunk they forget where they are, or who they sleep with. Fathers choosing drugs like cocaine and meth over feeding their own starving little ones. What is this place coming to? Is this what the end of the world is like? Just endless disappointments in the human race? I remember when drugs where taken because they were fun, not because it was a lifestyle choice. I see it happen so fast too, like lightning bolts from a storming sky. Saints turn into sinners everyday, and people just don't seem to want to change things. I fantasize about being able to personally clean up the streets of this city, like The Saints of South-Boston, ending the lives of the filth that has begun to grow on our streets. No trial, no mercy, only justice. But like I said, it's only a thought. Still, why can't we fight for something better? What would happen if we, as a whole, decided to change things. With the right amount of people, we can move mountains. We can rise up together, all as one, and in that one voice shout out our call, “Everyone deserves the American Dream! Not just the rich! It belongs to every American who sets foot on this soil!”.

Still, with each passing year, our definition of “value” is changed. When we are children, “value” can be seen in almost anything: a stick, piece of candy, even a cloud in the sky. But as we grow older that changes. Some teens and preteens find “value” in video games, and school, and other kids. Some take “value” in other, more dark things: like drugs, violence, and gang-life. Now even though these choices will inevitably lead two different people, in two separate directions, they will always come to the same next “value”: money. Sadly, good or evil, sinner or saint, the world is ruled by the almighty dollar. If you need it, you want it, and if you have it, all you want is more. In truth, it like a drug. If we go without money for few weeks, we look all haggard, and tired like we were detoxing, but as soon as that money hits our hand, and as soon as it is enough to buy ANYTHING, our faces light up like someone had just given us “crack”. In a way, at that point, we are no different than the homeless on the street, with their hands out and holding signs up like banners, we just work harder. Then again, our “value” system changes, normally to the same end: when you don’t notice the “value” of something... until you might not have it anymore. Like a loved one, a kindred spirit, someone you chose to share every aspect of your life with. Someone who knows your demons and doesn’t care. Someone who would give their life for you, and you for them, if they only asked. Someone who makes you feel like you can fly, even though you know you can't. When you feel like you might loose that person, that's when you find what true”value” is. It's not your bank account, your looks, your smarts, or even your belongings... its the thing we all gave up looking for, what we all want, and what seldom actually find: true happiness.

So here we all sit, at the peak of a new mountain, in a new land. Then at this high spot, the place where the very horizon begins, we sit like giants among men, all of us judging one another. Depending on how we sound, look, or even smell, people tend to be ignorant, because it's the simplest thing to do. What a sad place to call home... This letter is written to those who still have a chance. Those people who are willing to think outside the box. Only those people will change the fate of this country, this world. Free-thinkers, minds never closed to the new and seemingly impossible. This is my letter to the youth of our nation. Do not be the new doomed generation. Think for yourselves and see past the veil, covering your eyes... Good luck, God knows you will need it. -Raul Duke II

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