Kill Me, Kill Me Now

Is the world really such a big, bad, sinister place to live?  Why does it seem like suicide is on a sharp upswing of popularity, or atleast the threat, perpetrated as a means of control.  Show some hesitation marks, text message a cry for help, or just help by spreading Karma-draining drama.  Facebook a mournful synopsis of your unbelievably dreadful day, your latest breakup, and don’t forget to change status (By the way, why did Facebook ever earn verb status?)   Or better yet, let everyone know you’re goth and go about town just oozing with black gooey sorrow.  

Is it just me, or has everyone lost their testicles?  People seem soft & squishy these days—or atleast pliable.  And as much as I hate myself for typing it: maybe their on to something.  The statement of this generation is, “Save me!”  Naturally, the GenXer’s are too busy working, trying to rage against losing their houses, to notice—digging through the rubble, searching out the last crumbled debris of the American dream. 

Plus, acknowledging the self-induced issues of others seems difficult, something we attempt to steer clear of, but are too dumb to fully pull it off.  We want to be Zen, but we’re too perplexed by the shit happening around us.  We’re like the half in/half out generation.  We are the, “take your time/hurry up” people that Kobain wrote about.  Of course, our social schizophrenia hasn’t endeared us to our offspring.  But worse, we’re politically correct about everything!  Really?  Pucky-cock.

What’s wrong?  Everything: the school systems, the economy, video games, cell phones, lap-tops, rap music, and naturally—Wal-Mart, the government, and the Top 40.  When did everything start being so wrong?  But man, are we in a hurry to get somewhere.  I actually saw a woman vibrate in her car seat when she had to wait an extra, “3 seconds” to exit a bank parking lot.  What the FUCK is that about, and is “tar & feathering” still buried in the books somewhere?

Why the frantic pace?  Only to get home, set in front of a cold screen watching the computer boot up, waiting, to enter your life.  “My life, you’re blocking it…move that POS you call an SUV so I can go home and synthesize my existence,” he cried into the empty shell of his soul.  Tragic Rabbits, we are.   So smooth, we never saw it coming. 

My advice (for us X’ers), find someone, a real someone, and hug them.  Or just run for your life.  Sorry, is that half in/half out?  

For the “Save me’s,” tear it down and start over.  You’re smarter than us (although a bit more fragile), and will do a better job.  It’s your world after all.  Sorry we jacked it up so bad.  Now, stop crying.