“Much like Texas, California is a state that contributes greatly to American identity by celebrating an identity that is entirely its own.”
The Gold Rush
Beyond the ursine sentry is a waiting room
I can’t get past the sentry. Yet. But time is definitely on my side. You know why? No one has the fortitude of a gen-x-er, forced to survive in a sea of hippie changeling elites who consumed all the natural resources and were the last beneficiary of that quaint yet interminable construct, the American “dream.”
Then, came the avocado-toast, podshare, blockchain millennials who were the only ones who could save the world now, with their self-driving, space-seeking, factory-sleeping guru with an eight letter name.
Blatant profiting off the masses was out, sharing the wealth (so long as it fits the Warren Buffet standard, I guess) by sticking it to the man, also out. No Robinhoods here. “No one wants the homeless in their neighborhood,” he reported as the takeaway from the news story.
The story was about how RVs, which are seeing a boon in sales they say due to “baby boomers & millennials” (what a market to claim! Most of the worlds population (aka consumption of natural resources) is comprised of these fucks. They have the numbers, and much like zombie infestation, the numbers gain ground, with mind-numbing assurance. The story was about how families living in RVs after being unable to afford Southern California sky-rocketing rent, were being banned from parking – everywhere.
Put ’em in Beverly Hills.
Think, if you will, of the little tribe of sentient beings lead by a stoic and expedient Rick in The Walking Dead as Gen-X. They are responsible for the undoing of moral turpitude, the dissension among the ranks, filtering the messages and ensuring the human race survives. The behind the scenes guy. The fixer. The puppetmaster. The captain of the ship.
The first latch key kids, Gen-X -ers learned to be self-sufficient. You can thank them for keeping netflix alive long enough to take over your entertainment modis operandi or mo·dus op·e·ran·di if you prefer.
They were also expressly formed in a cultural synthesis that only existed until the beginning of mass suicides where everyone died a little inside the day we heard Kurt Cobain killed himself.
The Godfather, The Shining, Jaws, Star Wars, Pulp Fiction – these were our movies.
For the generation whose first presidential experience was hearing their betrayed father snarl tricky Dicky * at the television set to come of age during the age of astrology policy, trickle down theory and *Material Girl served a side of cynicism with that beloved sicky sweet apple pie. We got screwed.
We made up for it. Fighting our parents who wondered why we were struggling, as the post-WW2 mindset was still going strong in the chaos of the 70s excess, followed by greed, ruthlessness & furtive expansiveness of the 80s (the world was open then, briefly, or so it seemed). That whiplash of values (uh, hippies to Gordon Gecko?) bled into the confusion that was the 90s. Heroin chic was actually a thing? How does that happen? After Gia had died of AIDS? The best music dripped with the agile pain-killing effects, while speaking of truths only certain of us could abide.
The fallacy of The Dream
Why aren’t you doing better?
Major stock indices plunge
“The next crash”
“The crack epidemic”
“War on poverty”
The Greatest Generation
Our manic depressive grand-fathers, who invented more inventions than you could shake a stick at, but forgot to patent them. Luckily, some he did and the genius inventor parameter was kept alive. In the spirit of that, I am kept alive.
That lead to two doctors and their understanding of the world was how we kill ourselves. Or how we continue our race, the human race, not the ideological, skin-color-identifying parameter race, despite almost blowing it on a regular basis.
I need to read this aloud for you to really “get” the meaning imbued through cadence, the flow of ideas as expressed metaphorically, with familiarity so the language moves us forward to consider other ways of seeing this world we share. Or at least, I think we share, but this all could just be a lonely hologram in the multiverse where “reality” doesn’t really exist-because reality is nothing more than shared perception. The state of things. Get real, Jody. That’s reality *they say when you hit your first road bump. A kind of *fuck you too welcome to life, kid implication best circumvented by the term “reality show.”
Unlike a puppet show or a talent show, a reality show’s gonna hurt. That’s life, kid.
Citations in beginning: