The Greats

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We’re a generation raised with ease in mind, brought into the world of instant coffee and instant noodles and automated teller machines and powdered formula milk, standard operating procedures, standard school manuals, global standards, rules and regulations, where all shirt sizes are medium and all colors are gray, in a world where everything has been invented and designed and tuned to perfection, and if there were questions, Google would answer

We’ve lived our lives as if we were worthy to build monuments for, in a world who taught us to believe in ourselves, self-indulgent and narcissistic and egocentric, to chase your dreams and follow the trail of passion, little cities we sculpted out of clicks and drags and sweep all that’s unflattering beneath the rugs using our un-tired feet, heroes in our own world and in our own terms

We are a generation deprived of greats – we are afraid of infamy, insanity, absurdity, the sore thumb, the black sheep, nonconformity, where rebels sit on lofty armchairs and yell against the system using a standard-issue battery-operated megaphone, empty statuses and tweets and quotes borrowed from obscure blog posts and newspaper run-intos, and we go to sleep and dream of conformity, dream of our mother’s womb, dream of monarchic order, where everything in history that’s been done by Hitler and Caesar and Nero is not to be emulated

We are a generation of pretentious makers, self-styled masters of styles of carbon copies and patched-up mosaics of magazine clippings from history, and we shit on it like we own it. What we say is apparently what we believe in and not what we believe in is what we say, for we were raised in a world of point-of-purchase, shock advertising, call-to-actions and name recall, and what matters is not why you do it and how you do it but what you do and who you are and how you look and what shoes you wear and what brands you rock. We’ve got no more Dalis, no more Da Vincis, no more Mozarts, no more Shakespeares, because we’re all Dalis, Da Vincis, Mozarts, Shakespears in our own right and we believe it so under a strong hallucinatory sensation

We’re a generation of hollows and empty shells and we go through journeys of picking up things we like to believe in and we call ours, and out of desperation, select fragments of hollywood stars and local TV actors to fill a hole that’s inside us that’s been deprived of self-thought, independent thinking, and developed tastes, we’re blatantly copying from copies, we’re putting together amalgamations of amalgams, and we shit on it like we own it

We’re a generation where ‘great’ has lost its meaning in between all the reblogs and retweets and favorites and likes and shares and definitions, where meaning is for topical application and descriptions are tooltip highlights, where association is preferred over understanding

and undeniably, we’re great at it. 

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