Drugs.

I am far from a druggie even if im not unfamiliar with the occasional hasch joint or brownie. I keep my use out of the public eye, away from the peering and judging looks of the old ladies of this town, frowning and strolling around with their shopping carts in a delusion that they still live in a town of morals

Its been here for over 200 years, the pride of mid-scandinavian architecture and the historical melting pot of vikings and merchants peddling their goods. I suppose nothing has changed but the stalls. The deerpelts are gone and replaced by the low-grade, shoddy heroin wrapped in tinfoil, shining in the orange light of the street lamps. Not that I ever took the offer of course. Just like everyone else I smoke my weed and pretend that the source of this stinky plant doesn’t fuel the shivering smackheads that crop up like… well, like weeds

The Politics of Complacency

Even the radio has been reduced to a team of boomer-men and women discussing whatever they think is “edgy”. Of course its a safe sort of edge we speak of. Its the kind of edge that is too dull to cut into anything but the nerves of the grandparents of these people, which begs the question: Who the fuck are you trying to offend? This generation has thoughts and deeds spoken and unspoken that you can never even imagine, you are incapable of engaging with them, and to try to make a program edgy enough to produce a reaction from these kids? We don’t even speak the same language, you mutants! They replay the same tired responses from the same tired politicians. The drug problem, the immigrant problem, the violence problem. It all gets the same response like our prime minister was some NPC from an old adventure rpg:

“It’s unacceptable!”

Is it? is it, Mr. Prime Minister? its been growing for 20 years, maybe more. You could have nipped it in the bud then but you chose not to. Its “unacceptable”. Clearly its not unacceptable enough to stop it, its not unacceptable enough to listen, its not unacceptable enough to give justice to the drunken fools and rape victims flooding the streets with their forgotten tears

We are the last of them, and yet the first ones to come along in a long time. We fled from the godforsaken idealogy that was alotted to us before we were born. A whole generation within a generation of Charlton Hestons forced to their knees before that great failed experiment masking as progress. Bleeding with passion we call out, we call out to the bastards who dared make our choices for us

“You maniacs!” we roar “You blew it up! damn you all to hell!”

They dispensed with everything that built our culture, all the religion and all the great men and women responsible for the ideals we hold to be so self evident. It is to those people we protest. And man they cant stand it

They cant stand a generation of men and women longing for commitment, sacrifice and morals. They resent us, and why wouldn’t they? in their world the only thing to strive for is pleasure and freedom, not real freedom mind you, not freedom from the things that bind us but freedom from the things they dislike: faith, responsibility, tradition. People should be free to do as they wish as long as what they wish for aligns with their idealogy

They could never have seen this coming. They spent their entire revolution on making sure their children would be able to choose what to believe and who to follow. They could never imagine that that freedom meant their children would choose a different path. No, not a “different” path, I mean a different path. Instead of free sex with anyone in sight we chose one partner per lifetime, instead of oppressed and oppressor we chose “All are equal” instead of pseudo-moralistic cynisism we chose religion. Religion, that dreaded word, that shackle that binds us down, how could we choose it willingly? They will never have the answer and we can never give it to them, not in a way they will understand

Perhaps reality will catch up the absurdity some day, perhaps not. Until then let’s hope not for revolution but for transcendance.