Beaten Generation Walking the Death Boulevard
by Aanya F Niaz
We listen to music as often as we breathe and indeed,
we formulate rhythms frequently in our hearts and minds without interception.
We listen to classic tales of glory, rap on everyone’s story and are facing abundant sources of man’s follies. Constantly surrounded by sounds, we are becoming silenced within ourselves.
Streaming headlines, breaking news alerts, celebrity, elite fiesta updates, rape scenes, pictorial evidence of starving children, congregating politicians, lobbying presidential candidates and unending connection with the entire world via internet is not just informing us, but it is also devastating us.
We are making our journey on what I am amused to call the ‘Death Boulevard’.
Our five senses are constantly evoked and we are taught to be afraid of solitude and idleness. Sure, “an idle mind is the devil’s workshop” but so is a mind persistently pursuing overwhelming thoughts at the speed of light. We are consumed by cosmopolitanism, along with political agendas of the very society we reside in. What is left behind, unseen in the rearview mirror is the empty shell of an egg that is yet to give birth. The dusty pink hues of sunlight do not hit our souls any longer, for we cloud the rays with sickened shadows created out of eclectic conceptions of being; determined by external forces rather than internal forces. Laced with intensity, the immense power of information is gaining acceleration in making us spiteful of silence and mere ramblings of nothingness.
What happened to you, quietness? Why did you leave me spiraling, unlike the dervaish who sought clarity? Why did you not cleanse me of the corrupted waters of vin rouge? In the triumph of your industrial persona, the sun set on me and the dust cannot be removed in this disaster. Unmoved, yet scintillated by the conversation flooding, I am drowning without any calm. I am burdened by your never-tiring, never-feeling and unstoppable charisma. No longer do we stroll through meadows, rolling through the sweltering grass laced with morning dew. The glassy waters flow, however, without an emblem of humanity. The world is touching me in every way, but my sensibility has yet to touch the world. That is what this generation is doing to us, robbing us shamelessly and leaving us stark nude to face the world with no wonder but absolute comprehension of overwhelming ideologies. What about formulating my unique theory on stardust settling upon the moon, slow and steady. What happened to slow and steady?
I can no longer think on my own but my thoughts are dominated by the destructive forces of the tornado I am stuck in. Inside a laundry machine, the detergent is too strong and replete with bleach, raging away the colors in my bewildered eyes and emptying the hearty soul, which is the fundamental key to living. Give me my life back, I ask. Determination within myself to seek the spark once more; amidst the glory of madness and exhaling violent thoughts, I shall summon my surroundings to gather distance away from me so that I may arise in my sharp isolation and watch myself from above: stupendously enriched, exposed and stark raving, raging and raving crazy.
Will you join me?