Millenial Howl

Millenial Generation

I stood a witness to the degradation of my generation's intent. Watched helplessly as their solidarity dissolved, and those emblazoned creatures of culture crumbled with their pride. Slick, silver-tongued characters who followed in their fathers' footsteps faltered, and failed. Long-haired millennials with antiquated hippie nonchalance laughed and lost. Their cousins, the fussy adult-children obstinate in their extended adolescence were flattened.

Those determined to institute change where deemed fit were averted by elders lacking empathy. Those same, were forced to forever burden a heavy chip of shame upon their shoulders, after refusing to be stomped like dandelions sprouting from cement cracks within dirty city walkways, which were destined only to mark the sidewalk yellow when some Asian international student planted his hi-flex hi-knit sole. And those internationals swindled and educated here in Mighty US were even still ill with disadvantage, peering through thinly-lensed, thick-framed name-brand glasses bearing eyes barely clearing the dirty coffee-stained dividers which lined college library desks.

Highschool kids were encountered- encumbered by parental expectations- and were elated only by elevated, ethereal, and unimaginable experiences through ecstasy and the like. They chattered and gathered amongst each other like commandeered cattle.

Vegans would veer under furrowed brows offering unsolicited statistics with vindication, under the assumption that their lifestyle and viewpoints were universally valid, or even venerated.

And the old coffee lounge hipsters brooded. Those hipsters, they gathered like hyped hyenas, harping upon various injustices, wholly ineffectual. Their tattered waistcoats and tarnished leather elbow pads could tell more tales than their un-titillating conversations and tick-tacking typewriters ever would. Though their voices transcended past their lofty lounge and was overheard, by none other than the influence able and spirited youth! Still more wet behind the ears than his dick had ever been, he eagerly eavesdropped, listening intently whenever those hypocritical hipsters gathered. A youth at a time when mysteries were extinct, and knowledge unbound buzzed at one's fingertips. And though he craved intellect, he lacked it- and was fooled! Those men of older generation from dial-up internet and Pogs, they seemed like wisemen, though they were what was wrong. Those hipsters and their hollow conversations would ultimately homogenize within the hordes of flapping lips with idle hands, which spouted hypotheticals and hapless solutions that seemed only to dawn upon those with no intention to help. Even still, they were overlooked by the vivacious, re-born silver-haired vixen who'd just entered, looking for her afternoon caffeine fix- three generations in one establishment, and they were clueless.

The disturbed 1984 die-hard in the corner, he glanced up from his novel briefly to examine customers who entered. His book: a shield against socializing, and maybe the world. A renegade recluse with profound potential; he sat still equipped with intrepid cynicism, was misunderstood, and mismanaged by parents unable to relate to his adolescent attitude and fierce frustration. Behind the counter, the busy barista bustled, juggling bubbling coffees and piping-hot paninis. Her hands reached over plastic cups and stainless-steel countertops while customers demanded and demanded. That faded black uniform hid a body which pounded and shook, while boisterous beverages blended. One girl asked her a question to which she didn't respond. She'd left the porch light on when she departed. Undeservedly pretentious and understandably unsatisfied. She represented an entire generation deeply departed from fellow man and contentious of convention.

All the while, community-college desperados made up for lost time. Amongst them were sunken slackers whose attention was regularly lost in their shadows, and the radical, enthusiastic, reinvigorated middle-aged, who ran rampant with opinions blatantly outdated to the few who were listening. The educated and hopeful professors within those institutions stood amongst banal crowds of stagnant minds yet elucidated effortfully, and miraculously with sporadic success. Those with meaningful intent and drive escaped from this cageful system; others commiserated, and found solace from their lack of educational propulsion only in Stockholm-syndrome-like synchrony with the faculty or, outright surrender to the ambition. These campuses were a rare mix of underprivileged underdogs who lugged beater cars to 8am classes and their pampered, well-fed peers who were late to those classes.