Posted by: shellyweave | September 16, 2010

titles are annoying to write.

All of this crazy mumbo-jumbo has me in a bind.

In English class we read poetry that tears open your mind and reveals something about yourself– and by yourself, I mean  the proverbial “yourself”– that you never knew before. I find  myself sitting there actually thinking, which for our society nowadays seems like a stretch. I read poems by Dickinson, Poe, Neruda, Shelley,  Hughes, Angelou, Cummings and Frost, who write about love, death, lust, life, longing, nature, and sadness–things that touch the soul and spin the cogs inside of our minds and I get sad. I become sad for our culture, for our lack of knowledge of things full of beauty, for our lack of the full understand of the comfort that the rhythmic pattern of words can bring to a person, and for our lack of drive to strive after those things.

I’m prompted to read books like Atlas Shrugged and Brave New World, among other works of literature, that speak of ideologies that urge us to go against the normal, to find the truth in a society sheltered by lies. These are pure stories. I feel like we no longer feel the need to strive after change, that we have become a modified less gruesome image of the worlds depicted in Huxley’s and Rand’s novesl. We are too comfortable.

We live surrounded by these superfluous comforts that I speak of yet, even I am not willing to give them up. I can speak out and say that our world will never change, that we need people to lead our country, our world into new directions, but I cannot say that I will be the one to do so. I can say that we need to expand our minds by de-emphasizing the knowledge base around us–for I fear that the more we learn the less we truly know –yet, I don’t know if I am willing to give up the easy access to information that this world provides us with. That is what our generation has become. We are the generation that has the most access to any  and all forms of knowledge, we have the easiest ways to spread our ideas to the world surrounding us but, we also remain the generation with the least profound things to say. We need people who speak of love, death, lust, life, longing, nature, and sadness, but maybe there is nothing left to speak upon, maybe there is nothing new to say.

It is not like I am saying that we should fully return to the days where we were without technology, but sometimes it would be easier. The more we are bombarded with knowledge about our universe, our world and the way things work the less beauty, the less substance comes out of life. There is no more mystery. There is nothing more to muse upon, to wonder about, to write about. Once life becomes over formalized, everybody sticks to the mold.

I worry that nothing will come out of our generation. I worry that we will not produce philosophical men and women like the writers and thinkers of the days past. I wonder if eventually, we will run out of things to say. What if nobody steps up and takes on those roles? What will happen to us, I cannot say but I do wonder.

I don’t mean to formulate a biased opinion, for surely not every person can be this way. There are those out there, musicians, writers, creators, dreamers, who have found a way to keep the beauty of philosophy and thinking alive. They do exist, but I feel like they are few and far between.

Possibly I am formulating my beliefs based on the way I view myself. Based upon the fact that I feel, every day, that I have so much more potential than I live out. That I go through the motions of living and breathing but don’t express the highs and lows, that I stay blissfully unaware of myself and what I do. Maybe I push my own attitudes and actions onto the rest of the world because I am jealous. I am jealous of the beauty that people can create with words, song and ideas and I want to take some of that beauty and make it my own, I don’t want to be a waste. Let’s not make this generation a waste.

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