American history always seems to be at a moment of crossroads. Every revolution after every revolution, the changing tides constantly inflicted upon us makes America into an easily distracted nation.
We have something called ‘a generational gap.’ This American divide has been so on-going, and so profound, that we enter civil war every thirty years or so. Always. 1787-1812. 1815-1848. 1848-1877. 1898-tomorrow.
The whole world is in rattling chaos, nerves more than fears keeping everyone on edge. But America, ever since the dawn of the 20th century, has strove to define for everybody else what a successful revolution is supposed to look like. All we have to worry about is, not world affairs, but rampant crime. With a disillusioned populace, a pervading sense of cynicism and hopelessness sinks down to define the schools of the next generations. It is social turmoil and public unrest that taunts this post-revolutionary world. The Big One—and we really need to step back into the early divisions of the post-Constantine church for some accurate models—the big revolution was over I’m going to think exactly how I want to.
This is free will. This is the spark of divinity, the need to decide for yourself the differences between good and evil. Clearly, judging by the political and socially organized societies throughout time, such a definition works on a sliding scale: some things are good, some things are evil. All the rest are up for grabs depending on your personal morality. If God is in all of us—even in the devil—then how dare you sit there shouting what only you in the world believe to be right?
This is more or less the argument that has repeatedly altered the whole world.
Do you have any idea the sheer number of history books that have the words “America” and “Freedom” in the title? There has been far more than one academic series called “The Crossroads of Freedom: America-in-Whichever-Time the collection is about.”
Sometimes these texts shift through American history, comprised of short essays on every period going back to 1688 (if it is before this then it is always a Native-American narrative, but more reflective of a time when the revolutionary spirit invaded the most peaceful nomadic and aboriginal societies.)
And throughout these periods we frequently see ‘crossroads;’ moments where we must make a choice to define who we intend to be in the future. We go to war with ourselves, both locally over social problems, or on a broader scale versus humanity when it’s getting harder to breathe, and you can’t remember the last time you saw the sun without a corpulent haze coiling greasily upon it.
Revolutions capsize society to different degrees throughout every generation. There is far more than one era known for its ‘revolutionary generation.’ I guess we have always been as tiny and self-absorbed as we still currently are.
Perhaps this is our Crossroads—the blind anger and frustration of my “Generation X.” This generation has been so long lasting that it even spawned a parallel ‘Generation Y,’ to add another ten years and to irritate big brother and sister with self-righteousness, the older kids already having been claimed by the poisonous cynicism.
From a very early day we used to shout, proudly, that we believed in nothing. And then we spent our lives fighting that believing in nothing is an equally valid faith. Don’t offend people. Keep your mouth shut. These are the pussies I grew up with: loud, self-righteous. They wanted to be daring and stand proudly for nothing, so they inked themselves, often graphically, and they pierce their faces and they draw and cut scars all over themselves in some S & M fantasy they don’t really have the courage to carry out.
So we keep asking for a bigger and better pill that might keep us calm for the evening. It’s that or blowing up at everybody–and you assholes disagreeing with and can go fuck yourselves! Your opinion doesn’t matter. I’m the only one who knows that they are right–!
We will even use science to get everyone to agree. This is the age which we live in. These are the scars on my generation, exploding in these petty revolutions that can only alienate us more. I am terrified what we bequeath to our children.