I’m a creative person. I often feel an unnameable guilt in the pit of my stomach because I mostly use my creativity to write songs or stories that do not directly make the world a better place. I doubt that they indirectly make it better either.
I’m not proud to be an American at this point in time. For the first time in my life, I’m truly worried about world war. I’m worried about the countless people who are suffering because of America (directly and indirectly) already. I’m worried that the decades that will someday comprise the entirety of my life will be described by future historians as a dark age. An age that will serve as nothing but fodder for TV parodies and dystopian satires. It seems ridiculous to me as I write this–because I’m so used to brushing things off, turning the volume up or down (respectively), and having a drink. Like a good citizen is supposed to do. Believe me, my generation is good at this. Not as good as the millenials. But almost. I’ve been ignoring the world for nearly three decades. I would know.
I guess the fact that I’m beginning to care is what really scares me. And no, it’s not because I’m getting older. It’s not that simple.
What can a person do? Sign a petition online? Join the Army? Hold a sign on a street corner? Move to New York City so I’m closer to ‘It’? Donate to the ACLU? Go to school for four more years so I can buy my way into the belly of the beast?
I want to care, but I don’t know how. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.
This post may be a little heavy for a blogging class. But I don’t want to post a selfie. I have a crooked nose. I look good in a beanie, but not in a ball cap. There you go.
Here is a song by This Heat. They were a post-punk noise group. Their sophomore album “Deceit” was written during a time when they truly thought civilization may perish in a myriad of nuclear explosions.