Symbols

We brandish our thoughts as symbols -
because the peace sign has been used before and the yin yang has been used before and so here we are, a generation without a circled symbol to hang around our throats.
We scorn similarity so much that we are all the same in our scorn and disbelief and disillusionment.
We aren't Gen-Xers (though we act like we want to be)
We aren't hippies or pagans or saints or goths or lunatics.
- Just a rabble rousing group of disgruntled youngsters painting our mothers and fathers and Big Brother over our backs.
We drown ourselves in X-tasy because:
Pot (the hippie gateway)
& Acid (Leary's mind inflating mix)
& Alcohol (our national drug)
& Mushrooms (sacred as Buddhist heifers)
& PCP (the crazy man's courage)
& Meth (intense cup of adrenline java)
& Cocaine (patron saint of suits and everyone's first speed kick)
have all been done before.
And ecstasy is the closest thing we can call our flourescent, slap happy, slap-bracelet childhood.
And it tears at our minds so we can't reason our way out.
But I think a way out of our here and now is all we've always wanted.
The buckle of the Bible Belt keeps tightening around our necks and wrists and ankles.
We lay on our backs and wish we were all driving away - and we promise ourselves fervently that we all will someday.
But we think too much and we drink to much and we do...
far too little.