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We, as a generation, are not immediately given to cynicism per say. But, to turn a some what clumsy phrase, cynicism was given to us.
It was handed down. Irony, suspicion and bald faced opportunism were right there in our cribs and bassinets from day one. We’re the children of the myth-busters and the hero-killers. All gods and heroes and ideals were challenged and torn down, but never replaced with anything beyond crude variations on basic survivalism.
We were handed our parents’ wealth and power, but no aims or maxims beyond advancement and suspicion. Naturally, many of us became suspicious of advancement.
The only ideals that remain are ambition and excellence, but for the torch bearers of a program of complete cynical denial, these are quickly put to the flame.
We are left with no ideal, no ambition and a reservoir of confused emotion with no human outlet. All of them having been destroyed before us or by us.
It’s no wonder that sex has taken on such a desperate flavor. We flaunt our transient assets and demand attention from a cold and remote population so numerous it may yet choke out the sun, but which can provide no warmth through the pixels.
