On the future.
Consider yourself lucky. You’re about to spend your twenties in a century entering its teens.
This past decade was a cultural wasteland devoid of any significant artistic or technological breakthrough, a mini dark ages begging for renaissance.
For ten fucking years, our entire country missed the point. We were supposed to eat, drink, and be merry. Instead, everyone got fat, hungover, and riddled with anxiety.
A few of us pagans managed to carry the torch, lit with chemicals and fuck all, and we can’t wait to see what you kids do when we hand it off, because we know you’re ready, and we can taste the impending social revolution like metal in our mouths.
It’s time to have fun again. It’s time for a new school. It’s time for some god damned vision, because something big is coming, and if we’re lucky it won’t be a world war.
It’s as if this country’s fate and culture are hot blooded lovers poised on the verge of an outburst, ready to tear each other apart, and neither one knows whether it will be fighting or fucking.
Either way, some furniture is getting broken.
Exciting times ahead.
My Anthem.
