In a folding picnic armchair our man sat like a king on a hill after a decisive battle.
The orange moon smiled before it was shrouded by the smoke that crept upward like a dead man’s soul.
A cheap cigar danced to the rhythm of classic rock songs like a magician’s wand (burning) like a conductor’s baton (on fire) communicating musical ideas celebrating life despite the turmoil, tumult, and turbulence.
The cigar was a paint brush and the night sky was an empty canvas. Gray on black: an alluring belly dance. Gray on black: the last breath of a soldier.
Our man felt a poem being written somewhere in the near future, a poem written phenomenologically now.
“Yes, yes,” our man said right now. “So the muses came like they often do when they smell a cigar burn.”
“How can we free ourselves from being dominated by people from the past who still retain a shadow of power in the world of space, without soiling ourselves by coming into contact with their lives (we can use the soap of word-creation), and leave them to drown in the destiny they have earned for themselves, that of malicious termites?” —from “Subjects for Discussion” by Velimir Khlebnikov —— Why do we have old men running the country? You know, I despise the civil war generation.
When they were young and the world was theirs, they chose to slaughter each other.
Our parents and grandparents: murderers, rapists, thieves, propagandists, cowards, idiots.
And the warlords they used to worship still sit on thrones made of blood and feces.
I don’t care what they stood for. I don’t care what they fought for. Obviously, they failed as I see no victors.
I would rather have a coder or a gamer run the country. A bartender or a young Uber driver would do, too. Not food for worms.
The present — today — is the “future” that the civil war generation built. This is their future. Our future is tomorrow. And tomorrow is a party which they wont — and cannot — attend. (They’ll be bribing the ferryman and drinking from Lethe.)
Their time is up, brothers and sisters. Don’t let them guide you, advise you, teach you. Because if they do, history will repeat itself. Their wisdom is as valuable as our Lira.
So I say to you, Respect your parents and grandparents, yeah, but make sure you destroy the walls of hate that they have built. You have to teach them because they cannot see. The lenses they wear are old and dusty.
They must be reminded that the consequences of today come from the mistakes of the past. They are guilty.
The rewards of tomorrow will sprout from the solutions of today. And it’s up to you. You.
Old men! “We have broken the locks and see what your freight cars contain: tombstones for the young.” —— Քեզ պէտք է հոգեփոխուել, իսկ դա նշանակում է, թէ դու պիտի դառնաս հակապատկերը հայրերիդ: — Գարեգին Նժդեհ