I Despise the Civil War Generation

“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

February 3, 2020: Checkmate Instead of Goodnight

It’s 4:00 AM, almost dawn. Black and white squares everywhere I look. Sixty-four. I’ve been playing chess all night, fighting to control the center, chasing the enemy’s king. Gambits and sacrifices. From opening to middlegame to endgame… How many games? About a hundred, I guess, or maybe more. Blitz and Bullet. Bishops, Knights, Rooks, and Queens — everything was sacrificed. My time also was sacrificed. This game, the game of the gods, is poison. It’s a board game, yes, but it’s larger than life. “Life is too short for chess,” a great player once said. And he wasn’t joking. No, he couldn’t have been joking. What a game! I’m in bed now, finally, warming my feet under the blanket. But my head is filled with the images and sounds of chessmen. When I close my eyes I see the board. I’m in sinking in quicksand, sinking slowly. I can’t sleep. I have a fever. Tonight, it’s checkmate instead of good night.