What will we die for?

Writing this intentionally too late to cash in on the latest mass shooting or suicide bombing. Oh evil, benighted generation that views such pieces as ‘evergreen content.’

Having nothing to die for is killing us. Follow the spiralling of these lost little girls and boys and it’s always the same tale. Given nothing, held hostage in their own bodies until some loathsome creature slithers through the internet bearing something, anything, for them to believe in again.

In weaker moments, I ask myself how different I am; in honest moments I answer, ‘no different at all.’ What combination of words would it take for me to do something unforgiveable? They surely exist, although if I knew them, I guess I’d just radicalise myself?

But that’s another grave misnomer. ‘Radicalisation.’ Were they radicalised at Agincourt? At Waterloo? At Cable Street? Or were they, as I suspect, simply doing what you do when history calls you. The word you’re looking for to describe the modern terrorist is ‘hoodwinked,’ because history is silent for us.

Winning a war. Taming a land. I’m not here to debate the morality of these actions, but to demonstrate the fact of their greatness. Contextualised in history as the winners, it’s right and proper that our ancestors should scorn us from Valhalla. We have not earned our context in history; we have not earned our greatness.

How tho? Where’s the greatness in forming a startup selling professional services to startups selling professional services? Much is being done, at every level, to keep us from ourselves. Corporatism. Consumerism. Postmodernism. A tyranny of perpetual, intolerable peace.

In this world without end, we are homo emptor. Dimly aware of belonging to something more than ourselves, we guzzle processed narratives which satisfy that primal urge the way pornography satisfies a broken heart.

Who is responsible? What reasonable person would allow this? Ah, but you forget, we’re all monsters here. Only difference is some monsters hold the monopoly on appearing reasonable. They point to this hideous stasis, this gilded cage, and say, ‘ta daa! This is what you want, this is what makes you happy!’

Are you happy?

We exist in a parenthesis; our generation is the world holding its breath. We’re not looking to die; we just want a reason to.

And you, my brother, for you are my brother, to you reading this wondering when our time will come: it’s coming. I’m begging you, man, don’t reach for the gun, for the knife, or the noose. Something has been taken from us, something very real and important and you’re not insane for feeling its loss. It is not lost, it’s hidden, and you have a duty to help find it.

Together, we will find the meaning of life; we will earn our seat in history. You can’t do that with acts of senseless violence. That is not the only agency you have left. Your duty forbids you; I forbid you from going down that path.

And you, liberal. You, centrist. You who demand that a generation should live for nothing: don’t get pissy when we ask what we should die for.

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