Vonnegut.
Bradbury.
Ginsburg.
Whitman.
Eliot.
Jordan.
Parker.
They're all fucking dead. And what do we have left to show? Fucking Meyer? Rowling? Collins?
Tim O'Brien is due for the axe soon. Toni Morrison is aging and ready to kick that ornery bucket. Fucking McCarthy is aging and ready to go. Why the fuck must I be born to a generation that has its heroes dying? Who can replace? Who can step up to the plate and move my heart so?
Nobody else can make me cry. Richard Bach will leave me soon and my tears will continue to fall. Only in death can we truly see these writers, these poets, these prophets of the insurmountable nature of the human spirit.
Die.
There are only so many words that I can put to page.
But there are so many words that have been put to page already.
Flanagan. Crews. Others that will not merit mention till we see the wisdom that they have spread upon the page.
Harley. I will forever remember her stories, her plays, such a bright young girl with a passion that I cannot seem to embrace. Such luck to be so driven. So pushed. To earn the respect of her professors, to garner the one true piece of praise that is coveted by all.
"This is ready for print."
We will forever be chasing the remembrance of the patriotism, the critique. I wish nothing but the worst upon the reading audience. Those poor souls that follow and interpret. Such revolutionary figures.
O'Connor. Oates. And many more.
We are losing those that impact us the most. Shortly or at a long distance. We need the dissection of the human race, of the American culture that we grasp to, of the religions that we pledge our allegiance to or deny fruitlessly.
I want to impact the world in such a way as these prophets. These majestic observers of human interaction.
But we are doomed. Even the dinosaurs lived longer than we are projected to inhabit this Earth.
I simply want to know my tears are not shed in solitude. That there are others that weep for the human race, and all of our foibles and misunderstandings.
Cry with me, children.
Cry for the wisdom we have lost. And the wisdom others will never gain.
Change something, change yourselves, change the way we accept our circumstances.
Cry for our children,
Cry.
