....I'm very concerned about the youth of today. I know our brethern once cast aspersion at the hippee's in the 1960s, but the hippee's had a community of sorts. They were marching to a beat of a drummer who pounded out a rhythm leading the hippee away from the comfortable existence enjoyed by their parents to something more soulful and primal.
And when the hippee squatting on an city sidewalk would see a lawyer or a stock broker in a suit going to work in a life of banal bourgeous employment, the hippee would say unto them: "Man, why are you doing that to yourself Mr. Square? Come with us, enjoy nature. Capture your life-- enjoy your inner prompting while you still can." Consumerism meant little to them. They wanted more; to suck the marrow out of the bone that life had given them.
But today the Haight Asbury street has turned into the hate street. And there is a new social divide between the Mr. Squares, who are currently the techno startup geek nerd elites and the technologically inept. True, the young have a community of sorts, but it is based not on common aspirations, but common alienation and disappointments. And when the young of today watch the employees of Google and Apple walk by wearing Google glasses the young rail against the inequality of income disparity that permeates the bay area and drives up the property values.
I say to you my friends that the Occupy movement, to the extent that it continues to draw breath, did not inspire a collective to a common life fulfilling goal. It was filled at its core with jealousy and envy, which can only bind even the weakest of electons only in the most transitory of fields.
What have the young to look forward to?
I say onto thee that I may have found the answer: here on my farm, just the other day, baby, as I was performing random excavations with my backhoe, I discovered the most remarkable of objects lying approximately 10 feet underground over on the nape of the neck of yonder hill. It was a black monolith of sorts with uniform rectangular dimensions. I immediately discovered the curious properties of the object, to wit, it defied any attempt on my part (or the backhoe's part) to scratch or mar its surface as if it were constructed of entirely of impenetrable obsidian. Moreover, the color of the object was darker than black, as if all color of the universe had been drained from it and it was a reflection of some absolute void. Soon a weird humming noise began to emanate from the object and I felt an unbearable desire to dance and hop around in the most satisfying of manners.
I felt as if my mind were being reprogrammed by the humming from the monolith. I had the overwhelming feeling of the lack of humanities' limited senses to comprehend the underlying nature of existence. The monolith was a perfect lack of color, form, space and time and I was plunged into that nothingness--never to return.
END TRANSMISSION
Springfield annexes the Ukrainians. The whirles get Divergent.
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