A Short, Over-written Lament

There is a desperate cynicism that seems to pervade every face-to-face encounter these days. Everyone is oh-so-sensibly unhappy with the to-ing and fro-ing of the moon and the mornings. Even I, reluctantly, often feel the familiar weaving of dolorous tones around my own tongue.

Attitude. Skewed attitude harrumphs, "This is summer?" Pause for effect. "Not!"

And irony, in accord, adds, "When's the snow?"

Of course, this is mature irony, yet, like a brown child still living with both parents, and coloured in need by a non-denominational con-artist's palate, it is adopted unnecessarily.

Oh, yes, I know. This is nothing new--it was ever thus. The sophisticated contraposto of dispassion leaning on boredom has been around since Adam was a lad. Okay.

But! Today, those posing thus are so young! And so numerous. There is indeed a generational emptiness of eye and cooling of concern detectable in our youth that should disturb us much more than it seems to.

As well as a decided lack of wit and humour.

That's the most noticeable thing of all, to me. That so many young people are so verbally clumsy and unfunny. Is this a natural result of their linguistically artless parents? Those mush-mouthed scions of mush-brained hippies?

Or is it some as yet uncatalogued communication-retarding syndrome caused when the wrist and thumbs are swollen beyond reasonable limits through the constant twiddling of remotes, mice and video game controllers?

Perhaps it is simply that the human imagination is stunted to eventual mortification by the continuous influx of audio-visual offal on tap 24/7 in our electronic nurseries?

Personally, I'm more inclined to believe that their souls have been paralyzed by the egregious immorality floating like detritus through the atmospheres. This, and the varnish of anti-transcendence that covers every heirloom their parents bequeathed. When a father and mother no longer wish to court favour with the God of their fathers and mothers, what messages will the midnight bedtime stories contain? If King David is a gentile, he merely dances naked in front of a lewdly unpolished mirror. What could he hope to teach a nation? How to table dance?

This is summer?

Not.