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2002-04-17 - 9:08 p.m.
We were �burn-outs�. We had missed the boat on the hippie generation, but we idolized them. We were rockers. Long haired, un-washed. Blue jeans, leather jackets, joints-for-a-dollar. Ditching classes, doing reds on the lawn, defiant, running from the cops.
We were dyslexic, anorexic, illiterate, addicted, neglected, abused, beaten, cast out, cast off, arrested, molested, dying, and dumb.
We used, reefer, THC, reds, placedyls, acid, mushrooms, coke, speed, beer, wine, whiskey, gasoline, anything to forget who we were, what we were, where we were, and what we felt.
Some of us died, some of us went to prison, some went crazy, some just went on, some survived, and some just can�t forget.
Our parents weren�t, but they thought they were. They nearly ruined our lives. Some let us ruin our own. We hated them for what they did to us. We hated them for what they didn�t do. We loved them because we didn�t know any better. We loved them because they didn�t know any better. Some were forgiven. Some didn�t care.
We had no war to give us dignity. But we still got PTSS.
Now our kids think we�re jerks. This generation smirks at our heroes on MTV. Just like we did. They�re laughable and sad. Just like mom and dad�s.
And we never got a fuckin� break. Our parents had jobs. Our girls didn�t get pregnant. We didn�t know there was help, and we�d a been too proud to take it.
I still hate the world and all it�s injustices. I�ll never forgive and forget. My sadness and rage is killing me a little at time. I�d rather go out in a brilliant flash and fade to black; but I�m too much a coward and I�ll die inch by humiliating inch, a series of decisions made by bean counters at some health maintenance organization�s home office.
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So, how do you like them apples?