Old Man on a Porch with two shotguns

Let’s Just Say…

Let’s just say that I enjoy watching you walk away, and all that that implies. Let’s just say that your overindulgent, under developed personae is shortsighted and overblown. Let’s say that if given an option between watching you drown and eating Cap’n Crunch I would clearly... okay, I’d probably save you but I wouldn’t be happy about the soggy Cap’n Crunch!

Everything about your ‘[S]atanic’ aesthetic reeks the ‘80’s without having earned it. If you don’t know what ‘earning it’ means, you weren’t around in the ‘80’s. This doesn’t make you less of a Satanist, just that much less of a stylist... your long hair died when I was in high school and your short hair died a few years before that. Modern mods are the the past goths without style which were the past mods. Your taste in music wasn’t earned, isn’t respected and won’t be validated, ever.

If I wanted to learn something I had to go to a library, you ask Alexa, which on the off chance you don’t know, makes you a twat. You may think I’m attacking youth and you would be right, only not in the way you’d expect, rather in the broken clock is right twice a day sort of way. I’m ‘old man’ raging about the lack of values, personal development, and care or acknowledgement of past orthodoxies--not for the benefit of character or earned understanding, but because you are supposed to be the Alien Elite. Earn it!

There was a time when you had to create, produce, brainstorm or collaborate on something of substance... now supporting it is seemingly enough to make you the 'highest embodiment of human life'. Simply name dropping some rando-Satanist gives you enough ‘street creed’ to warrant a like or follow or retweet or whatever-the-fuck new way of some nobody who has created nothing, having zero taste, but a hell-of-a-lot of friends, to clap you on the back showing their respect.

It’s not that you're ill informed, but you are; or that you are lacking in experience, which you definitely are. My parents didn’t hover over my every move, grade, fight, or fuck. I was assaulted by other children, forced to stay outside till I pissed my pants, willfully stayed outside forced to shit in a neighbors garage so I didn’t have to go home early, arm wrestled, actually wrestled, was kissed by animals and boys before a girl ever gave it a go and fingered my first gal about the time I got my drivers license. Yea.

This doesn’t make me better in any way, but it should make you feel worse. Maybe not even for the reasons I’m expecting but rather for the reasons I have yet to state. Your heroes were manufactured. Your morals were instilled, not learned. Your sense of the world is black and white, rather than grey on gray. Your sex is porn, your movies cgi, your highlights participation trophies. I’m devastated that that is the new norm.

I’m destroyed that my youth of staying out till dark is criminal. My eating dirt and drawing naked girls is filthy. That finding of porn was amazing and is now vile and that Saturday morning cartoons do. not. exist.

If there was some hope for the future it would have to be your potential for innovation, your focus on personal experience and your willingness to put up will winey fucks like me. I may not understand or accept your processes but I am honestly glad they are there. And in the most basic of ways, I’m glad you are there so I can vicariously live through your admittedly minimal actual accomplishments and victories. However much and in as many ways I may verbally minimize your impact, it’s an impact I welcome, just not publicly, or in pants.

If I can say anything, it is invariably something I have said ad nauseam: focus on you. Stop paying attention to what others are doing. Be the best version of who you are, not the who popular culture says you should be. That will earn you the right to rail against the next generation but much more importantly allow you to leave a lasting impact on this rock we are all trapped on.

Hail Satan!