We are the generation to end all generations. Children of a blindCicero, anguish detracted shells for corporate impregnation. Honest expression of our repression is reflected in our Ipods, our primitive obsession with formless function, our acute lack of serendipity in the face of an ever complex cosmic now.

Last night I saw a small glitch in the matrix. A broad baby ripple that spread across the enormity of our value laden space-time mesh. It was as if a baton had been handed to the last human on earth – and the race was necessary not for our survival but for our ontological vindication. After almost 40 years – the hopes, the dreams, the cynical formalism was washed away in November rain.

And I was there. In the middle of it all – within this hallowed cocoon of self denial that lay dying on DCs sidewalks – was our generation – in the throes of its political legitimacy- awkward and scared – ruminating on the promethean » Read more: “Why the night of Nov 4th saved my generation”