My parents's generation, too proud to accept being helped, rebelled, sought stability and progressed. My generation, too proud to not help, fled, toured South America and shot itself. How come they still dare to call us the lost generation!
Long time ago my generation lost opinion among thousands of corpses and we do not know whether it is fair or not. Since we didn't even own it, we did not feel guilty for its lost either. They gave us a squalid and sad guitar which regrets for us instead and they also gave us the world which we changed several times so thousands of corpses would rejoice over us. We've been told they manipulated us in order we think freely. I just believe that it was a fair deal.
We spent many years being muted, resisting, for so long protesting blank and without giving our opinion loudly, so finally it turned out that they forbade it to us. They kidnapped our will, our vote and our speech without knowing that we did not have any of that left and maybe ignoring as well that when you fight away from the trenches you do not need to be right.
Like my parent's generation who, in order to shoot themselves, had to mature and to mature they had to accumulate words, for my generation, the only way to mature has been to shoot us and to accomplish that, we have had to give up words. It is obvious then that the serious problem of my generation is the lack of violence.
My generation already knows that without the place which provides violence and war we cannot be a generation but the problem is that we has no tools to say that. My generation, without enemies, is about to be not forgiven.
While the previous generation could be located in that sacred place that exists between you and me, that space of life and civilization where objectivity is necessary to be able to ask ourselves questions and is, at the same time, the subjectivity of others, the lack of violence stole that possibility from our generation.
Like this, only with the violence that means to be liberated by the culture which opened our eyes but just to be able to resist, we thus fill the only sacred space which, because of its time's absence, could shape us.
At this point, the great difference between both generations feeds already the robots' soul and your presence, forced to my memories, only makes it intensify uncontrollably, unable, both of us, to shoot again and say that we have done it.