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I hate The Cinderella Story of the world
Jul. 28th, 2005 02:53 pmMy generation is maybe the last. We grew up with the dream...no the CONVICTION that we'd get pensions, job-less payment, free health care...and that somehow, even though some were richer than others or better educated, we all had the same basic rights.
And no one would die alone in his own shit, or be ill and not have health care.
This conviction was a lot worse than having a dream. we Grew up suckling it in with every breath, that this was the way of the world.
I think the vision started cracking in the nineties...but there was still hope...And today there is nothing left except the new religion:
Oh I hate The Cinderella Story of the world that replaced the socialist manifesto. Where the young mother gets pity mostly if she's good looking and her kids are cute...where she lives on the notion and idea of her being a heroine in disguise...and that fragile notion is what carries her through the days. The cinderella story should be a LUXURY to dilly dally on when you have PMS or something, not a thing that a whole society nurtures because otherwise there might be mass anarchy/revolution/more terrorism or simply total despair and less shopping.
There are even various Cinderella stories for the macho guy, for the lesbian chic, for the gay fab man, for the mid life crisis man/woman. We are foiled.
Just check it out, they are everywhere.
The fast food worker that writes crappy poems in disguise and has a minimum wage that should put shame on god.
The 46 year old Henietta who slowly puts his body through a sex change while his heart is giving up.
The ugly single parent with ugly kids that have ADHD or something else not pretty. (and you can replace this with pretty if you like, it's still the same..because sympathy is just...that).
All leftovers by the roadside. And the generation that should remember all this wasted half their lives thinking EVERYTHING WAS ALREADY OK!
I'm gonna die slowly alone alone alone in a tiny apartment, separated from the shards of my generation(s) of foiled dreamers, eating dog food and coughing up grey furballs of loss.
(I know everybody dies alone in a sense...but certain things I've read and seen lately make me right now believe that I'm destined to be that old woman, with no family, since my family is small anyway, friends far away or dead, and no money and no country that will take care of me.)
If the ones I love die first, I'll take care of them, I'll try , I'll try, because I grew up with milk cartons covered in hopeful, cheerful slogans.
And no one would die alone in his own shit, or be ill and not have health care.
This conviction was a lot worse than having a dream. we Grew up suckling it in with every breath, that this was the way of the world.
I think the vision started cracking in the nineties...but there was still hope...And today there is nothing left except the new religion:
Oh I hate The Cinderella Story of the world that replaced the socialist manifesto. Where the young mother gets pity mostly if she's good looking and her kids are cute...where she lives on the notion and idea of her being a heroine in disguise...and that fragile notion is what carries her through the days. The cinderella story should be a LUXURY to dilly dally on when you have PMS or something, not a thing that a whole society nurtures because otherwise there might be mass anarchy/revolution/more terrorism or simply total despair and less shopping.
There are even various Cinderella stories for the macho guy, for the lesbian chic, for the gay fab man, for the mid life crisis man/woman. We are foiled.
Just check it out, they are everywhere.
The fast food worker that writes crappy poems in disguise and has a minimum wage that should put shame on god.
The 46 year old Henietta who slowly puts his body through a sex change while his heart is giving up.
The ugly single parent with ugly kids that have ADHD or something else not pretty. (and you can replace this with pretty if you like, it's still the same..because sympathy is just...that).
All leftovers by the roadside. And the generation that should remember all this wasted half their lives thinking EVERYTHING WAS ALREADY OK!
I'm gonna die slowly alone alone alone in a tiny apartment, separated from the shards of my generation(s) of foiled dreamers, eating dog food and coughing up grey furballs of loss.
(I know everybody dies alone in a sense...but certain things I've read and seen lately make me right now believe that I'm destined to be that old woman, with no family, since my family is small anyway, friends far away or dead, and no money and no country that will take care of me.)
If the ones I love die first, I'll take care of them, I'll try , I'll try, because I grew up with milk cartons covered in hopeful, cheerful slogans.
