A Life in Irony

I am right behind the nucleus of the baby-boom and it is an amazing place to be, spending your entire life so near (maybe a 32nd beat away) to an ictus in a thundering pulse of iambic activity, subsumed as an imperceptible technicality. Provided, in any event, you don't subscribe to their ethos of mindless self-centeredness. 

I do not. It is a view up the ass-end of the greatest display of selfishness ever at a closely uncomfortable distance. Boomers will make their exit having raped and looted the past and mortgaged the future, possibly of the entire world and forever, their greed reaching beyond the shores and bounds of the wealthiest nation in history. 

Does anyone believe that Donald Trump is an accident or an aberration? He is the swine king, a high priest of decadence and lord of the fairways from which the boomers will be raptured in a haze of viagra and other drugs. They have had allies in this. Souls are always for sale in certain markets. There the slaves auction themselves.

Revival tents come to mind. Specimens of this generational catastrophe may be viewed, self-segregated, in the gated golf-communities. We should lock them in. They have locked us out, and we deserve protection. The baleful effects of the boomers are inescapable. Trump testifies to that. Whatever they have it is never enough.