Summer 2001

By Catt Kingsgrave-Ernstein

We who are about to die salute you!
We who have no life but pain fear not the end of living.
You can let your easy life delude you,
But we go forth with death our only aim.
You don't see the casual devastation that you cause
You can only see what makes you right.
And you don't own your part in orchestrating our loss
And claim our innocence might have lived if we had chosen not to fight.
But one can swallow just so many ashes,
And one can stomach only so much shame.
And if our vomit stained your sweet illusions,
You must pardon that we don't accept the blame.

And we who are about to die salute you!
We take the trash you've left us with and eat till we are full
And we raise saluting fingers to refute you
For domestication hurts far more than pain
And you can offer us your charity.
And you can preach about us till you're blue
And you can wallow in your popularity
And everything we say of you will somehow still be true
And you will wonder whenever you see us
In those moments when your notice strays from Ego, Lust, and Greed,
What makes us seem to think that you've betrayed us
And how your wild oats blossomed into so much bitter seed

So we who are about to die salute you
You may now resume regretting that we didn't turn out well
For as of now we're glad we do not suit you
And we regard with scorn your selfish aims
And we who are about to die salute you
But don't think that you'll get to see our blood upon the sand
We simply close our eyes to you, our ears and minds and lives to you,
and leave you only memories to which to raise your hand.
We steal your greatest treasures -- the objects of your scorn,
And we take our selves to silence, and in no way are forlorn
That we sacrifice your notice and the hope of your regard
For the freedom of our dignity is plentiful reward.

And we who are about to live salute you.


I am a member of the 13th Generation -- the Gen X ers, the Lost Children in the chasm between the Boomers and the Millenial children. As such, social commentary from me is bound to be rather sharp. So this is an open letter to an entire generation; the one which trained us to expect only wreckage and ruin for our inheritance, and that we deserved nothing more. Again, I meet hopelessness with defiance and scorn. And ultimately, we, the Lost Children will have the last laugh, because we'll be the ones choosing their retirement homes and medical benefits. Bet that makes the doubting Boomers lose a bit of sleep at night, doesn't it? Heh.