When your father’s father’s father and father’s all the way down, occupied the same plot, same profession, picked from the few interchanging selection of cousins to mate with, and so on. I understand the human ideal of ‘the ancestor’ that appears in all of our myriad cultures. The viking-esque tattoos that dorn our soldiers arms, Mulan, native americans, skyrim, etc. The call for the strength of the past. And it is literally true, I carry the successful gametes of all previous generations culminating in my mutt ass genome. Something worked, survival of the fittest and what not.

However, at least I feel the recent chain is broken. As I have said previously, I feel no connection to anyone lower on my family tree beyond my remaining grandparents. Perhaps the first generation immigrant still has a prideful streak looking back. Maybe you’ve got a recognizable name and associated brand. Maybe I’m just a poor. Whatever, the underlying human feeling that I feel I observe to a greater degree than your average suit wearer seems to have lost its gusto.

When I look down the line so to speak, I see weak and vile men, and nothing but myst beyond. The 1900s were disgusting. Like how America lost its face after 9/11, I think the world lost itself after the World Wars. With a critical eye look back and see for yourself the weak and scared populous it produced. Greedy, grubby, fat. Convenience and money obsessed. You may think these traits merely human? True. However, these are the base instincts of our animal under-self. You can infur motivation by the outcome. And lookie here. We have nothing. To the kids of the kids that went to war I say this:

You are not your ancestors. They smile not upon you. And your children shall turn their face.

Chemicals and products. Shopping mall churches. Capitalism’s death cries. Endless bombs. What trees have you planted? What great men and women have you produced? Suburbs and politicians. Categorically the last few iterations of man have been cowards who have built nothing. Monuments to greed and corruption only. Wait I am feeling something, a connecting line between me and those before me. Shame! Its shame! Shame I wear for it is what you have clothed me in. This isn’t progress. This is thumb sucking, wet beds, comfort blankets, and toys. How can I not resent the children of cowards? How can I not resent myself.

The dragon’s hoard only grows. Sleep well and fat upon it! There is nothing left for me.

—

I was recently let go as a cost measure from a company. My first real job, and my first real obstacle. So perhaps read the above as just my sourness. But from what I can tell of this round of lay offs, they cut anyone with less experience. Everyone I saw they chopped were under 30 years old. I can’t help but feel its an extension of the fast profit mindset. They kept the old. Who were already doing less and getting paid more. And when they retire in a few years no one will be there to replace them. Such a short sighted and indicative move. No one is building anything. They’re just leaching. Suckling until mommy dries up, leaving nothing for the runts like me.

This is an excellent opportunity for me to check out. Go out from under a desk and plant some trees. I’m actually relieved. It was a soul draining work of nothing. But it funded the in between. Made mom proud. Whatever.

If asked by one of the old goats why I was leaving early, or taking a day off, or anything, I always had a ready reply:

Wouldn’t you give anything for another dinner with your mom?

Wouldn’t you like to have had one more adventure with an out of state friend?

Don’t you wish you spent a little more time with your brother or sister?

What really matters? Clocking in and out at the designated time. Or the time really spent?

A guy there had a heart attack. Dropped dead to the floor at his computer. Saved by quick action and a defib. I was so relieved he was all right. He was a good man. Then, a few months later, once he had recovered, he was back. The old bastard sat right there back in the same chair. After all the sitting and french fries from the cafe has nearly killed him. I was heart broken to see him back at the office. Its one thing to get back on the horse. Its another to realize this shit at a desk didn’t matter. I swore there and then. I don’t want to die at a desk.