I am the Lost Generation.

Who are we? This world is absurd, with it's religions and money-grabbing. All the dull cycles we allow ourselves to be trapped in, the power of belief that overwhelms our humanity, our intellect, our intuitive faculties, our easy capitulation to names and clubs and narrow political parties...
What are we to do here, on this beautiful planet, full of mysteries?
What are we to do with ourselves and Life?
Why were we created or pushed away from the Oneness?
Always, we try answering these questions by inventing things, controlling things, destroying things.
It is a relentless drive that we eventually may become numb to, or convince ourselves of our numbness, though it ceases not.
The endless details and possibilities of this Life keep many of us so busy, we don't take time to wonder where it's coming from, where we're going or why.
That, to me, is pitiful. But Life is mysterious and confusing.
Where do we go with all this potential, and what does it matter?
And are there any actions we can perform that are not purely egotistical?
Who am I without words or actions?
And shit, Hemingway committed suicide by shooting himself, point-blank, in the forehead with a shotgun he bought from Abercrombie & Fitch. He pulled two triggers while his head rested on the barrels. Shit.

Why'd ya hafta go an' do THAT, Ernie? Shit.

And Brautigan, and EVERYBODY...shit.

Too much drinky-drinky, methinks.