I stab my machete into the rain forest slope, hilt up so I don’t lose it. Tip when working in the thick of the scrub: always leave your tools in a vertical position, or spend most of your time trying to find them again.
I sit down on the soil between a young orange jacaranda and a mango tree, the mangoes vivid orange and green fruit has been gashed by the cheeky flying foxes overnight.
The ground is soggy from days of rain and quickly soaks through my pants. The musk of the seeding mustard grass floats like a mist on the morning air.
I take a big deep breath in and sigh from somewhere deep in my heart.
A peaceful green valley lies lusciously before, curving like a naked body, who’s breasts rise into Jurassic cloud-catching mountains, the sentinels of an ancient volcano.
It’s all a panorama of immense beauty, one that would gel well with the voice of Attenborough.
I should be content right now, but I have one question…
Where is my generation?
Sometimes its seems like myself and a handful of others are the only ones.
Why do we all flock to the cities and bash upon the gates of Rome?
The cities will be underwater in 50 years.
Do you not know that the farmers grow old? their knowledge rotting in the soil…
not long now and no one will be out their growing our food, because agriculture – the seed of civilisation – just wasn’t cool enough… Sorry future generations.
“The Hippies these days aren’t like they used to be,” Says the woman I’m working for today, when I brought it up with her over smoko. “Back in the day they were tough motherfuckers, who braved the frontier and turned shit into Gold.” She leans back on her chair, with her dog in her lap on the porch of her bush shack. “Now days the counter culture is about avoiding its own shadow. I’m sorry to say, but your generation is lazy in the face of a troubled world, and i feel sorry for the generation that will come after.”
So where are you guys?
I thought I’d find you out here working it up in the land of opportunity.
We are generation Y, because for the first time we don’t have to spend all day slaving for our bread and butter, instead we have the luxury of asking ‘Who am I?’ and ‘Why am I here?’
but we are Generation X, because we double cross ourselves by spending our time and energy impressing each other.
Our ancestors survived the wild with sinew, muscle, and raw intelligence.
Now we grow supple, stressed, and stupid.
We haven’t had to fight for what we have, raised by televisions, but the real world isn’t square, it’s a beautiful circle.
What will you do when the electricity switches off?
We will have 3 days, before the fuel and food runs out.
To live in Anarchy is not chaos, its to live in a cohesive community that governs itself peacefully along the climbing vines of natural law that reaches towards the freedom of the sun.
Our luxuries are made by slave labor; we are Pirates pretending to be trendy.
Climate change is an empty buzz word.
Pollution is the problem that’s pissing on our pie; coming at you LIVE through your water supply.
Wake yourself before you snake yourself.
Social media is anti-social, killing our time, which is all we have, so use it wisely.
Hollywood is hollow. Fame is a phallicy.
What you seek is community.
The Earth is struggling, struggling to have us at the party, and we are the ones who can sober up overnight.
The couch is destroying your spine.
Nothing will change if you leave it up to someone else.
Your spot is already filled, that person you are waiting to take action, is you.
This is a call out to anyone out there who hears me.
Anyone else out there who feels empty.
Who wants to be a part of something, together.
We all have something to offer.
Divided, we are contoured into conquerable quantities.
I am here, and I’ve found a few like us.
Let’s make contact and organise.
Courage is action in the face of fear.
To love is to care, to care is to live.
I look down at the soggy soil and watch a rainforest frog fling like elastic across clumps of grass. An electric blue butterfly flitters past my eyes and celebrates the beauty and the freedom of its evolution. Three black cockatoos fly overhead, raining their Jurassic song over me and into the valley below. Such beautiful things, along with humanity, will fade away without our action.
I pick my machete back up and swing into the vegetation, humming ‘feeling good’ by Nina Simone.
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