A not so old draft. ".execute"

It appears that we have reached the edge
That zenith where stimuli and comatose collide.
Forty years ago the man proclaimed
The age of the gross to be upon us,
And even though the man was destroying our heritage,
And insulting our intelligence
That era has become very real.

We labor for pleasure and abhor the guilt of pressure
My generation will go down as the architects
Of contemporary disgust.

Some have fought and died,
Others have allowed the strong to be butchered for a price
They themselves don't care about and will never understand.
I myself am beleaguered by the selfish face
Of a kind of man that is not mankind.

Distrust in information.
Fundamentalism of opinion.
Catastrophic boredom and a fanatical devotion
To that which does. not. matter!

Where is your glory now, people?
Where are your gods and politicians?
Where is your shame and salvation?
You rage for no reason, because you have no reason.

What have you ever fought for?
What have you ever bled for?
The face of the earth is scarred with the walking dead
The age of the gross is a living virus.

This is the future you have created.
This is the world you have set ablaze!
All your lies are coming true,
All freedom is lost, All Hope is Gone!

"Run." said the voices and he ran. He ran from his past, from his parents, from his friends. From his music, from his anxiety, his depression. From his books and his bed, his heart and his soul. He ran from the girls he had liked and the women he'd loved, from his apologies and obsessions. He ran from his failures and successes, from his hopes and his dreams, from his nightmares and realities. He ran through streets and alleys, by-ways and highways, footpaths and train tracks. He ran from the smell of her hair and the taste of her skin and the way she smiled at him. He ran from his beliefs and his prejudices, his regrets and his shame. He ran from the feeling on the back of his hand, the head on his shoulder, the arms round his waist. He ran from his joy and his fury. He ran from his ideas and his memories. He ran from who he was and who he wasn't. He ran and he ran and he ran and he ran and he ranandheranandheranandheran.

Symbols

So..

I really should be asleep right now but I really wanted to write this post. I've gotten less than seven hours sleep every night for almost a week when it should be nine. Did you know that? Nine hours at least for teens.
Anyway. Symbolism is..let's see.."The practice of representing things by means of symbols or of attributing symbolic meanings or significance to objects, events, or relationships."

Symbols and symbolism fascinate me and are a major part of my thinking. No one really knows this because I've been like this for so long that I don't even realise it. Symbols are somehow just important. Every part of language contains symbols and your name is a symbol representing you as an individual. Without your name there is no way to distinguish you specifically from a million people who look, talk and think like you. I have a shelf in my room where I keeps little bits and pieces I've picked up or bought or been given that all represent some memory. For example, there's a completely ordinary block of wood that brings up memories of going to the National Folk Festival last year. I have a dollar I will never spend because an old no-longer-a-friend once gave it to me on a whim and I wanted to remember them with it. Symbols permeate your lives, even once you disregard letters and numbers that represent sounds. Simple things like arrows telling you where to go and logos to represent your favourite brands. Looking at a key might evoke feelings of home,while a chain represents imprisonment. For me, weird things like the number seventeen represent randomness and independence. The heavy metal 'devil horns' for me means power over myself and control of my future. What do symbols mean for you?