From: maedhros@yabbs
To: all@yabbs
Subject: Boomers
Date: Fri Apr  1 02:28:43 1994
    Twenty years ago, on a planet much like our own, a great mass of 
people came of age.  They looked about themselves and said, "We have a 
dream.  We dream of a world where there is no war, no famine, and no hate. 
A world where every human is our brother and sister.  A world where 
everyone can realize their potential.  A world where there is truly Heaven 
on Earth."  And suddenly they knew it was possible, and further, they new 
how to make it happen.
    So it came to pass that the Children of Utopia climbed the Great 
Mountain.  And on the Mountain they erected a great temple of both 
wondrous light and Angelic music.  They looked about and they were pleased 
with their creation.  And the Children said let us name our creation 
Woodstock.  Then the Children revelled on their Mountain.  They smoked, 
they drank, they dosed, they screwed, and they vomited.
    Many days and many nights passed, although none of the Children could 
quite remember how many.  But behold, when they awakened dazed, hungover, 
and deaf, they were perplexed.  Aside from being in dire need of a shower, 
a toothbrush and a venereal check-up, nothing had changed.  Mysteriously, 
the world had carried on in their absence.  Their drug-hazed pleas for 
justice went unheard.  The police still beat hippies and upstart 
tree-huggers, the Pentagon was still having a riotously wonderful time 
defoliating Vietnam, and their parents still thought they were wierd.
    Disgruntled, bitter and disillusioned, the Children began disbanding 
from their Mountain.  Two groups left the shrine that day.  The smaller 
group spoke thus; "Maaan, there is just waaay to many negative vibes in 
this reality.  What we need to do maaan, is go back to nature maaan.  You 
know maaan, like, live in the woods maaan.  We can eat nuts and berries 
maaan, like the indians maaan.  And go naked maaan, you dig?"  And the 
people smiled, although noone is sure if it was because of what he said or 
if it was because a cloud to his immediate right had suddenly turned plaid 
and started whistling Kumbaya.  Nevertheless, they followed him.
    The larger group awoke, and one of them said, "Oh well, we gave it our 
best shot.  Shit, my dad's going to kill me.  I've got mid-terms next 
week."  And so the larger group ran from the Shrine of Peace, with all 
their dreams of love and joy left behind along with 200,000 unrecyclable 
plastic beer cups.  Filled with bitterness, the Children sold their VWs 
for minivans, their love beads for beepers, their beliefs for the 'burbs 
and their souls for success.  And so the Sacred Hill was forgotten.

Maedhros /\
        /--\
       /    \

Don't ask me what the hell the point of this was.  I created it and it's 
writing.  This is a creative writing section.  So, well, there it is.  If 
it makes you laugh, pisses you off or makes you think, then it's surved 
its purpose.  Adios