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larryhammerFor Poetry Monday, with a cut for length:
Howl Under a Blue Light Filtered Moon, Elden Locke
(Dedicated to Allen Ginsberg)
I saw the best minds of my generation scrolling themselves to death,
starved for meaning, lit by the blue glow of a thousand screens,
dragged through the feed at 3 A.M. looking for something real.
Angels of burnout, prophets of anxiety,
wired into coffee and code and self-diagnosis,
naked in their rooms, refreshing the apocalypse for updates.
Who texted their prayers into the void and got an emoji in return,
who built their gods out of hashtags and dopamine,
who confessed their sins to algorithms that sold them better ones.
Who wandered suburbia in eternal leases,
tethered to Wi-Fi, dreaming of the open road but afraid of gas prices,
who howled under fluorescent lights of office towers
as their dreams were formatted into PowerPoints.
Who made love to ghosts through pixelated glass,
mouths pressed to screens, hearts buffering,
and cried out for human touch in the language of memes.
Who believed in justice and were met with comment sections,
who marched, livestreamed, and bled for change
while billionaires built rockets to leave them behind.
Who raged against the machine
only to find the machine was polite,
efficient,
and offered a free trial.
Who searched for beauty and found filters,
who searched for truth and found ads,
who searched for God and found Wi-Fi signal
two bars, unstable, but better than nothing.
Who traded their time for content,
their thoughts for engagement,
their solitude for a sense of being seen.
Who sat in therapy learning to breathe again
after years of holding their breath online.
Who drove through endless sameness: Target, Starbucks, Costco,
each city identical, a looped simulation of convenience,
who whispered, is this all there is?
and the algorithm whispered back, You might also like…
Who raised children in a collapsing climate
and taught them to recycle while billionaires mined their future,
who prayed for rain and got floods,
who prayed for peace and got ads for antidepressants.
Who loved recklessly anyway,
who built gardens in vacant lots,
who found poetry in protest signs,
and community in the ruins of comment threads.
Who refused to be quiet,
who kept creating,
kept dreaming,
kept breaking open
in a world that profits from our numbness.
I saw the best minds of my generation rediscovering touch,
planting trees, turning off their phones,
staring at the stars again,
saying softly,
maybe this is enough.
Source. Relevant Ginsberg.
---L.
Subject quote from Everything She Wants, Wham!.
Howl Under a Blue Light Filtered Moon, Elden Locke
(Dedicated to Allen Ginsberg)
I saw the best minds of my generation scrolling themselves to death,
starved for meaning, lit by the blue glow of a thousand screens,
dragged through the feed at 3 A.M. looking for something real.
Angels of burnout, prophets of anxiety,
wired into coffee and code and self-diagnosis,
naked in their rooms, refreshing the apocalypse for updates.
Who texted their prayers into the void and got an emoji in return,
who built their gods out of hashtags and dopamine,
who confessed their sins to algorithms that sold them better ones.
Who wandered suburbia in eternal leases,
tethered to Wi-Fi, dreaming of the open road but afraid of gas prices,
who howled under fluorescent lights of office towers
as their dreams were formatted into PowerPoints.
Who made love to ghosts through pixelated glass,
mouths pressed to screens, hearts buffering,
and cried out for human touch in the language of memes.
Who believed in justice and were met with comment sections,
who marched, livestreamed, and bled for change
while billionaires built rockets to leave them behind.
Who raged against the machine
only to find the machine was polite,
efficient,
and offered a free trial.
Who searched for beauty and found filters,
who searched for truth and found ads,
who searched for God and found Wi-Fi signal
two bars, unstable, but better than nothing.
Who traded their time for content,
their thoughts for engagement,
their solitude for a sense of being seen.
Who sat in therapy learning to breathe again
after years of holding their breath online.
Who drove through endless sameness: Target, Starbucks, Costco,
each city identical, a looped simulation of convenience,
who whispered, is this all there is?
and the algorithm whispered back, You might also like…
Who raised children in a collapsing climate
and taught them to recycle while billionaires mined their future,
who prayed for rain and got floods,
who prayed for peace and got ads for antidepressants.
Who loved recklessly anyway,
who built gardens in vacant lots,
who found poetry in protest signs,
and community in the ruins of comment threads.
Who refused to be quiet,
who kept creating,
kept dreaming,
kept breaking open
in a world that profits from our numbness.
I saw the best minds of my generation rediscovering touch,
planting trees, turning off their phones,
staring at the stars again,
saying softly,
maybe this is enough.
Source. Relevant Ginsberg.
---L.
Subject quote from Everything She Wants, Wham!.
no subject
Date: 11 May 2026 07:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 11 May 2026 07:54 pm (UTC)Yes it does.
no subject
Date: 11 May 2026 10:49 pm (UTC)Extraordinary, thank you for sharing this. I needed to hear it.
no subject
Date: 11 May 2026 10:56 pm (UTC)The line that hit hardest for me was "Who raised children in a collapsing climate / and taught them to recycle while billionaires mined their futur"