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Machines of War; Collected Short Stories: 1993-1995
Gangland
Chapter 1 Page 4
Machines of War; Collected Short Stories: 1993-1995
Gangland
Chapter 1 Page 4
But the rest of us danced not for God and country. We danced for the feel of skin touching skin. We danced for debauchery. THAT was our American dream, a bastardization of the hand-me-down, grandiose visions of our ancestors. More and more, better and better, faster and faster, higher and higher, bigger and bigger.
That was all we knew. More to eat. Better surroundings. Faster cars. Higher highs. Bigger jobs, bigger muscles, bigger houses, bigger dicks.
Our needs were the same, for we knew nothing else, but our cravings were more complex, more interwoven. If anything, we wanted more for ourselves than we could reasonably attain. That, I think, tipped the scales. At that point, the dream became a nightmare.
It ran away from us one night in high school as we lay panting in our first love bed, as we inhaled on our first joint, as we skipped our first day of school. The dream started feeding on itself, getting fatter and fatter, growing daily with each knew gadget we came to desire, with each new bauble we longed to possess. Blinded by our own visions, we lost the way, digressed from our fathers' carved pathways to success.
We found ourselves adrift with no compass. We found ourselves loose on an insane, everlasting night, wandering with the careless abandon of complete, immoral freedom.
That was all we knew. More to eat. Better surroundings. Faster cars. Higher highs. Bigger jobs, bigger muscles, bigger houses, bigger dicks.
Our needs were the same, for we knew nothing else, but our cravings were more complex, more interwoven. If anything, we wanted more for ourselves than we could reasonably attain. That, I think, tipped the scales. At that point, the dream became a nightmare.
It ran away from us one night in high school as we lay panting in our first love bed, as we inhaled on our first joint, as we skipped our first day of school. The dream started feeding on itself, getting fatter and fatter, growing daily with each knew gadget we came to desire, with each new bauble we longed to possess. Blinded by our own visions, we lost the way, digressed from our fathers' carved pathways to success.
We found ourselves adrift with no compass. We found ourselves loose on an insane, everlasting night, wandering with the careless abandon of complete, immoral freedom.
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