Diary of a Wannabe Journalist Pt. 1

There was no end in sight.

No end to the inevitable feeling of loss that punctuated my existence as a revolutionary journalist failure. I gazed up at the moonlight and saw inside it the future; a dark bleak one where not only were my dreams destroyed by my own selfishness, but where the possibility for dreams was taken away from me by force.

But it was already happening. People talk about things like this as if it’s not already happening but I know it is. . .in many more ways than one. But I guess that was the time; my time, our time, now. As the age of Obama rolled on, I knew that things would only get worse. The question is was it worth it?

Was it past or present? I don’t know. I thought that the forces of good would triumph over evil, but so far I’ve been disappointed. But that’s only if you think the news on television is paramount to reality. Good triumphs over evil every day, but people do not notice.

So I knew that it wouldn’t all end in tears, but I also knew there were too many pressing issues concerning my wellbeing and the general happiness of my home country, America. To take into consideration the idea of a mass produced image of mind numbing discontent, you only need look at the younger populace. They are the ones getting fucked.

If nobody hears the cry of my generation, then war will be the inevitable conclusion to this tragedy. But we still have a chance, and it is for us to stand up and let our voices be heard as one. We are all on the same boat. Humanity must survive because it defines our very existence. The ones who will carry on our legacy—our children—need only be thrown into chaos and death while the older ones slip into death with troubled minds.

Sweet dreams, America.


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