There’s a rumbling amongst we rebels of this generation.

Forgoing the hard won ways of our fathers, and their fathers before them, we seem to crave for the notoriety of creation—building, painting, singing, writing; it’s become a means for us to be seen, to be noticed.

We drown in a world wrought with culture and the benign advantages of creative success. Overrun with the storied accomplishment of those who supply the world with their art, their song, their words, we bellow at the top of our creative lungs, only hoping to be heard.

“Your attention! Read this! Listen here! Notice that! Me! Notice me! Please!”

It’s become the meaning of life and the process of our ways. In the days of many, we only wish to be “that one”.

Still aching for the acknowledgement and invitation to success, we busy our hands and hearts, praying for a frightening flash of genius we so cravenly hope to possess.

We are the empty vessels desiring to be fulfilled; desperately wanting the respect of our competition and the jealousy of our rivals.

We are a generation of creators, and by God, we will do just that.

Adrift in the days of art and song and movement, we are the reincarnated days of the Renaissance, shining in the way only we can…for we are the creating few.

Sliding into the conscience of a distracted population, we work, work, work wanting only to shine, shine, shine in an overcrowded marketplace.

Yet, a mystery remains. Why are we so hellish and bent on being known for our brilliance and innovation?

Why are we so terribly frightened of going unnoticed?

With a mind to our ways and a thought to our means, the answer is simple, yet blinding.

We build so that we are noticed; we create so that we are always remembered; we forge so that we are not forgotten;

Climbing the heaps of the muddled masses, we write and dance and paint and sing, all at once brandishing our unanimous plea,

“Please…just remember me.”

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