The A.D.D. Generation

[blustocking]

Wait, I do have something to say...but I'm worn out. Let's just say that I wish our society wasn't so obsessed with "entertainment". I wish instead of our generational motto being, "Entertain me" it were something more along the lines of "Teach me." We have all of this great technology now, these wonderful means of information retrieval and communication and it's primarily used to distract us from our "boring" lives.

"Such a rush to do nothing at all
Such a fuss to do nothing at all
Such a rush to do nothing at all
Such a rush to get nowhere at all
Such a fuss to do nothing at all
Such a rush.

And it's just like you said,
It's just like you said.

Such a rush to do nothing at all.
Such a fuss to get nowhere at all.

Such a fuss X2

And it's just like you said.
It's just like you said.

Just slow down please,
Just slow down,
Just slow down please,
Just slow down.

Such a rush X15 (w/ increasing intensity)

Look at all the people going after money.
Far too many people looking for their money.
Everybody's out there, trying to get money.
Why can't you just tell me,
Try to get money, rush.

Such a rush.
They all rush.
Such a rush X7"

--"Such A Rush", Coldplay

...better if you hear it.

Comments

[haddob.livejournal.com]

leisure is gone--gone where the spinning-wheels are gone, and the pack-horses, and the slow wagons, and the pedlars, who brought bargains to the door on sunny afternoons. Ingenious philosophers tell you, perhaps, that the great work of the steam-engine is to create leisure for mankind. Do no believe them: it only creates a vacuum for eager thought to rush in: Even idleness is eager now--eager for amusement: prone to excursion-trains, art-museums, periodical literature, and exciting novels: prone even to scientific theorising, and cursory peeps through microscopes. Old Leisure was quite a different personage: he only read one newspaper, innocent of leaders, and was free from that periodicity of sensations which we call post-time. He was a contemplative, rather stout gentleman, of excellent digestion,--of quiet perceptions, undiseased by hypothesis: happy in his inability to know the causes of things, preferring the things themselves. He lived chiefly in the country, among pleasant seats and homesteads, and was fond of sauntering by the fruit-tree wall, and scenting the apricots when they were warmed by the morning sunshine, or of sheltering himself under the orchard boughs at noon, when the summer pears were falling. He knew nothing of weekday services, and thought none the worse of the Sunday sermon if it allowed him to sleep from the text to the blessing--liking the afternoon service best, because the prayers were the shortest, and not ashamed to say so, for he had an easy, jolly conscience, broad-backed like himself, and able to carry a great deal of beer or port-wine,--not being made squeamish by doubts and qualms and lofty aspirations. Life was not a task to him, but a sinecure: he fingered the guineas in his pocket, and ate his dinners, and slept the sleep of the irresponsible; for had he not kept up his charter by going to church on the Sunday afternoons?
Fine old Leisure! Do not be severe upon him, and judge him by our modern standard: he never went to Exeter Hall, or heard a popular preacher, or read "Tracts for the Times" or "Sartor Resartus."

I thought that was interesting, though you have to keep in mind it was written in the mid-ninteenth century.

it's by George Eliot, from Adam Bede I think.