Mobile phone in one hand and spliff in the other, the glazed over generation are a force governed by fear. Under the pretence that they are fearless, that nothing can affect them, that their soullessness is bullet proof, they are actually reigned by terror. One protest equals ostracism, one poem equals vilification, one tear equals social suicide. To care is to fail in this culture.

The university has devolved. No longer a hub of learning; it is a centre for self-harm. A breeding ground for sin, the temptations that were repressed before are celebrated now; meaningless sex, hungry drug consumption, giving up on life.

The drudgery of millennial life seems insidious, the apocalypse is now. In a scene that seems dominated by the aloof, by the removed, by the unsympathetic, it seems that disinterest is pervasive and futures are uninspired. The contagion of the drugged up detachment feels like torrential shower of grey. The weed induced haze clouds the enthusiasm and the inertia pacifies the passion. Silence in answer to anything of any gravity, cheers in answer to a pixelated ball kicked into a virtual goal or a pretend bullet piercing an animated skull. Where is sensitivity? Where is empathy? Where is human contact and love and emotion and feeling? It’s hidden under the rock of teenage dispassion and behind the wall of emotional impenetrability. You won’t see them cry. You won’t see them smile. God forbid they breach the boundary of what they are allowed to say, cross past the road of conversation on sex and violence and traverse into the realm of real connection. We have meme-ified depression, joking about death and screaming fuck my life. Repeated jokes that depend on the degradation of others to avoid introspection on their habits, sneering remarks about appearance, mordacious mockery of anyone who unzombifies themselves; these are the weapons in their armoury. Cruelty, Ket, porn, curse words, consoles, sport, cannabis; these are the currencies of companionship now.

Gone is the gregarious.  Here is the coma.