The clear skin and clean limbs and rude health, the easy confidence and bright eyes and eager minds... is there anything more beautiful than the young? And even those without the good health and rosy glow, even those with body hang-ups and mental blocks and self-esteem issues: underneath it all, the light still burns. Whether they realise or not, they still have that swagger, that unfakeable, glorious insouciance of those with every possibility imaginable laid out ahead of them.
We’re accused of deifying the young, of pandering to their beauty. Quite right too. Theirs is all beauty: and wisdom comes later.
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This is the age of the slogan, the soundbite, the snappy phrase in place of considered argument. Thought is dying; reason’s gone critical. In bookshops and magazine racks we’re told only what we want to hear: we’re told it in neat, bullet-pointed affirmations of our own worth.
No more. This is the fightback. The resuscitation. This is the slogan as explainer of the world. One a day for a year. Three hundred and sixty five phrases, soundbites and bullet points with which to make sense of the way things are now and point to how things could be tomorrow. Read them and weep.
Defining the age through a slogan a day
This is the age of the slogan, the soundbite, the snappy phrase in place of considered argument. Thought is dying; reason’s gone critical. In bookshops and magazine racks we’re told only what we want to hear: we’re told it in neat, bullet-pointed affirmations of our own worth.
No more. This is the fightback. The resuscitation. This is the slogan as explainer of the world. One a day for a year. Three hundred and sixty five phrases, soundbites and bullet points with which to make sense of the way things are now and point to how things could be tomorrow. Read them and weep.
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