Dear Felix,

How could you love youth? After my Vienna fights I must admit you lack precision. Are you to love the youth of mind and freshness of intellect or rather the general youth with nothing to offer except for a few years of ridiculous experience? The latter fills me with fear.

The ‘glorious youth’ means nothing more than rude stupidity, hypocritical ignorance and bigotry (so obvious, as the young stand between childhood and being adult). They are surprising when bursting curses and ideas cruel even to themselves. I am bored with their common nonchalance and angry laughter – they wish they could reach the flamboyant style.

I afraid that I may hate them as much as they seem to hate me for not being like them. They look at me as if I was generally “too much” with everything: my language, my realism, my fantasy, my favorite drink and the way I choose Art. Since they do not know how to copy it, they deny or at least distort it.

All the things they claim they do not need they’d love to grasp when there is no-one around. They simply cannot accept M. and the way she is able to state the level of conversation but there is hardly anyone who would dare to replace her (or, who would manage to do so). No, it’s not vanity. We have tried, my friend, yet only thing we achieved was their angry jealousy and filled with self-disappointment silence.

You are needed here to tame this crude elite, to save them from falling into the endless admiration of sheer shallowness. If only I could believe in the vision they’re just posing as disobedient poets…

Yours,
Antoine


_______
from The fall called Autumn
by AlexandraAntoinette