ジョシュ・ブローリンさんのインスタグラム写真 - (ジョシュ・ブローリンInstagram)「The air from afar reads thicker, that America, remembering spray painted symbols of anarchy in our youth by young punks, angst risen in rage, while we pierced and painted our hair, sometimes shaved our heads to match our Michelangelean faces. Our creative nectar was feeding that seed, that densely germinating pit inside us, that would come out in our music, our lyrics, or a closed fist hard in the face. We played video games, pockets bulbous with silver, bloodless hand on lever, focused on high scores while spitting expletives of remnant Big Macs on the screen. We were wild but innocent. Now, with my angel pointing up at that same childish-anarchy symbol our America has changed and is careful and scared and tiptoes while we, wife and child, walk cobblestones, the way it’s been for centuries, thinned and more naked with distance. We stroll, talk with old Hungarian women, watch men whose looks could murder smile with such warmth because you know they’ve survived. They know the real meaning of loss. America: we are victims of nothing but ourselves. We are our own ambush. This is a democracy on wheels acting out dirty vaudevillian scenarios while we whine and we whine and we whine. Come together. Sooner than later. The poem can be drained of all humanity. Nothing’s invincible.」5月25日 15時56分