The capitalist accessories of our quest for generational belonging—from the products we consume and integrate into our personalities to the narrowing set of viable ways to make a living in today’s economy—have provided us all with infinite, shiny reasons to further segregate ourselves, to feel solidarity mainly with those in our age bracket. As a result, these tried and true staples of our inherited intergenerational discourse have been pulling double duty as effective tools in an endless class war that enables a powerful few to hold dominion over the fractured, powerless many. Coming generations can ill afford such arbitrary divisions when the bulk of their waking lives will be collectively eaten up in the unavoidable, thankless chore of cleaning up the mess we’ve left them. At the same time, though, this very tainted legacy is why generational identity and intergenerational solidarity will likely mean something more substantive from now on—something that has, buried in it, the blood of proletarianization.

[...] The musician has played versions of the same Brahms ballad for seven-and-a-half hours, followed, unexpectedly, by three other ballads in quick succession, each played only once. Tears begin to stream down Sibylla’s face. “It was as if after the illusion that you could have a thing 500 ways without giving up one he said No, there is only one chance at life once gone it is gone for good you must seize the moment before it goes.”