No I

The finality of death fascinates me. The biological engine that makes up who we are is snuffed out in an instant, and the sentient life form that once was is no more. Even a simple thought, such as “I like the color blue,” no longer matters, because the “I” in the subject no longer exists, and it all occurs without pomp, without circumstance. 

In nature, the organism merely desiccates, the once living, thinking, postulating, dreaming, philosophizing brain, that opinionated and fact laden organ, is no longer relevant or useful except as sustenance for other creatures, predicated on a successful death for which they shall, too, follow along in their meeting.

It saddens me. Hugs, giggles, rage, tears, self-examination, wonder, and worry, a universe inside a universe… rotting meat. It seems so ingnominious in its occurrence. You would, or might, think that we, as a species, would put our collective power, our amazing intellect, into preserving this precious commodity of life, to save it from the unceasing cruelty of death, but instead we help death along, giving aid to a force of nature that does not care for it, nor does it offer special consideration for those who do: war, famine, greed, pestilence, we augment these evils, we give comfort to the destroyer, possibly because we see ourselves in it as children of chaos and destruction.

I consider this to be a great unholy alliance. There is no I in team, nor is there one in death. When will we learn this? I do not know. For me, death is forever the enemy, because once I am dead, it holds me forever, and I have not the power nor presence to fight it, for there is no more I.

Fathers Day

Today I wished my father a happy day, and gave him the gift of a book. He doesn’t read much outside of his favorite room, but when he’s in there, he has plenty of time to read quite a bit. That said, I always have conflicting emotions on this day, big surprise. I wish every father a happy day today, and I honestly wish I could join them in that celebration. I have wanted to be a dad my entire adult life. 

I have wanted a wife, children, and to be a part of that aspect of humanity, to add myself to the chain of humanity, to contribute a part of me that would go on when I am gone. That it continues to elude me just presses the pain deeper. 

My mother was 23 when she had me, my father was 19. My brother was 19, and his wife 22 when their first child was born. There are cousins who were born when I graduated high school that are getting married and starting their families. I wish them well, but oh gods the knife just twists and twists in my chest. I just have this knowing, sinking feeling that I will die of loneliness, surrounded by oblivious strangers.

When I turned 18, my mother was 41. I am 37, loveless, lonely, and childless.

Pills & Shots

I take 7 pills, and 4 shots a day, just so I can wake up tomorrow and take 7 pills, and 4 shots a day. I’ve settled into a routine, now, and so every morning, I take my pills, and a shot. Around noon, I take another shot, then again around late afternoon, and one more big shot late at night, so my blood sugar maintains uniformity overnight. It prevents me from dying in my sleep.

What do I get for this regimen? The opportunity to do it over and over again ad nauseam, until there are no more pills, and no more shots. If there was some life in between, at least there would be a point to it, but at this juncture, I’m just doing it as a message to tell death to go fuck itself. I see no real point in living (romantic love, engaging directly with humanity, experiencing the variety of life, these things I am not a part of), but I don’t want death to win, because I despise that bastard with every fiber of my being.

I know there are people out there who get this, who can relate. What gets you through this? What do you do if there’s nothing to hold on to except stubbornness and white hot anger? Is that enough?

Workers of the World

I’m getting ready to read “Capital and other Writings,” by Karl Marx, for the first time. The book was ordered, and I’ll get it in a few days. This is an entirely new direction for me, in terms of literary study. When it comes to politics, the last book I read with a heavy focus on social change was Rush Limbaugh’s “I Told You So,” which was released in 1996, when I was a devout Christian conservative Republican.

This is a swing in a different direction because I’ve never read Marx. I’m a firm believer in the notion that one does not have to agree with the ideas the author lays down, as long as one is also willing to give space for that author’s words to be considered. I am liberal, by U.S. standards, and cannot deny that laborers the world over are often exploited at the hands of those who seek to accrue wealth and power (some believe those two terms to be synonymous), but I’ve never considered myself a communist.

Believe it or not, I’m actually looking forward to reading this book. That said, I was a little nervous when I actually made the purchase, because the United States is in the midst of a dramatic shift, and I know that people who order Qu’rans, books on anarchy, and even Marxist literature, is probably put on a watch list at some point. I should never have to feel that way about simply reading a book, but the climate in the U.S. is not very friendly towards such things at this point.

Still, the desire to read the book won out, and knowing I will not find it in a bookstore within the 5 miles I can travel, hell we don’t even have a bookstore within the nearest 5 miles, so to the internet I go, my only real key to salvation in this place.

I’ll probably write up a critique of the book after I read it, or maybe not. It depends upon how much energy I have, and whether the content of the book itself, which also includes his other works, such as the Communist Manifesto, is enough to drive me to write. It takes more and more to get that motivation these days, but here’s hoping. It’s been so long since I’ve truly been interested in something to where I had to read it as soon as possible.

I hope this little side journey ends up being a fruitful venture for myself.

Spark

 

I don’t dare get my hopes up. If I do, and it doesn’t work out, I don’t believe I could handle another crash to the earth. Suffice to say, mom can now sit on the side of the bed. She can move her legs. Therapy has made it to the point where she can move about in the bed with greater ease. Her ability to sit up under her own power, and get in a chair, could be possible in as little as 2-3 months, if her therapy continues.

Right now, she is being evaluated by the insurance company. If they are given the green light, she’ll get another 2-3 months of therapy. If not, the therapy ends here. She believes she’ll be able to walk again. I still hold out hope that she will.

Regardless, this has to go somewhere. I’d like those dreams where I die young, alone, unloved, and in poverty to be nothing more than just bad dreams.

Getting To The Point Of It All

I posted this on my Facebook page as well as posting it here. I want a wider audience on this one, because this gets to the heart of exactly how I feel about love, and how people express that love. Enjoy.

Life is short. Don’t be afraid to love somebody. I’m not kidding, and I’m sure many of you know this, but I just want to say it anyway.

We will all die someday. All of us. Every one of us, along with our hopes, dreams, likes, loves, habits, hums, songs, idiosyncrasies, and heartbeats, will one day fall silent. There is no way to stop it.

We get one life here, on this earth, as we are right now. No matter whether you believe in an afterlife or not, this iteration, this one instance of you and I as who we are, will eventually die.

That sounds a bit morbid for some, but it’s better that truth be faced directly. I say this because if you want to love someone, if you want to be a part of their lives, if you want to wrap your heart around theirs, then go for it.

If you love them, they love you, and the relationship is fully informed and consensual, then what other people think can just fuck the fuck right off. Their protestations of too young, too old, too fat, too thin, male, female, agender, transgender, non-binary, asexual, homosexual, bisexual, pansexual, heterosexual, Monogamous, Polyamorous, just make it happen.

You’ll have plenty of time to listen to the crowd after you’re dead, but for now, while you’re alive, seize that moment, capitalize on it, and make it a part of you. One of my favorite figures in history once said, “nothing ventured, nothing gained,” and if you’re worried about “normal,” man, *fuck* normal. Who’s normal? No one’s normal. Not one soul on this planet can lay claim to that most broad, and vague, of terms.

Life’s too short to have regrets.

Nervous Tics

 

I have a number of nervous ticks: I rock back and forth, my eye twitches, I tap my fingers against my leg, I count off on one hand using my fingers, I shake my legs, and so on.

When I get frustrated, annoyed, or stressed (you can guess how often that occurs), I usually find myself engaged in one of those nervous tics. Today a really weird one started happening. My head kind of jerked to the side, and it did it twice. Then, a few minutes later, it did it again, and I panicked. Of course, that set off an anxiety attack, and since I have had only 4 hours of sleep since yesterday morning (it is currently 6:16 AM), the anxiety is being compounded by the exhaustion.

I’m really worried that I’m approaching another nervous breakdown. I’ve had several over the years, and I’ve had to power through them each time. I know they’ve done damage, believe me I know, but regardless, this is something I would like to avoid.

I’m getting ready to go to sleep, and I’m hoping that it will take the edge off the fear.