How do you call the bus?
My grandfather used to answer any query to his health or well-being with "Well, I ain't dead." Is this really the best we can become? Longevity sounds like a nightmare. Let me sit around watching everyone I know and care about die while I twiddle my thumbs waiting for the bus to pick me up.
Death is around. This plane is built upon that fact. Trees try to kill other trees. Plants to kill other plants. Animals eat each other, or plants. And people, holy shit, fuck us. We destroy everything with callous disregard of the consequence waiting for some magic floating man to save us from stupidity.
I'm not actively seeking to terminate my experience (though my habits of imbibing may speak otherwise, I guess it's like Vonnegut said about smoking, a fairly slow, fairly certain, socially acceptable form of suicide). I don't jump in front of moving trains, or lay down in front of buses, or cover myself in a meat dress and wander into the local tiger cage.
I'm not really death averse. I don't care if it happens. I planned a "gift" (sounds like a weird term to comfort someone when I pass), for my kid. She will have a decent start (though will be an orphan young), more than I was given. I've no ego problems that suggest life won't go on without me. I've learned through my own experience that people die and the rest of us live. It sucks, but we get over it, or at least keep moving forward.
What's the motivation? That's really the question. I'm going to die. That's not a question. I believe in more. This plane is for experience and IMHO we can come back and experience it again in a different way. I like the concept of Nirvana (not the band, though they did revolutionize music). A return to the GodHead. An infinite moment of infinite peace. I've caught glimpses in my own spritual practices. I could be full of shit. That's another possibility, but either way I have some comfort.
What are we doing now? I'm past the ideals of youth. Shit works the way it does and I haven't yet figured out a way to change it. I try to embrace the chaos, but fighting the power is a different animal. Are we just passing the time until it's time for our ticket? I can find hobbies to fill in the time, but is that all there is once you understand mortality? Even Ozymandius was forgotten.
You cannot command the arrival of your trip to the other side. I mean, people try. How many bullets don't properly connect from a one inch distance, leaving you suffering in a different manner until it's time? Death comes for us all on its own schedule. The best you can hope for is to be active and enjoying this existence and it will come suddenly and silently rather than a prolonged existence which you can only pray will cease.
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NASCAR
No one watches Nascar for the excitement of turning left for three hours. Those in the infield jockey the rented RV for position, so on race day, there will be a clear view when a driver spins into the outside turn, leaving smoke and flame and debris in a flamboyant exit from the race. It's a safe thrill for the audience. Technology protects the drivers. There have only been 28 fatalities from crashes since 1952 and none since 2001. The small, safe, adrenaline rush keeps our blood lust satiated.
It's a different scene, when a rogue wheel skips across the track and wipes out a family of five in the grandstand. Then we have to acknowledge our total lack of control. Life is gravely serious at times. It was like watching Lindsey Lohan. It was funny at first, and then as her tragedy didn't fade, it no longer was anything but terrifying.
Some fans get good at identifying when a crash will occur. They can pick it out based on the track conditions and how the drivers choose their lanes. They'll shout to those nearby when to watch the wall.
Maybe I should attend more often to hone my skills. Maybe I'll see a train wreck coming and be smart enough to get off of the tracks.
Dahmer was simply hungry
I've seen through the crocodile tears to recognize the hopeful martyr beneath.
Living a life of salient self-sacrifice to recover from your sins
Where goes the argument of faith and works
When the deeds are distraction from the demons inside
Helping another to disprove the belief
The trashbag is filling to capacity
Perfume and flowers
Compete with garbage and rotten flesh
There is a limit to capacity without change
Overwhelmed by help
Unwilling to let another's hands get dirty
The gods don't want the unclean
Leaving mental gymnastics
To springboard to the conclusion
You're only harming yourself
Lost in the Desert
Friendship means nothing when crossing the desert without a caravan or water.
A one way street blowing the monarch butterflies backwards, while they still fly.
The end goal a quest for the sweet, sweet agave nectar in Mexico.
The superficial cry into their tequila while wiping runny noses with power lunch ties.
Choking off the air while providing a napkin to mop the drool from conquering the working class.
It's all fucked and so are we.
There is minimal chance for survival.
If only I were high when truth to power speak in the final five words of the national spelling bee.
Calling no one to the final mass under neon black light and fuzzy posters.