It is a long life.
I don’t want to die.
But someday I will also be glad to reach its end.
Is it strange or sad or maladaptive to say that?
I’ve felt it many times in the past. I feel it again tonight.
— § —
I’m listening to David Bowie’s acoustic performance of Dead Man Walking from 1997.
Years of hard, confused living, up and down, alive and as good as dead. Integrity is poison, to go with all the other kinds. Hard living it has been. I’m not a rock star or a member of a biker gang, but I’d put my wear and tear against any of theirs.
How is it for the people that don’t live hard?
Do they feel as much? Do their colors seem as bright? Does the air smell as fresh to them as it does to me early on March mornings as the dew looks for places in the sky to hide?
Do they love the same? Do they hate the same?
Is there some advantage to all of this? Does the candle that burns twice as fast necessarily and really burn twice as bright? And even if it does, is that a good thing?
— § —
It is what it is. It has always been whatever it was.
There is only one lesson that can be learned in life, and even then not everyone learns it.
It is what it is.
— § —
How many people have I been? How many places? How many times have I told the truth? How many times have I lied? Are there even answers to these questions? Does it even matter if there are answers to these questions? Should I be reading C. S. Lewis? Kahlil Gibran? Can I give my kids what they need before my time is up? Can any parent?
Why does it get so dark? Does it seem darker than it used to be? Is it my fading eyesight? I know that my hearing is fading, as it did for my father once, a long time ago.
— § —
“Like a dead man walking…”
Atlantic City. I remember being in Atlantic City with a car full of geeky undergrads, climbing the fountains, creating mayhem, spending money left and right, drinking to excess in the middle of the night, far away from everything, far away from reality, far, far away from the selves that we all so badly wanted to leave behind, a universal human impulse if ever there was one.
Or is it? Is that a conceit?
So many questions. It’s folly to look for answers. You won’t get them. You can try. You can scream, kick, drink, make a scene, push everybody away, pull them close, fight, fight, fight the sky and every last one of the stars with every bone and muscle in your body. You won’t get them.
They aren’t there.
That’s the dark secret of the universe. The answers aren’t there for you. They aren’t there for anyone. That’s not what the universe is for. And you can’t know what it’s for.
And you won’t. Ever.
— § —
Tomorrow. Tomorrow is always terrifying and always inspiring and always hopeful and always depressing. Because tomorrow you will live. Or because tomorrow you will die.
The same goes for everyone.
And today… today is just tomorrow gone beyond its sell-by date, all spoilers on the table.
— § —
“The secret story is the one we’ll never know, although we’re living it from day to day, thinking we’re alive, thinking we’ve got it all under control and the stuff we overlook doesn’t matter.”