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A Day in the Life: Age

It is not death that brings on judgement day, it is age. Age, the years lived or not, the lies told to ourselves and others. Age sat him down in a room of excuses made while they whispered in his ears. They were ghosts from his past, most forgotten. But age had not forgotten.

Age was judge and jury and every day in that house was another day in prison, another whisper in the room, another problem to be solved. His age sat silently making notes. It didn’t matter that he screamed “I DIDN’T KNOW!” Age would look up and past him and then down at his life’s ledger.

There was nothing to do with age or with anything. Age was reality. There was only reality and there was no escape but one. He looked around at others that had outlived their age: afraid of dying, not aware that it was age that was their enemy, not death.

He was not going to let age win. He was not going to accept its forgone conclusions. Age was an option, he remembered, and it was himself that gave it the power it had.

A Day in the Life (5)…

We are monkeys at the end of the day. Oohing and aahing, competitive and looking over our shoulders, afraid of our own shadows and smiling nervously at the unknown.

He thought about this as he looked at the hair on his arms. Rubbing his fingers across his forearm back and forth he was lost in thought. He imagined the Serengeti a thousand years ago with a tuft of trees off in the distance. He imagined the silence, the danger, the excitement. But he knew it would have been exciting for his tree-bound ancestors. They probably didn’t experience excitement but only fear and anger: the same thing in difference guises.

He rubbed the hair on his forearms again and imagined himself in the Serengeti. It was different now. And although he had never been he knew it would be different now. Probably overrun with grimy-clad people and garbage. The jungles, he imagined, were gone now. Nature, he imagined, had been burned back for the sake of prostitution and progress. And still, and still were were only apes looking over our shoulders and nervously smiling, afraid of our own shadows.

He rubbed the hair on his forearms and thought about the cost of boredom.

A Day in the Life (4)…

The famous Socratic adage rang clear and true every day, every year. Deep down he had never changed. He had remained faithful to his love and devoted to his dreams and child-like joy for approaching the world with open eyes and open arms.

Unlike his child-like joy his wise adult self succumbed to the child’s surprise. It succumbed to the strangest things. Slavery instead of freedom, whispers of trapped prisoners in dark cells instead of the glorious screams fresh air, fields, and sunshine. He ran on a treadmill instead of country paths. But all the while he fed the small child in the gilded cage inside his mind.

He was older now, if not wiser he was more aware. He realized that courage did not come at a high cost. It required honestly and nothing else. Acceptance was the real expense and he had paid. Always knowing, he had paid. Even after the debt was freed from his shoulders he had paid. Even after…

But now he was loosening the chains from the gilded cage and freeing the small curious child that had waited patiently in the darkness for his freedom.

A Day in the Life (3)…

He had bought into the cheap stories and the tales of “how things are.” He had accepted the drug and watched his hand, as if he were a stranger, slide the needle into another stranger’s arm. He had bought the hype, the judgement, the promises, the normalcy, the consumer-ridden meat that he had been offered.

He had fought it in his own way throughout the years, enjoying the grimaces and frowns of disappointment from the courts of social righteousness but he had always conformed. He had twisted his dreams just enough to keep him in with the in-crowd. He had given in to the pressures of the expectations just enough to get a disapproving nod from strangers.

Looking back now he realized that he was ashamed. Had had been ashamed of who he was; of being creative, of being curious. He wanted to learn and wanted to see and understand intellectually. He wanted to know how. These were considered strengths in theory but truly he was ashamed that he pursued these things.

He had been ashamed of who he was and had instead bowed to the wants of strangers for nothing more than acceptance and even the occasional smirk. It had not been worth it but he didn’t know then what he knew now.

A Day in the Life (2)…

He really had no ideas how he had done it, how he’d pulled it off. Though the thought that all of it had been the result of hard work, persistence, talent and tenacity was inviting the truth of it was that it was circumstance, situation and luck. The experimentation of life had been a success although he didn’t understand how or why.

He was an experimenter of life, trying new things and making just enough money at them. He had fulfilled goals and even a few dreams but had had to fight the empty judging glare of society that was always out for an explanation. He owed it none and knew it but still it poked his brain, a rat in a cage.

At least until lately. The strange thing was that he looked at progress by reviewing the past. Living in the present, planning the future and measuring progress by the past was dizzying, leaving a stomach-churning felling that was a constant presence. He had always assumed that was ubiquitous, that everyone thought of life as an experiment in G-forces.

He had always believed that clarity would eek out of a crack in a slowly opening door, fighting rusty hinges. But he was wrong.

A Day in the Life…

Yet again the universe was dropping choice turds in front of him. “That’s life!” some would say, without thinking. But it wasn’t really life. It was how you led your life, and he had tried, failing many times. He had tried to lead a good life. Looking at the finish line looming nearer and nearer, the idea of good was fading in favor of some peace and quiet.

The suburbs were never a good idea. They were never a good thing but for the time being he was hidden in their mazes of bland and beige houses. He was comfortable. But now he found he wasn’t opposed to it. The city had become even more of a monstrosity of human ugliness with every sort of man-made evil laid out for consumption.

It offered a never-ending comfort if you had the cash and if you didn’t mind watching the world burn from a comfortable chair. He sipped his coffee and pondered about the cement and trees that surrounded him. Comfort came in many forms bot for now he enjoyed its soothing but stern grasp knowing all the while that the thorns would show themselves at any moment.

Guns, God and Greed: Excerpt

“Is that legal?” the Leader asked.

“Legal?!” the assistant answered, looking surprised. Surprised that the Leader was asking a question rather than bleating out his “facts”. He was also surprised at the naivete of the question.

“Law is for those who can’t afford anything else. And besides, we make law. We interpret law. Do you think that having automatic weapons available to every half-wit dumbass in this country ought to be legal?

The Leader had a grim look on his face.

“NO!” the assistant answered, “No fucking way! But they are and that’s the law.”

Now he was on a roll.

“Law is a useful weapon, though. It’s a gun that can be pointed at our enemies.

The advisor interjected, “There you go again with your useless analogies…”

“Metaphors” the assistant corrected.

The advisor shook his head in disgust and smiled at the now sulking Leader. He was confused into silence. He didn’t like feeling stupid. He would have to make someone else’s life a little worse, a little more miserable. That was his gun.

Lucky

There was nothing she was in want of. Enough was her norm. She worked but not for the need of money; only out of boredom and the need for something to do. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to feel the need of necessity or that she didn’t like the satisfying feeling at the end of the month. She simply didn’t need it.

She didn’t take any of this for granted. She was not entitled. She had simply won a lottery she never entered to play. It was as if the world wandered away. It was as if she was sidelined to watch time pass. There was only one thing she wanted and she even got that, if only in bits and bites. It was a dream but it meant handing the lottery winnings over.

Was it fear? Was it sadness?

And so the years went by and she worked passionately without the need to. She never became numb to time or worn out from sameness and the cruel ways of the world. She simply gave up dreams and tried to understand that life was truly short and the she should really consider herself lucky.

Love Long

They loved each other in a way. It was a mystery even after decades. They had loved passionately and then with bitter desire, and then with silence; The silence came with goals and purpose, each their own. They loved without words.

And now after so long together, they loved in even a different way. It now came unnoticeably and without fanfare or warning. It was as surprising as breathing or a bland meal. IT was no longer daily or weekly, but yearly. IT was quiet, almost difficult to define. It was there but only barely.

Perhaps love runs its course in those of us who do such things? But they hung on nevertheless, always looking for more or better even when those things were not important. Even when, with years of thought, they realized that they never really existed. But they loved each other anyway.

Their love was either unfathomably deep like and endless ocean, or dry and imaginary like a mirage in the desert. It didn’t matter anyway. Not after so many years. Not after so many secrets had been shared and promises made.

Nothing

He sat and thought about the immense size of the universe. It was unfathomable and it made all else meaningless. Everything was simply created, created by us to make ourselves feel as if we mattered. That phrase “as if” echoed in his head.

All those norms, love, responsibility, virtue, knowledge; they all were petty thoughts and worries that filled days and darkened doorways. They were illusions. He understood this. He knew it.

He was a priest, taking vows of celibacy for nothing more that faith. He knew that his worries and his beliefs were for nothing. He knew the whole thing was a charade but for some reason he could not let them go. He clung to them as if they were all that mattered, and in a sense, he was right.

He grabbed at them as if they meant something, greedily devouring the lies like candy. He became obsessed with more; plenty was a lie. He hoarded his thoughts and his things and every once in a while he looked up at the sky filled with stars that were most certainly dead and gone.