Old men are on their own nowadays. Those of us who try harder have to try harder still. And face the fact that results these days are even farther and few between. Perhaps this is a lament based on loss? Perhaps this is something else? The vagaries of one’s dealings with the outside world are never held to useful scrutiny as they are in youth. Lie an old used car, there is little market in same overall. the one thing that there is plenty of is the inertia of too many decades of assembled thoughts and actions that are aligned in a singular direction, crystal hard. You see that the world is changing and definitely slipping far away from your own possibilities of further direct participation. Unless you have fully thrown your life on the ever smoldering embers of useless Capitalism the pittance of any amassed wealth fades away along with you in equal measure. The folly of this all too regimented society falls away from your eyes as a veil of truth is lifted from your eyes that you have been written off. And in turn, you write off the rest of society in kind as it can no longer understand you or take your part if events come to a situation of crisis.
I saw a middle aged white woman of some five hundred pounds or more sitting quietly alone by herself in obvious despair within an abandoned food court section of a local movie multiplex. Alone and by herself she stated at the setting sun gripping a half finished paper container of popcorn while young black and white teenagers zipped by in a manner that demonstrated their scorn for her obvious sloth. If you have ever seen someone die before your eyes then this might be the next worst experience of the dissolution of life. Outside a mental manufacturing plant where illusions are built, modified and maintained lay the wrecks of former models of past vintage now abandoned to the emotional scrap heap. Normally such sights are reserved for emergency workers who are called at the end of some final conclusive act of God or man. Yet there is a power in seeing such a thing that goes far beyond anything that Hollywood or the government inspired press can muster. Someone who is on their last legs , begging some small unexpected act of kindness in a desert of same simply in the last throes of death at its lack.
If life’s real lessons are taught in a manner that one must from a certain point forward continue to ponder them nightly in the midst of sleepless night after night. And then be carried along from that point on an unspecified distance like a silent but omnipresent toothless phantom, then what? Sooner of later that unrelieved burden weighs one down to a point where the wolves of our society tear what was remaining of the sum total of our paths completely asunder. This is the emptiness that one can too often see in any asylum or nursing home with little effort. In this culture, you don’t die in your beds but on the streets and in the solitary privacy of the sand castles of your own homes. No faith or religion or unexpected intervention deus ex machina can ultimately save your self from the realization of yourself of just another unrecognizable face in a crowd of same that have endlessly come and gone.