As I sit here in one of two chairs I realize that I am but a cinder of past events. Somewhere in-between what what life once seemed and what it has turned out to be. Today is a dual anniversary of sorts. A day when all pretense of a family legacy died. A day when can recall two years past my mother bid farewell to the place that she had resided for some thirty-five years on her way out to the inevitable great beyond. The death of the family which was an iron reality that was tossed to the fluff of imagination by her passing. Today, the last client signed off from the illusion of the company that they created. I am totally alone. The default state of everyone at some certain point in human existence. Only one of you in particular comes out of the womb. And only one of you is able to fit in the coffin. I am ready. Life at a certain point shifts from an endless number of first’s to the inevitable series of last’s, I am running through a list of my own. That communal entity that I formerly was in civilized society has gone underground. The chaos awaiting him with the passing from this world leaves him pondering the slow slide into eventual dissolution. This is the terrible inevitability that seemingly all must face. The game can only go so far. I know this brings the inevitable protests from the young. I was young once until I realized that this was only an LP re-echoed. something that can only be so many times before it gets stale. Then what?
I surrender my name and my illusions and become whoever anyone thinks that I am. What’s the use? Who cares what I thought the episode of some passing nothingness was infinitely more interestingly than anything about me. That is what I share with everyone else A fundamental sense of anonymity. The people that think they control things are mistaken. They are so predictable in their desires that they don’t even rate as a viable life form. Iv’e been there, done that. It’s bullshit! The secret is that we are in an infinitive loop. Repeat, repeat, repeat. But hoping, ever hoping for a then what to appear. I am a witness. But that does not make me alive! So what do you do when the hair is gray and the organs begin to fail. Gather thee rosebuds while thee may! I will probably outlast the rest! Not because I deserve to! But because it is my penance. Hubris is its own reward. For all you psychoanalysts out there let me leave you with a thought. This could be you. But you were too much in your thoughts.