It is a bitter pill to become a stranger in your own land. Inevitable by vireo of age when not having ‘made it’ you are shuffled over to one side. Your accumulated wisdom merely flypaper. The regular grumblings of an old man irrational when measured against the reasonability’s of the day. The man becomes an island in the middle of a small pond. Visible but overlooked. This is why the Gods made the forests! Too feed the bears and big cats and keep it well-stocked with the carcasses of the old that have formerly hunted them. This is the normal order of things. That is if you are lucky. A more accurate less prosaic view is more akin to a conveyor belt where by increasing dosages of drugs one is medicated upon a slow moving conveyor belt conducting one through the health care system. The greater government equally slowly recovering all your wealth piece by piece until you are left naked in one of their dormitories. No longer in custody of your own family your public presence in capitalized letters is sucked dry and vacuumed of any residual wealth. Then you are expected to conveniently die before the fiction of your benefits run dry. At least the bear in the woods would get it over with quickly and expeditiously!
So here and now I find myself at the cusp of another annual cycle that reflects only the saga of myself. The spinning engines of those who have existed before me that facilitated my own long spun out. My own castle tipping over threatening to see toss me tossed int he street. It is an illusion after all. A persistent illusion of the past that has not been fully cleared in my own delusional mind enough to see that tis mist is merely so. Its metaphor worn out. And the plain obviousness of the situation apparent to any eye but my own. The game is near to played out and I have to join the collective of its many losers. At least the ancient Viking’s were afforded the opportunity to die clutching a sword in battle? The rest of us must march along in rank and file minding to not miss a step so as to disrupt others. All things material tossed or sorted out of one’s grasp. The rancid smell of old flesh in clothes long unwashed lingering in some out of the way place wanting to die?
How much kinder it would be to be shot behind the ear and put out of one’s misery in such a situation. But these are not kinder times! The veneer of same is a hollow self-inscribed whisper that most keep ready in there own closet to defend their own petty egos. No one wants to be accused of indifference or being cold and heartless. But the fact is that we all are. It is just that one only truly gets to come to grips with it when they themselves no have to suffer its consequences. Too late for that newly hatched ‘believer’! It is far worse to be forgotten and more desirable to die in such a circumstance. All this talk, of course, being equally self-serving and unhelpful. Maybe even deviously manipulative? Yet true. In a world that rapidly renews its constant claims to be able to produce the beautiful this ugly truth remains a gnarled stump un-removable. We must look the other way like good citizens and be assured that someone else is working on that problem. But in a world of, “Tough shit buddy!” begin to accept it!