There was something wrong with him. He was dissatisfied. He stared out sightlessly as the morning crept into the windows overflowing the horizon its ebullience flowing from the center of that distant approaching eternal orb. Odd combinations of streets and urban sights still danced about in clear sight and indelible within that internal projection screen of his frontal lobe. The words in his mind immediately congealed and translated the wanderings within the same to a narratives, but then broke suddenly apart. The parenthetical descriptions dissolving into phrases and then in the next instant into a disorganized jumble of singular words each one blipping off the screen until there was just the back projected scene of his own bedroom silently about him. His conscious mind casting a net to recover some scene of importance that could be translated via speech from the world of dreams to the realm of persistent waking illusions.
“If he were eternal?“, he mumbled silently, “Was it possible to have become afflicted with a degenerative condition of the state of one’s consciousness?” A low far off inexplicable rumble restating the utter silence emanating from outside. The furniture and the contents strewn about it urgently immobile and untouched save by the invisible fingers settling another insignificant portion of dust upon all. He lay there un-moving seeing if through not activating his physical body into motion he might consciously recover some primary event from the saga that his animal nature still vividly retained. It was a game that for as long as he could recall over these last years seemed to be invaluable to glean some visual key with which to later pry open the mystery of those feeling that would travel along with him unsung. His mind seemed overwhelmed. Was this some physical malady slowly coming to gain hold of his mortality? So often he heard the rhythm of his own heart like a silent whisper beating in his temples.
It was true. Having attained the calendar age of some sixty-seven years and two months his schedule for departure into that infernal limbo known as death was now in force. At least by the reigning minutia of this fact bound technological universe that ruthlessly interceded its presence upon all daily human activity. Males would begin to die off in their mid to late sixties. At least so said a growing plethora of virtual articles posted with machine gun rapidity upon the Internet fed screens of his laptop and smart phone. The damn things had now eclipsed paper and pen bound instruments of past cognition like some fat lady budging her oversized form into the narrow divide of a rush hour train seat. And to his way of thinking, imperiously so! There seemed no room to properly think these things out when faced with the daily fusillade of facts and patent innuendoes lurking below the surface of an otherwise bland cleverness. He could feel it in his eyes. The pressure of these propositions set forth in the unwavering fracture of a mentally pulsating black and white.
True though it was he knew that he was in the hands of a demonic force that overturned even his own inherent nature of identity. He had after all tied his livelihood to the use of these tools. Electrically charged devices that routinely had been changed out over the last three decades as their use by both he and others had skyrocketed until they had become seemingly as prolific as the stars one could no longer see at night. The inconstant view of the world as it changed from hour to hour and day to day now replaced byte he constancy of the same sort of vistas captured and freeze dried upon the screen. Views that portended the notion that the same world in total was potentially viewable int he experience of these electronic portals. His unconscious mind briefly revealing the notion of some ancient figure gazing indefinitely as their own reflected image frozen upon the surface of an undisturbed pool of water. Where were the ripples?
Though he had morning after morning reenacted a similar ritual in small variations attempting to achieve the same desired result, it had not occurred to him that the larger possibilities were most probably masked by the other primary habituates of his existence. Solitary, and without the threat of the intimacy of another human living in close interaction, he was at the mercy of his own routine. Like the unexpected intercession of the toll of some famous clock tower bell, he had lost a former ability rampant in youthful adulthood to visualize mentally at will. The sensation of a thought fixed in the head was there. But its image was cloaked as if tightly censored behind a dressing screen within the room. Words but only the flash of a picture until its voice emanated from a fog that remained impenetrable. He could look inward and attempt to recall some face or scene that should have been well-ingrained but you could only summon what the physical twin windows of his eyes could provide. A whole storehouse of experience and memory now removed from any ability to recall them and reflect. What weakness of consciousness had slowly crept up and beset him?
It was true that he was legally blind in one eye. Often over this last calendar year since the phenomena had become dreadfully apparent he had contemplated wearing a patch over it. Something so as to encourage the other eyes to more efficiently take over’s other lagging tasks in a more monocular fashion. The irony of an equally incremental decay of other vital aspects of his physical being being equally evident. His teeth and gums, the inconstant irritability of his intestinal tract, the nightly press of unexpected palpitations of his heart that routinely interrupted sleep. Taken as a whole and despite a resident sense of inner timelessness of purpose, his mortal being was under an inevitable assault. So much in the way of irony after irony stood there in mocking silence. His chambers packed with books that now could not be mentally ingested except with great effort. A sampled constituency of varied objects and devices the use of which he no longer seemed to possess persistence to wield. This realization weighing him down with a congestion that seemed to afflict both eye sockets and head.
He had at times looked up the professional diagnoses of various medical conditions that most particularly affected his age group. The seed of such inquiry being some particularly pronounced ache or nagging phenomena that would not be displaced. The proclivity of headaches and a threat of physical displacement caused by same sometimes conjuring internal speculations of an unsuspected tumor afflicting what ere once the normal patterns of reasonable brain functions. The great debate of his age being a suspicion that institutional experimentation with imports that made up the key elements of daily nutrition had infiltrated the bodies of all citizenry. Genetically modified products that progressionally created utter havoc within one. The wild vagaries of the weather now rife in an unsuspected chaotic pattern that defied what one could have formerly expected four regular seasons of the year. One could speculate further upon a rain of various toxicities occasioned by technological discoveries woo quickly implemented by rolled over funding of speculators more concerned with gain than personally survivability. All had their own ring of plausibility.
Yet an unspoken dialogue existed within him that inferred a more sinister conclusion that he alone was culpable in what was becoming a matter of his own unsuspected complicity in contributing to his own demise. A mulish tendency on his part to resist at all costs conventional wisdom and persist in his own ways. Once personally convinced of the viability of a proposition, he could not be bent. The incongruity of this defying social conventions that organized daily life for others in completely different ways. His creation of lists both pro and con most probably defying necessities that his animal for required possibly leading to the very maladies that he was now becoming so keenly aware of. Was the pendulum of existence merely slowing? Or was a mortal end on the horizon? The death and disappearance of so many within his life had left him indifferent. The increase in the duration of various bouts of pain was inconveniently tolerated. The thoughts of death lacking the immediacy of fear of what had by now for the most part had been lost. In so many ways he was an emptied vessel upon a vast ocean now longer in sight of hopeful shores.
Only thoughts of a personal sense of hopeful dignity seemed relevant. If a mortal passing was deemed imminent, then the ability to die like a Viking with the sword of his own circumstances surrounding it well in hand. No tubes and cords to be sucking his vitals or pumping otherwise poisonous concoctions in an otherwise flagging corpse. Not to be resurrected for the vague industrial oriented purposes of society to offer more worked to be billed at the highest rates or monetary recompense against the rapidly emptied till of the unwary public trust. Let his remains be discovered after the fact and the discoverers divide up whatever booty they see fit. The material plain no longer of concern to him. It was plain to him that one of the several of the possibilities that stood grimly silent lurking before that great portal could afford him the boon of a total void of ultimate non-existence. Not being at all rather than a candidate for some tiresome form of further perdition in what had for him become the banality of a prison bound existence. The moral lessons of his shortcomings by now all too well understood.
Pain, pleasure, sorrow, remorse, happiness, exultation, the possibility of its revival had all shifted into a sense of mediocrity. The rest of humanity had been encountered in a variety of scenarios over the years and been found as equally lacking in all the important traits as he himself. What use was it to build these sand castles and skyscrapers in the material world all to one day realize that all one was really engaged in was some cosmic folly centered around their own vanity? How sad to so often play these palor games of romantic attraction with the hope of finding fidelity in another when one discovered that the other bonds one hoped to escape were offered only once. And once denied, never obtainable ever again. How many times could one ride a roller coaster or spin about a merry-go-round until afflicted with a permanent emotional ad nauseum? The rediscovery that the heart and not the head was the true compass point of the universe. All else being inescapable forms of a self-destructive folly.
Those youthful follies of wanting to be known and noticed and to express one’s self without anything as of yet defined. The be all, want all, beware all sturm und drang of competition with all others to gain an upper hand in having all of one’s desires satisfied first and foremost. The worship of an infant inclined to see the world as static and ever fruitful as within the arms of those that had birthed them. All wants and desires inherent and incessantly echoing as unsatisfactorily unsatisfied equally expunged. Meaningless and demeaning to this age now. The ability to give up the conquest of all things and lay down one’s own banner into the mud so as to be indifferently trodden upon and forgotten being the goal. To find a sense of unity in all things through the possibility of mere being. Something beyond judgment or being judged. This singular desire still rang true despite the loss of focus of all things now past.
He could imagine how this enraged the great beast of society. That nameless pervasive entity that was tirelessly at play ferreting out those who deviated from the fickle conflicting diatribes that its pernicious amoebic consciousness devised. It’s pseudopodia ever threatening to overwhelm if its thin repetitive narrative was ignored. Fate and the love of now long deceased forebears had at least left him with a roof over his head. Perhaps with no little irony at his own peril. He could imagine the long list of what might be easily judged as failures as in fact being explorations leading progressively to needed conclusions. A massive game that was enacted over the entire world in his wandering to some of its locations to come to certain conclusions about both it and himself. Learning from a manner of characters and situations what was significant amidst a larger bumble of the trivial. What was there then to lament as undiscovered?
What then was the frustration of habitual daily existence to him! To see these, his own ambitions washed away? To realize that his tireless effort in their fruition come to naught as if they never had been? To recall the dead inert visages within their cardboard coffers pretending to embody those two that had once brought him into this realm of existence? He could turn off the great beast that he had once been in fear of. All the engines of progress that had ground down humanity into an increasing tempo of a St. Vitus dance of coming self-imposed self-destruction. He was beyond them. The ongoing cycle of business and measured intervals of recreation and the importance of a constant worship of the same meant nothing. The worries of the soul now left to be attended to were more personal approachable now. Right thinking in the larger sense of providing morality rather than self-serving perfidies. To blend with the final inevitabilities of returning the nature of chaos as the simplest most elemental substances of nature. Unaware and unknowing of the next possible combination to bring something unexpected and unknowable to this realm to life. That, after all, was life.