July 24, 2003

  • It’s a perfect day.  The weather is optimized for comfort.  My body is pain free.  And instead of working 12 or 16 hours (really, typically of late), I’ve embraced these superiorly faultless, untainted moments of time, unmediated by mankind, as mine.  All mine. 


     



     


    Today would be a good day to die.  Right there.  Make the laptop I’m holding my headstone.  Laptop memory’s made of silica and silica is a stone and memory resides in the head.  So what more apropos symbolism for a blogger who’s dead? 


     


    But if truth need be told, I can’t die today.  Because I already died long ago.  And never will again.  Something tells me I expired ultimately upon the birthing edge of humanity under torture of a teased love unreturned.  But unbeknownst to me, I was the primal Narcissus teasing myself most mortally with myself by gazing into an ever-changing, never-returning stream of fluid forgetfulness.  And I was the first to whisper to myself “Yes”, as to commit, and dive deep into that siren-screaming stream, never to resurface with life’s very last gift: death. 


     


    Hence, now I plod onward deathlessly into the rigor of tomorrow.  And I will mourn the passing of the Sun when its time comes.  And as the Earth becomes fuel for Supernova (Sun on steroids), therein shall I, too, blaze like an insomniac space-cowboy into the never-sunset of some imagined eternity’s happenstance.  And, as even as the cosmic shuffle decrees ‘Still more…’ , I will revel in the destruction of the Zodiac and all its constellations as I evolve, molecule by molecule, into yet unexpressed beauteous evolutionary aberrations of dark light and light darkfulness.


     


    Yet, there shall never come a time.  There shall never come a time quite like the perfection of this moment so imperiously unimpelled. 


     


    And thus: what remains, remains.  And with it, the you and I we were (we are) forever.

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