The Hearse
Every morning when I arrive at work I park on the last floor of the parking garage next to a hearse, haphazardly of course. I don't drive around looking for hearses to park along side. Don't ask me who drives a hearse as a commuter car either, I don't know. Rad if you ask me. But I have found a rather significant symbolism in an otherwise uneventful event.
I start my day next to a hearse. A reminder of the destination. That being death. Whatever. And if there was ever such a thing to remind myself of the journey, that is everything leading up to the destination, well, it might be a hearse.
My journey is unfolding, still gaining steam and expanding in directions I never thought it would. It has brought extremes of every kind from nearly every place and I couldn't be happier with where I'm at and where I'm headed. The journey means Everything to me. The people. The places. The now and the soon to be now. Not the destination.
So wherever you're at on your journey, I wish you well. And if you're the one with the hearse, I owe you a beer.
Ten for the Revelry
Typically I eschew the need to justify anything I ever do in life. That is to say, in some circles I am perhaps correctly considered invariably crazy. So the need to justify crazy seems quite unnecessary really. Maybe even crazy.
Asked once if I was ever going to decide what to do with my life, this notion of the end game came to me. That is, the idea that we know the foreseeable end to life is death and perhaps knowing this somehow alters the decisions I make and the path I trample.
I’m guaranteed some form of imminent death. And despite the accounts of various faiths, the last provable step in life that’s guaranteed to come is death. Once there speculation ensues, but to what end I don’t know. Will I come back as a frog? A rock? Float on the clouds? Surf on the lake of perpetual fire? Only time will tell. And although I’m not actively seeking these answers anytime soon, death is not something I considered terribly problematic nor woeful. Inconvenient maybe, but not much else.
I think it’s fair that my behavior is best explained by playing life knowing the end game is death. With every inkling, idea, notion, thought and idea explored before the game clock runs out. And to enjoy the people and places they all bring. Or maybe I’m just too fucking curious for my own good. And the thought of ever leaving behind this curiosity to do what I’m supposed to be doing, is frightening. And so I don’t.
The Anthology
I suppose at some point someone, perhaps some thing, won’t let me get away with simple photo slag alone on this site. They’ll demand I refrain from a completely tedious narrative and write again. And that I shave one of these days. To each their own. And for that I am thankful.
This week has taught me something, or in the narrowest of offerings re-exposed something I already knew. I surmise I’m not entirely alone.
My life has been driven by the urge to confront. To confront my fears, to confront stagnation, to confront the unknown, and ultimately to confront myself. It’s driven by the need to meet head on and somehow come to terms with, well, everything. There’s a need to eliminate the precursor of confrontation in my life, that feeling that I should be doing something about a situation but I’m not. I’ve reached the point where I no longer ask why.
In my world confrontation brings with it great rewards but it sure isn’t easy. I fight it every single day.