Back from the dead/Not particularly happy about it
Dear Non-readers/
We all die in moments of special, fractured sizzlement, all the time.
We die because it's easier than coming up with an appropriate emotional response
We fake death because lying about ultimate issues gives us a bit of a buzz
"All right, just tell me this. Are you alive or dead?"
"If I knew, I'd tell you."
"You spoke! You're alive, you fucking bastard."
"Hey, ever hear of letting the dead rest in peace?"
"God will damn you for that sort of fakery."
"Yeah, well, if there's one thing God and I have in common it's that we're both dead."
"See you in Hell, liar."
"Great! See you in the whorehouse in Hell where I met you."
...The sort of bizarre, profane made-up conversations one has in a state which is neither here nor there. a bit like Alabama, only more intelligent. Smart, death dialogue. Nothing overweight zombie about it. No moronic Jesus freaks in this brain dead cosmology.
I grew a long, albeit stringy, beard during 980 days in an invented coma.
I was a miner for a heart of gold, or gas, or coal. I can't remember.
I was a national sensation for 30 seconds.
I survived. I beat all the odds, they said.
My wife, who weighs 300 pounds, at least, prayed to Jesus on CNN.
Overpaid commentators sucked air and talked about a miracle in the making
Meanwhile, I was praying that she would lose a lot of weight by the time I snapped out of it.
I mean, Jesus, what the hell was I thinking?
Poeple who know me say that it would be impossible for me to emerge any dumber than I was,
Even taking into account the 35 minutes during which no oxygen got to my brain.
All part of the miracle/I guess
Some people thrive on adversity
And what with the book deal and the movie rights, there's very little chance I won't be moving on to greener pastures
So to speak.
So, what is it like to be dead?
It's like no longer trying to survive inside your head
It's remembering all the stuff you did that made you want to cry and then kill yourself
Like coughing up firey phelgm through a straw in your nose
Like walking all the way to the cigarette machine in a blizzard and realizing you forgot your money
Like falling asleep during the Superbowl and not caring, but having to pretend that you do.
The worst part is losing track of the number of erections you get.
Hundreds of hard-ons. As big as your dick has ever been. No one there to take note or comment upon.
"Your erection is huge tonight!"
"Yeah, thanks."
"I mean, what the hell is this, a fucking petrified tree?"
"Yeah, well, you know..."
"Jesus Chtist! Too bad I'm not in the mood."
What?"
"You know, not feeling like...you know?"
"Why, for God's sake?"
"Aside from the fact that you're a brain dead vegetable in a coma, you mean?"
"Okay, aside from that."
"If you could only speak, tell me what you wanted me to do."
"SUCK IT!"
"You poor, dead, mental moron. You have no idea what's happening here, do you?"
"I know that I'll have to kill you once I'm out of this coma."
"I'm so horny now, I may have to call that guy from work. Even if he does smell bad."
"Please, turn off my life support, now!"
Basically, the near-death state is more or less a constant state of pleasurable dreaming.
Waking up is no picnic.
It feels like a mistake.
It's a source of anxiety.
Three years asleep and nothing much has changed.
Makes you question your impact on the world you inhabit.
But what the hell?
The blog works, the dog is still a pain in the ass and I still enjoy getting drunk.
Things could be worse
We all die in moments of special, fractured sizzlement, all the time.
We die because it's easier than coming up with an appropriate emotional response
We fake death because lying about ultimate issues gives us a bit of a buzz
"All right, just tell me this. Are you alive or dead?"
"If I knew, I'd tell you."
"You spoke! You're alive, you fucking bastard."
"Hey, ever hear of letting the dead rest in peace?"
"God will damn you for that sort of fakery."
"Yeah, well, if there's one thing God and I have in common it's that we're both dead."
"See you in Hell, liar."
"Great! See you in the whorehouse in Hell where I met you."
...The sort of bizarre, profane made-up conversations one has in a state which is neither here nor there. a bit like Alabama, only more intelligent. Smart, death dialogue. Nothing overweight zombie about it. No moronic Jesus freaks in this brain dead cosmology.
I grew a long, albeit stringy, beard during 980 days in an invented coma.
I was a miner for a heart of gold, or gas, or coal. I can't remember.
I was a national sensation for 30 seconds.
I survived. I beat all the odds, they said.
My wife, who weighs 300 pounds, at least, prayed to Jesus on CNN.
Overpaid commentators sucked air and talked about a miracle in the making
Meanwhile, I was praying that she would lose a lot of weight by the time I snapped out of it.
I mean, Jesus, what the hell was I thinking?
Poeple who know me say that it would be impossible for me to emerge any dumber than I was,
Even taking into account the 35 minutes during which no oxygen got to my brain.
All part of the miracle/I guess
Some people thrive on adversity
And what with the book deal and the movie rights, there's very little chance I won't be moving on to greener pastures
So to speak.
So, what is it like to be dead?
It's like no longer trying to survive inside your head
It's remembering all the stuff you did that made you want to cry and then kill yourself
Like coughing up firey phelgm through a straw in your nose
Like walking all the way to the cigarette machine in a blizzard and realizing you forgot your money
Like falling asleep during the Superbowl and not caring, but having to pretend that you do.
The worst part is losing track of the number of erections you get.
Hundreds of hard-ons. As big as your dick has ever been. No one there to take note or comment upon.
"Your erection is huge tonight!"
"Yeah, thanks."
"I mean, what the hell is this, a fucking petrified tree?"
"Yeah, well, you know..."
"Jesus Chtist! Too bad I'm not in the mood."
What?"
"You know, not feeling like...you know?"
"Why, for God's sake?"
"Aside from the fact that you're a brain dead vegetable in a coma, you mean?"
"Okay, aside from that."
"If you could only speak, tell me what you wanted me to do."
"SUCK IT!"
"You poor, dead, mental moron. You have no idea what's happening here, do you?"
"I know that I'll have to kill you once I'm out of this coma."
"I'm so horny now, I may have to call that guy from work. Even if he does smell bad."
"Please, turn off my life support, now!"
Basically, the near-death state is more or less a constant state of pleasurable dreaming.
Waking up is no picnic.
It feels like a mistake.
It's a source of anxiety.
Three years asleep and nothing much has changed.
Makes you question your impact on the world you inhabit.
But what the hell?
The blog works, the dog is still a pain in the ass and I still enjoy getting drunk.
Things could be worse
posted by Bruce Leigh at 9:02 PM
1 Comments:
Inevitable I guess that I should stumble upon this blog. I have seen bits of it before, mostly after I have taken medications, and I have had trouble understanding what was written here, trying to decipher what it is you are trying to say. It has been a long time since we last met, and I am on a very different carousel than yours. Now, you strain yourself to grab the brass ring. Mine has no brass ring, I caught it, and I may have dropped it on the last trip around. It is the music that makes it so difficult. The continual redundancy of the same tune played from a worn pipe organ. In fact, I have my heels dug into the packed earth, etching circular trenches that grow deeper with each revolution that the carrousel takes. It is working tho, the beast is slowing, it will be awhile until it has reached a safe speed to just jump off and slow my pace as I run alongside the carousel as it begins to speed back up and leave me behind. I have to be careful though. If I should jump off too early and moving too fast, I'll continue in a straight line and either run into a tree, or over the cliff and into the ocean. My timing must be just right or I'll be in worse shape than I was before.
I have come a long way. When I left Japan, I was literally going home to die. Chemo had torn my body and my brain into bloody shreds, after two years, I had little concept of what I had become. I know the drugs had made me paranoid to the point that I suspected everyone around me of deceitful plots against me. Even the kindergarteners I had been teaching were looking for ways to undermine me and see that I would die a wrenched and lonely death. I can look back now, and understand how sick I was then, how far I have come, and how much further I need to go.
I am no longer in fear of dying, I have overcome that part, but by overcoming the fear, I have found that I don’t really need to die, at least not for awhile anyway. When it became apparent that I was to continue to the curse of living, I resigned myself to making the best I could of the whole tired game. Now, I need to define the rules I must play under, and where I am to play the game.
Due to an unforeseen happenstance, I have achieved a goal I had wished for when I was a younger man. I have achieved 100% disability and I have a permanent service connected disability attributed to the United States Navy. Now, I cannot work, but I get paid well because of it. I can go where I want, do what I want to do. I have achieved the status I once tried to counterfeit the symptoms and ailments to accomplish. And, I did it all without trying. Bingo.
Of course this was not a painless transition. What I have achieved by offering my life to be available for sacrifice has some drawbacks that come along with the perks. One is that when everyday is a Saturday, you don’t have a Friday night, and there is no Monday morning to dread. I have found that to really enjoy the sweetness of something, I need to have something bitter to compare it to.
Now, as I go about defining myself, my world and my new part in it, I need to consider what I once had, and what my potentialities are.
Hey Bruce, how have you been?
Post a Comment
<< Home