Life in a Dying World Part 1
(This is an account of my last 3days thoughts. Just stories in my head and purely fictional…..and please bear with it….realised that it is looooonngg)
"You have one day before the world ends". That's what the newspaper says. One day to live your life. One day to make your peace. You have one day before this world blows up, incinerating everything you know and love. Tomorrow is going to be a bad day.
24 hours remaining…
I remember a quote I heard once. "Life in a dying world is like dying every second." It seems pretty relevant at this moment. We're all just walking corpses waiting to catch up to the dying time.
So, here I am, in my thirties and on the verge of death. I kind of expected a little bit more out of my life. Who doesn't? If your life were to end right now, what all would you regret leaving unfinished? Telling someone you loved them? Running a marathon? Changing the world? If we were given a million years to achieve one goal that we thought was most important, I doubt many people would accomplish it. We are a society of procrastinators. Why do tomorrow what can be put off until next week? We indulge ourselves with the satisfaction of this "procrasturbation". We indulge ourselves, period.
This is the land of milk and honey and it shows in the double chins and fused cankles that so many of the media gluttons that represent us. Even the Jews in exile had to gather the manna that fell from heaven. This culture, though, would rather sit back and let everything come to them. We would rather have someone else do it for us, and these representatives feel the same. Eventually someone has to do it. Usually it's Taiwan. Or China. It is just easier that way.
You know, when I was in school I made a list of things I hoped to accomplish before I died. I still have the list in my wallet, like a constant reminder of a doomed existence. I take it out and unfold the crumpled edges of the sacred napkin. So far I've accomplished 2 things that I said I would before time finally got me. 2. Just 2. I thought I would have done more by now. 23 hours and 47 minutes and 12 things to accomplish.
Goal 1: Have sex. Check. I can't say it was the most impressive experience. It was at the parents' bed on a very chilly Saturday night. They were at a movie. She was supposed to be baby-sitting. I wish I could say that I regret it. I don't. It was the best 3 minutes of my life. You know, they say that you become a man when you turn 18. That's bull shit. You aren't a man until you have sex for the first time. After that, the biological imperative that lies dormant in your animal mind just switches on and all you think about is sex. No one is below you. Sex is the great equalizer. If she's willing then she's good enough for you. Hey, you don't have to tell your buddies or your family everything about yourself. You just keep the "settlers" a secret. I call them that for obvious reasons. You would rather be with some hot chick in an upscale hotel but instead you settle for an okay looking drunk girl in the nearest Motel. Sure, you aren't proud of what you did, but sometimes you gotta quench the fire, if you catch my drift.
Goal 2: Get married. Hmm. This one could be tough. How long do I have? 23 hours and 45 minutes. Plenty of time to find some lonely lady, seduce her, and then convince her to marry me. It only seems right seeing as how the world is going to end in less than a day, I'll say to her. Perfect.
23 hours remaining…
Everything seems so much more alive right before it dies. Everything wants to go out with a bang, one last shining light before the darkness. The same is true for the city. It bursts into a thousand colours; a thousand different lights all pointing in a thousand different directions. It's blinding in its lewd thoughtlessness. I love it. It is the Wasteland and I am the last of the wanderers. The rest have been killed by a plague called doubt and fear. Unfortunately, I might be the only single guy left within the city limits. Engagements or marriages have taken the rest. Now, I was looking for a marriage as well. With me gone, "single life" will be extinct. Right now it is just endangered. Is it better for a species to be endangered or extinct? Extinction is finality, a final end to the worries that are carried with the burden of life. Endangered is another way of saying "close to extinction". They can't have the finality of the word, though, so they choose endangered to represent it. Endangered is fading hope.
By making a species endangered you have the right to say, "Hey, we tried and we failed… but at least we tried." You give yourself an excuse for copping out of failure. I hate losing.
The first few clubs are pretty dead. There are a few stragglers on the dance floors every now and then but they're bait for bottom feeders. It isn't until I stumble on a high-class lounge that my chances start to improve. Ironic. It's a high-class dance club in the busiest part of town. The place to be. Flashy logo. Fluorescent lights. Enough to choke the sky. It is the first place that I come to that offers some hope for my absolution. I bribe the bouncer and slowly make my way in as one of the elite. I really never thought I'd be saying that. One of the elite. What exactly makes you elite? Your wallet? Your parents? How well you're liked? Elite is just another way of excluding. That's what we all want, though, isn't it. We want groups of highly selective members. We want elitism. We want acceptance and most importantly, acceptance into these highly selective groups. We need it. We crave it. We love it.
"The basic principle of social interaction is need. We interact to get things we need. We talk, we bargain, we buy, we sell. In the most basic of interactions it comes down to the most basic of human reactions. So, that is to say, relationships must also be based on need. Human nature is greedy. What makes someone choose their friends? Why would someone choose to be with the people that they are surrounded by? Need. Philosophers of old have described friendship as one soul in two bodies. That is a romantic notion of a practical reality. Relationships can be associated with Jung's theories of psychological unity. The inner self struggles to find unity in everything i.e. you feel like you are introverted and of no real worth, you associate with extroverted people with inflated egos. Everything is give and take. Friendship is based on need. We all use our friends and in turn are used by them. It is a healthy part of human nature. We make friends because we feel we need them for some aspect of our lives. A listening ear, a helpful voice, a kind heart. We associate with people that we psychologically feel we need. Friendships end when the need from one outweighs the need from the other. Friendships end when the need ends. Friendship in general is a basic need, though, and therefore it is unlikely that you will ever stop needing friends. They are tools in coping with reality. The ever-changing roster of friends is a part of nature. The game of life is full of alliances and betrayal, Shakespearean in its complexity." The guy standing next to me says. What a jackass. I don't even have to say a word to the guy and he starts spouting his life story. He's wearing a suit from the 80's with his sleeves rolled up. His thick glasses betray his profession. I'm guessing he works in computers. "Hi. I'm Ira. I work with computers. You are?" He asks. Bingo. I am good at guessing stuff like that. It's a knack of mine. And a hobby. You start to make up little games like that when you are alone in a concession stand for five hours and there is no sign of life anywhere. I was an usher at a movie theatre but I lie to him and just say I'm in the movie business. He'll probably assume I'm a porn star, but I don't care. I'm not really here for him. I wonder how he got in, frankly. Probably the same way that I did.
"Movies, eh? What kind of movies?" He asks with a wide grin and a nudge from his pudgy elbow. See. Thinks I'm a porn star or something. Computer nerds. So much time online their brain is fried and if not, it's wired for easy access pornography. If he tried hard enough he could probably place me, incorrectly, in a few of his favourite pornos. He'll probably ask if I played the lead in Forrest Hump. I didn't, but if asked I'll just laugh nervously and ask who told him that. I like playing with the nerds.
"Did you play the lead in…?" He starts to ask. I interrupt him with, "Listen, Ira. I am kind of in a hurry. You know, the world is ending in less than 24 hours, so I'm kind of looking for someone to spend the remainder of my time on this Earth with. Do you catch my drift?" to which he retorts, "Are you hitting on me?" I laugh. I look him straight in the eyes and give him the most dashing smile I can muster. "Yeah." I tell him. The happy go lucky look he had on his face the seconds before twists into a nervous reaction. He looks away and back at me with a face that practically screams, "How the hell do I get out of this!?" "I… uh… well… I… I'm not gay… but I understand where you're coming from. I think I'd be willing to try anything… seeing as how the world is ending." He says. The devil on my shoulder just shit his red tights. The angel on my other shoulder is laughing uncontrollably. Talk about backfires. That one just blew my hand off. Now it's my turn to give him the nervous look. "Look… Ira… I was only joking. I… I'm not gay, either. It was just a joke." To which he laughs nervously then quickly walks away. "That guy could have been my prison bitch." I tell myself with a hard earned chuckle.
I'm getting off subject, though. What I am really here for is a woman. There are plenty of them to choose from. I gather, at this point, that most of the attractive women have been bought off by the wealthy playboys and the desperate players. Still, there were a few moderately attractive women left on the dance floor. I'm not sure, though, if I want to settle. I might just have to move on. The girl I marry has to be beautiful. Call me shallow. I'm not saying that the personality stuff doesn't count… but I'm down to choosing books by their cover, here. I don't want to pick up some mouldy old nonfiction. I want a flashy adventure story.
I see her and instantly I know she is the one. As corny as it sounds, it's true. I doubt it is love at first sight but it is definitely lust at first sight. The moment I see her I want to have sex with her. The moment I see her I want to have sex with her until our world ends. I'm a romantic, what can I say? I don't know about her, though. Why doesn't she have guys hanging all over her? Quite possibly she might be the most gorgeous girl that I have ever seen. She has long black hair, olive skin, and distant green eyes that stare into her murky drink. When she sees me she smiles and looks away.
The hunt is on. I feel like a cave man in search of some sabre-toothed tiger to poke a stick into. This mating dance is prehistoric. It is engrained in all men. Our DNA is coded to know it. Our minds are set to know it. If I had it with me I would probably hit her over the head with a mallet and drag her back to my cave. Now, though, I hunt with the urgency that the world's predestined doom has put on me.
I approach her from across the room. My adrenaline is pumping. "Hi." I say. My palms become sweaty. "Hi." She says with a gorgeous smile. My heart is pounding. "Listen." I say. "I think you are… quite possibly the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Now, I am gonna cut to the chase, seeing as how the world is going to end soon. I am looking to get married and since you are incredibly hot and we are short on the time needed to really get to know each other, I think you and I should consider matrimony as the only possible option for two people as attractive as us. Think of our kids." "Sure." She says with nonchalance. My heart explodes. I imagine myself lying on the floor in a puddle of rejection but I snap back into reality. Success never tasted sweeter than two luscious lips that I could now call mine. It is a victory for the little guy. It is a big W for the average looking men who wished they had hot girlfriends. This one is for you, guys. I pull out the napkin that holds my hopes and dreams. I mark off goal 2.
22 hours remaining…
Goal 3: Have sex with aforementioned wife. Geez, I was one horny school kid. But, a goal is a goal and it must be done. Her name is Jessica, by the way. I find that out as we start talking. That is really the only little bit of information that I hear as she talks. She seems nice enough, though. My mind is a little too preoccupied to comprehend what she is saying. It sounds like this, "Sexsexsex sex sexsex Jessica sexsex sexsexsexsex. Sex?" "Huh?" I ask, shaking my head. "My name's Jessica but most people just call me Jessie. What's your name?" She says. I figure this is my chance so I lean over and whisper my name into her ear. This is where my patented moves come into play. After I'm done whispering I nibble on her ear and kiss her neck. "I really want to marry you. Mostly, though, I'm just in it for the consummation. Let's get out of here, find a preacher, and make it legal. I just want to get you alone." I say to her. We leave.
Any man who says that he doesn't think about sex at least once every 5 minutes is either seriously disturbed. There is no other way it could be. Men spend more time thinking about sex than we spend thinking about anything. If we have to do something we give the task a passing thought but then it's back to sex. Every virgin is in his mind. In the world of fantasies men have countless partners. We can't help it. Our brain is wired to think these thoughts, to commit mental adultery, to cheat on our loved ones in our thoughts. Don't blame men, blame nature. We are the victims here. That's what we tell ourselves to justify such immoral behaviour. In the end, most of life is just one big justification of what you haven't killed yourself.
Given a short amount of time to make your peace, your thoughts stray wildly from the most inane meanderings to the deepest questions of the mind. What is life? What is reality? Will there be a heaven or a hell waiting for me when it all ends? What will death be like? Is the thing death carries a sickle or a scythe? Did I wash my clothes this morning? Why can't we all just get along? Did someone just say my name? No? Where was I? Why are we here? Is there a purpose? Why is it so hard to get these stains out? What day is it? How long till it all goes? How long until the dying time? Is it lay or lie if I were to lie down right now? Did I just answer my own question? Why? I ask myself a thousand questions a second. The answer is all the same. I don't know. Does anyone? I doubt it. We're all struggling to find the lighthouse in the fog. Inevitably we're all gonna crash and sink. It's only a matter of when. That is true about everything in life. Everything within the realm of possibility is bound to happen. It's only a matter of timing that you get to witness or, even, to participate in these moments. A fraction of a second separates me and the man behind me. Yet in this fraction he might witness the sun explode while I look away. He might watch a plane crash or see a volcano erupt. If I had been a fraction slower, I too would have been able to see the inevitable.
It is incredibly hard to find a preacher at 11 o'clock on a Friday night. Especially when there are so many marriages going on. In fact, it is practically impossible. We settle on city hall. Little do we know…
MM
".....TBC in the next post"