Memento Mori
An old friend has passed. Someone I knew not well enough, but someone I laughed with, danced with, drank with, shared kisses with. I've lost more than a couple fellow revelers over the last few years. Monica, Bagel, Fast Eddie, and now Dirk. I hope you're all somewhere where the music's good, the wine flows freely, and the love and dancing never stops.
Kinda makes you think about your own life. What you've done with it, and how much time you have left. The latter being unknown and the former, (in my case), being a bit harrowing to scrutinize. I spent far too many of my younger years trying to figure out the answer to the question, "Why are we here", before I came to the conclusion that there isn't any reason. So I decided that my reason for being would be to have the best time I could. Dionysus became my patron, and I resolved to make all the parties and be the last one standing at dawn.
So what happened? I haven't been to a club in well over a year. Haven't been to a social gathering in about as long. Even over the last few years, when I did go to a party, I generally would get drunk, say stupid things and go home long before night was done. I make apologies for being absent and speak of trying to make the scene more often time and time again, to the the point where even I don't believe the lie anymore.
I lament causes for not going to shindigs and events. I'm broke. I don't have a car. I don't feel well. Funny, these things never stopped me back in the day.
I write posts about how I need to get out more, about how I resolve to change my ways. Posts that have all sounded very much like this one, but the months wear on and still I make excuses. Have I aged that much? Do gatherings really tire me so? It becomes clear to me with the little social interaction that I do have, that I really don't know how to socialize anymore. I've become a shut in and even phone conversations are awkward. What, by Lucifer's shiny codpiece, happened to me?
I blame neurosis, but that's really just dressing up the real reason in fancy clothing. It is pure, unrelenting fear. Fear that I'm not pretty enough. Fear that I'm not clever enough. Fear that people pity me. Fear of mediocrity. Fear that I say the wrong thing. Fear that I don't live up to peoples expectations. Fear that people liked the "old" me better than the "new" me. Ever been jealous of yourself? No? Ask me, I can teach you in just a few easy steps. The big one, though, the greatest, knuckle whitening, mind rending fear?
Fear of death.
I'm not a psychologist, and I'm not sure how a fear of death works into the mechanics of socialization, but I do know that somehow, over the last few years, I've become absolutely terrified of the prospect of dying. I don't know when it happened. I didn't just wake up one morning and think, "Wow! That would really suck! I should be really, really, afraid of that!" I think it was a slow realization that everything that I am, will one day end. If you pardon the cliche, that "all those moments will be lost, like tears in rain." Amazing how I quoted that line so many times without really pondering the significance. Amazing how I delved into goth subculture while thinking that I would, somehow, always remain. But yes, somewhere along the line, I developed a paralyzing fear of ending. The possibility that there is no heaven, no hell, no purgatory, no reincarnation, no parallel universe in which my conscious remain. I used to say that in the face of the infinite, not only are all things possible, but all things must happen. But if that's true, then perhaps, in the bubble of logic in which we live, the Schrodinger's Cat existence, it is possible that all things end. Finally, completely and without even an echo of their having been.
It's obvious to say that I've been through a few changes in the last six years. Physically and mentally. I've gained some things and lost some things. The most precious thing I lost, I think was my ability to live in the here and now without a care for tomorrow. I got so caught up in worrying about the party ending, that I forgot to enjoy the party.
Dirk, my friend, I can't recall ever seeing you without a smile and a tasty beverage in hand. You never judged me, and I don't think you ever judged anyone. If you ever had a care for what may come after the revels have ended, it never showed. The interweb's abuzz with your friends tales of all that you have taught them, and as no man can be an island, you have taught me. To live not so much as every day were your last, but that every day were your only day and that the party that night would never end.
Cheers to you.
Kinda makes you think about your own life. What you've done with it, and how much time you have left. The latter being unknown and the former, (in my case), being a bit harrowing to scrutinize. I spent far too many of my younger years trying to figure out the answer to the question, "Why are we here", before I came to the conclusion that there isn't any reason. So I decided that my reason for being would be to have the best time I could. Dionysus became my patron, and I resolved to make all the parties and be the last one standing at dawn.
So what happened? I haven't been to a club in well over a year. Haven't been to a social gathering in about as long. Even over the last few years, when I did go to a party, I generally would get drunk, say stupid things and go home long before night was done. I make apologies for being absent and speak of trying to make the scene more often time and time again, to the the point where even I don't believe the lie anymore.
I lament causes for not going to shindigs and events. I'm broke. I don't have a car. I don't feel well. Funny, these things never stopped me back in the day.
I write posts about how I need to get out more, about how I resolve to change my ways. Posts that have all sounded very much like this one, but the months wear on and still I make excuses. Have I aged that much? Do gatherings really tire me so? It becomes clear to me with the little social interaction that I do have, that I really don't know how to socialize anymore. I've become a shut in and even phone conversations are awkward. What, by Lucifer's shiny codpiece, happened to me?
I blame neurosis, but that's really just dressing up the real reason in fancy clothing. It is pure, unrelenting fear. Fear that I'm not pretty enough. Fear that I'm not clever enough. Fear that people pity me. Fear of mediocrity. Fear that I say the wrong thing. Fear that I don't live up to peoples expectations. Fear that people liked the "old" me better than the "new" me. Ever been jealous of yourself? No? Ask me, I can teach you in just a few easy steps. The big one, though, the greatest, knuckle whitening, mind rending fear?
Fear of death.
I'm not a psychologist, and I'm not sure how a fear of death works into the mechanics of socialization, but I do know that somehow, over the last few years, I've become absolutely terrified of the prospect of dying. I don't know when it happened. I didn't just wake up one morning and think, "Wow! That would really suck! I should be really, really, afraid of that!" I think it was a slow realization that everything that I am, will one day end. If you pardon the cliche, that "all those moments will be lost, like tears in rain." Amazing how I quoted that line so many times without really pondering the significance. Amazing how I delved into goth subculture while thinking that I would, somehow, always remain. But yes, somewhere along the line, I developed a paralyzing fear of ending. The possibility that there is no heaven, no hell, no purgatory, no reincarnation, no parallel universe in which my conscious remain. I used to say that in the face of the infinite, not only are all things possible, but all things must happen. But if that's true, then perhaps, in the bubble of logic in which we live, the Schrodinger's Cat existence, it is possible that all things end. Finally, completely and without even an echo of their having been.
It's obvious to say that I've been through a few changes in the last six years. Physically and mentally. I've gained some things and lost some things. The most precious thing I lost, I think was my ability to live in the here and now without a care for tomorrow. I got so caught up in worrying about the party ending, that I forgot to enjoy the party.
Dirk, my friend, I can't recall ever seeing you without a smile and a tasty beverage in hand. You never judged me, and I don't think you ever judged anyone. If you ever had a care for what may come after the revels have ended, it never showed. The interweb's abuzz with your friends tales of all that you have taught them, and as no man can be an island, you have taught me. To live not so much as every day were your last, but that every day were your only day and that the party that night would never end.
Cheers to you.