a little
about
me
in any sort of context, there isn't much that's humorous about living, because living inherently is an awful process of simulatenously desiring and seeking to eliminate desire through some sort of completion, whether you call it an orgasm, expectoraion, elimination, micturation, digestion or moving two thousand miles across a country to establish a home in an environment you've never experienced before. The problem with all this--since, as it seems, it's not that god awful, as who doesn't enjoy orgasms or bowel movements?--is the fact that while we may feel that we are busy living, we're also extremely busy dying.
Skipping ahead a few months of monkish meditation on the subject of dying, I will surmise that the great thing about dying is that we're not there yet. Whether you fear death or not, there is a certain mysterious delight about the end of all earthly stress and the discovery of the supposed truths that fuels supplication to various dogmas, a delight in the fact that it's coming, we know it is, but we're just not there yet, like the tingle one recieves when an impending touch hovers just above sensitive areas, when you smell dinner cooking, when the previews begin to roll. This, for me, is what is difficult about dying, the endless anticipations and questions.
I fear, however, that once the act is compelte that, like so many not-quite-yet forgotten one night stands, the final climax will be less than expected, a let down, something that instead of fulfilling the anticipatory desires it will disappoint and satirize the previous curiosities present.
That said, I do not advocate any sort of death worship, suicide plot, or fast forward button in living. There is time to enjoy between here and now, something akin to foreplay before coitus, stretching before dance, tuning before the downbeat, prologues before epilogues and such forth. The striptease of life is not to be discounted just because of death's endtime potential.
In other words--those of Cat Stevens--"If you want to sing out, sing out. If you want to be free, be free. 'Cause there's a million things to be, you know that there are, you know that there are."
Hmph.
about
me
in any sort of context, there isn't much that's humorous about living, because living inherently is an awful process of simulatenously desiring and seeking to eliminate desire through some sort of completion, whether you call it an orgasm, expectoraion, elimination, micturation, digestion or moving two thousand miles across a country to establish a home in an environment you've never experienced before. The problem with all this--since, as it seems, it's not that god awful, as who doesn't enjoy orgasms or bowel movements?--is the fact that while we may feel that we are busy living, we're also extremely busy dying.
Skipping ahead a few months of monkish meditation on the subject of dying, I will surmise that the great thing about dying is that we're not there yet. Whether you fear death or not, there is a certain mysterious delight about the end of all earthly stress and the discovery of the supposed truths that fuels supplication to various dogmas, a delight in the fact that it's coming, we know it is, but we're just not there yet, like the tingle one recieves when an impending touch hovers just above sensitive areas, when you smell dinner cooking, when the previews begin to roll. This, for me, is what is difficult about dying, the endless anticipations and questions.
I fear, however, that once the act is compelte that, like so many not-quite-yet forgotten one night stands, the final climax will be less than expected, a let down, something that instead of fulfilling the anticipatory desires it will disappoint and satirize the previous curiosities present.
That said, I do not advocate any sort of death worship, suicide plot, or fast forward button in living. There is time to enjoy between here and now, something akin to foreplay before coitus, stretching before dance, tuning before the downbeat, prologues before epilogues and such forth. The striptease of life is not to be discounted just because of death's endtime potential.
In other words--those of Cat Stevens--"If you want to sing out, sing out. If you want to be free, be free. 'Cause there's a million things to be, you know that there are, you know that there are."
Hmph.
i am tres impressed. that's french for very!