1+1+1=

Walking along a sidewalk, I tossed my empty coffee cup in a random trashcan when something inside caught my attention. Along the rim of the receptacle was a slightly balled up piece of green paper with a thin black sparkling strip bordering the edges. Curiosity got the best of me, not being able to stop my hands from reaching in and opening it up. In fine cursive writing it said:

In that moment, I knew exactly what you meant. Deep down I’ve always felt that machine-like drudgery of the so called day to day. You explained that it because the “so called Right Track of Life” was a futile effort, something about being a cog in a machine… You went on talking for some time.

But I had stopped listening at that point. Because I understood perfectly well what  you meant. And I realized that I wasn’t relating to it in the way you were.

 The rest was mostly illegible, due to the dirt and grime smudging the letters from an indeterminate of amount of time spent inside the can. The very bottom of the page was hastily ripped off, a section surely halfway around the universe by now.

Just above the rip I could just barely make out:

That’s why 1+1+1= 2
a single disillusioned specter with no face
1+1+1= 2, a phantom digit
Meaning you…

And I threw it back in the trash.

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I Wish U Heaven

I’d like to pull back the veil that comes from posting content online for a moment, if I might.

There’s a lot about the minuscule space We occupy in The Universe that I truly do not understand and most likely never will.
Capitalism, why humans are so goddamn uncomfortable on this planet, Religion, Racism, Queerphobia, Transphobia, why good television shows are canceled before they even get started… just to name a few.

Surprisingly though, however, Death has never been a thing I haven’t understood. or so I thought.

There are far more dead people than there are living people, by a pretty huge margin. We all know we are going to die at some point. It’s a fact that can not be ignored and isn’t something that you can plug your ears with your fingers and screech “LA LA LA CANT HEAR YOU” as you sprint away in some indeterminate direction.

We’re all going to die. It’s a cold hard fact.

I learned this lesson at a very young age (and probably is a big reason for why I’m the self-proclaimed embodiment of Jadism in the flesh). I’ve never had a moment of deep existential dread of “oh no, I’m going to stop living at some point! oh noooo!”

No, my existential anguish has always come from “Why am I, or anyone, even alive in the first place?” A question only expounded by merely existing every moment of every day.

What I’m saying is, Life has always been more confusing to me than Death, leaving me rather -well- jaded to the whole death thing.

Or so I thought.  Or more accurately, what I wish I thought was the truth.

Because if this were actually true, I would have no strong reaction to anyone dying.

But that isn’t true. It’s never been true. So many tears I’ve shed at the loss of a life force in the state it was introduced into this world departing, once and for all.

If someone you grew up with moved across to the other side of the globe, thanks to the power of technology, you can keep in contact. So well in contact that it’s almost as if they’d never left at all. but Death…

….

I can think back to human beings dying that have had a profound impact on me. As much as the loss itself hurts, what really gets my goat is when I realize what I had been doing at the very moment that the person had breathed their last breath.

Failing an algebra quiz. Buying a shitty sandwich from a chain restaurant. Playing a video game. Masturbating. Fucking sleeping!

More so than the actual fact that Death is a very real entity…. it’s the fact that the asshole is creeping behind anyone, ready to strike, at any time.

….

There’s something to be said about raw feelings. Unprocessed, unrefined, pure, not dissected in the slightest. I don’t what to do with them. And I’ve been experiencing these sensations, of the Unknown, far too much lately. And, unfortunately, I know enough now to know that dulling these sensations with The Familiar isn’t going to work.

Meaning, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I don’t even know how to end this post. I don’t have a witty closing remark to end this post with that brilliantly sums up my point. I’m not even 100% what my point is at this time.

The Writer Side of me is frustrated beyond belief. The Human Side of me is just bewildered.

So I will end on a quote, sang by a true Immortal, who knew far more than I probably ever will:

If I don’t think about the fact that [you] left me
If I don’t see the pearls fall from the sky
If I don’t hear the accusations of blasphemy
If I don’t feel the tears in my eyes
This is the best day of my life.

God speed.