Some End Of The World This Turned Out To Be.

This party is not over!

This party is not over!

Yeah.  I figured.  Looks like The Void can wait.  Maybe next aeon.  I’m glad I wasn’t banking on this.  You know, using the excuse that the world was going to end to go completely ape-shit.  One final drunken, whore-mongering descent into violent abandon before the place goes up in flames.  That was actually a twenty-year lifestyle choice.  I know that when you finally realize the place isn’t going to go evaporate, you also realize somebody has locked you in a porta-potty and is now bulldozing you down a hill.

Still, I was looking at a pile of bills, wondering if I even needed to pay them.  If the Mayans are right, I would just be throwing money away.  Especially for this one.  Care Dental Credit.  Three grand for a bridge to nowhere.   Well, from back here to this tooth.  Seems like a costly structure to span only that far.  You could build an actual railroad bridge during the Civil War for three grand.  Well, the South could.

Anyway, the minimum monthly payment is not a princely sum, but it’s still not something I wanted to fork over…if the whole shit house went up.

What if I blew it off, and the Mayans meant a symbolic end of the world–like a new consciousness in Man?  Maybe from something like aliens landing– just a massive invasion from the whole Star Wars Cantina crowd.  That would symbolically end one world, sure as shit–but enough to make my credit rating not matter?

I would hope.

“Sorry, I’m mind-melding with Zorgan from Zeta-Articular, and he says there’s a new sheriff in town, and I don’t have to pay shit.”

That’s the best case scenario.

Then there’s the possibility that some calamity hits, killing millions, but not the ones running Care Dental Credit or Mercury Car Insurance.

Anyway, I knew there was a good chance that nothing would happen.  No alien invasion.  No meteor hit.  No major shake-up.  Just the same deal.  An endless parade of  human-created bad.  With complex problems.  Terrorism.  War.  Crime.  Corruption.  Hunger.  Disease.  The Real Housewives series.  With all the things wrong with our society, the worst thing to happen turns out to be…the world not ending.

This is what it’s come down to for me.  I’m pacing the floor and wringing my hands over the world not ending.  Talk about some ass-burning irony.

Especially since I don’t hate life anymore.  Not like I used to.  For a while, that’s all I did.  You could randomly stop me any day or night and ask me what I was doing, and I would tell you, “I’m hating life right now.”   And I’d probably be too busy for idle chit-chat or answering questions about what I was doing.  I had fires to put out, and my ass to save.  My life was all-hands-on-deck emergency.  All the fucking time.

Don’t get me wrong, I am still afflicted with a veritable tennis bracelet of blinding, multi-faceted flaws.  I’m a mixed bag of nuts alright.  It’s a wonder I don’t wander out into traffic or know which shoes go on which feet.

I am still tormented by nightmarish scenes the demons of my imagination conjure–scenes usually played before the mind’s eye of a delirious absinthe drinker or withdrawing morphine addict.  I am flayed by The Whip of a Thousand Fears, beaten about by my own ignorance, stumbling through the alley of life, confused, befuddled, lost.  Trying to find money for the parking meter while a Roman chariot rolls over my little lamb.  Seeing injustice, deceit, greed, and tragedy everywhere.  Either on the news or in my head.  And feeling powerless to do anything about it.

I have to gut-up pain, sorrow, guilt, jealousy, frustration, anger, hopelessness, rage, and regret.

I’m getting the whole modern human experience.  The full dose.  Usually by noon.

But strangely, I’m feeling pretty good.  Seriously.  I’m doing okay.  Even learning to relax a little more.  Been getting into life’s small pleasures.  Finding spiritual wonder in the commonplace.

It’s exciting progress.  So this wouldn’t seem the best time to be hit by a meteor.  I feel like I’m just getting the hang of this living business.  I like having cats and a garden.  I like to paint and write.  I like to box myself in the mirror, with Black Sabbath on the I-Pod.  Just normal stuff.

That doesn’t mean I don’t have my struggles.  I am constantly trying to wrestle myself from the tyranny of consensus reality.  Trying to kick the addictive delusions of duality.  There’s always some new brawl with out-lived thought forms–usually announced by having something smash a glass into my head.  Crotch kick that bullshit paradigm back to a lower dimension.  Throat chop that worry.  Backhand that bitch belief.

Life keeps me on my toes.  But these days I’m back to my fighting weight.  I bob and weave quicker, and my upper-body is stronger.

I’m game for it.  Bring it.  Let’s see what happens.

I don’t think it would be the same if I was still drinking.  Just the calories alone would blow me out.  Destroy this destroyer.  Real quick.

So I guess I have a lot to be grateful for.  Not being a homeless, pants-pissing drunk kicks ass.   Not being constantly ashamed of myself is also pretty tits.  Being an entirely fallible human being, and not having to take it out on anyone, is…well I wouldn’t say priceless, but it’s pretty good.

And still I bitch.  I can’t help it.  I can always find something that does not bring me immense pleasure and delight.  These days it seems there’s one crisis after another.  Planetary disasters.  Financial melt-downs.   Political gridlock.  Environmental poisoning.   Terrorism. (both imported and homegrown)  War.  Epidemics.  Bethany Ever After.   It goes on and on.

I don’t see it changing anything anytime soon.   Unless, something really weird happens.   Something that really blows some minds–on such a universal and collective level, that things could never be the same.  No matter how hard people try.  Something that can’t be spun into insignificance, or trivialized, edged-out, made fun of, discounted, contradicted, covered-up, or buried.  Something that really turns everything on its ass.

Either aliens landing, or the etheric structure of Reality tearing asunder.

Either one would be awesome.

Blessed Deus ex Machina, I beseech your sweeping wings!

I kind of knew something like that wouldn’t happen today.  Even though deep down inside, I wanted it to.  Every year I tell myself the Vikings won’t do well, just to save myself the disappointment.  And they never disappoint me.  They break my heart like clockwork.  Them winning a Super Bowl would feel like the end of the world.

Anyway, I think as an alcoholic in recovery, I’m wary of hearing about the end of the world.  If I got a quarter for every time I thought it was the end of the world, or knew someone who did, I’d have enough money for a cheap suit and a decent bottle of wine.  Sure, it seems like the end of your world (and isn’t that the only one that matters?) but it isn’t the end of the world.

You should be so lucky.

Sitting handcuffed in my living room while a news crew filmed me seemed like the end of the world.  In a way it was.  But that world was a drag.  It would take a while, with some thrilling twists and turns, before I landed on my feet again, but I did land.  Not too worse for wear either.  The end of that world turned out to be the best thing that could’ve happened.

My only hope is that the world follows the same template.  Sorry, but that’s all I got.  I’m hoping that trouble and woe brings people to their senses, and that we finally cry “Uncle,” and start changing.   Hell, it worked for me.   Maybe that’s just the bitter tonic we all have to swallow here.

The good thing is that as a person who believes that stuff like eternity and the infinite exist, I don’t stress too much about things “ending.”

The best part of anything always seems to live on, only to get even better.  Evolution seems to be the game plan.

Out-moded forms fall away.  Stale beliefs, old attitudes, warped ways of perceiving things, all die.  Either through the crucible of pain, or the sanctity of Grace.  Lots of times both.  But the journey continues.

It always does.

I’m glad I mailed those checks.


17 responses to “Some End Of The World This Turned Out To Be.

  1. One of my latest life improvements is to pay bills as soon as I get them. It saves me from the butt-pinching feeling I have forgotten something and then hating myself when there is a late charge. It only took me 51 years to figure this out.

  2. Dude, if you drank I’d say there’d been a certain maudlinesque tinge creeping up on you these days. I know what it is though; it’s the Sab. Too much Sabbath is enough to make any non-apocalypse seem dreary and disappointing. You need to go further down the heavy metal rabbit hole and get in touch with some existential sturm und drang to go with the diabolus en musica sonic blueprint. It’s perfectly acceptable, and healthy, to acknowledge and embrace fucking existential angst at our age, dude. Let the would-be “reformed” maniacs flagellate their creative fire away in self denial-we both know abstaining from drunken mayhem and midget hookers, or not, has nothing to do with still being able to howl at the moon and plow through The Bad like a 147 grain NATO FMJ round.
    So here’s to you’re rising above and kicking some ass on the winter blahs. To help you, I’m enclosing some rather angry post-metal by a band that certainly puts me in touch with that dark fire which keeps the old fuse lit when everything else is pretty much bordering on sucknitude.

    • Thanks for the tuneage, and pep talk, but I’m not really all that down. Maybe those invocations to Saturn have cloaked me in The Veil of Universal Sorrow, but it doesn’t feel like a bummer or anything. Feeling fairly ho-hum and dumb. No major angst really gnawing at me these days. Oh, great…now watch. Damn it, Dave!

  3. We’re all still here. It’s all still here.
    The question is always – what are we going to do about it?
    I think rev-up on some of Dave’s righteous crank metal and beat all things gnarly and unrighteous into submission.
    It’s the only way.
    It’s what you’ve been doing to yourself all these sober years.
    Alive and kicking. That’s us.
    We’ve paid our dues.
    Come out of the corner fighting.
    And we’ve already won.
    The Merry Christ-mass suicide hasn’t happened.
    Winter turns to spring.
    See you in the new year.
    Peace be upon your ass.
    Thinking monkey.

    • This thinking monkey is trying not to think too much. That’s when monkey gets sad. Tonight monkey is happy to just swing around with his banana, and maybe throw his shit at some interlopers looking in at my cage. Other than that, no plans to go Kong. Not yet at least. I’m going to need a good night’s sleep for that, and tjat doesn’t seem to be scheduled on the books. Oh well. Okay, my fellow organ-grinder, happy solstice over there at Stonehenge. We shall meet again. Even though we are still here.

  4. I spent the day reflecting on the fact that we’ve had two apocalyptic let-downs in our lifetimes, first Y2K and now this. Then I realized the aliens will show up on their own timetable. The Sirian calender is inscrutable to our puny minds.
    I found repeated listenings of Mount Eerie the perfect soundtrack for the day.
    Another great post, as usual. You’re getting us all spoiled.

    • Speaking of inscrutable, Monk, I find it odd that you would reflect on anything. vim. I know this one time you contemplated something. But you really dazzle me when you contemplate nothing. That takes skills that pay the bills. brother. Have you ever thought about becoming a monk? Like the kind that can have a woman. Are there any like those? Anyway, The Hermit pops up in the strangest places. In beds of purple, I heard.
      Speak for yourself about puny minds, though. My mind is ginormous. It has to be in order to take in the full breath and scope of my ignorance.
      Mount Eire is a good call. There’s a cold drizzle coming down, the cats are in, and a can of chili heating up on the radiator. (a tip of the hat to Kyle Riggs)
      It’s a good Saturday afternoon. Maybe after I eat, I’ll contemplate something. Something really fucking heavy. After the nap.
      Love you, my old friend.

  5. The reason we didn’t all cease to be is because The Band that Saved the World was playing that night. Here, get some funk in yo’ ear:

  6. Muggsy, I AM GETTING DOWN to this. Ah, how I remember my days as a funk bus driver. “Does this bus go to Funky Town?” “Yes Ma’am, it’s our only stop. Hop on!”
    Thanks for this gem. The world needs to get funkier. Instead of fuckeder. Happy J.C.’s birthday.

    • Glad you liked it. Not too shabby for a bunch of white boys, yeah?

      Those are some local boys that have been playing for… what, 15-20 years or so now…? They put on a great show, and have a huge variety of influences, from rock to funk, blues to bluegrass. Bass, guitar, drums, keys, trumpet, trombone, sax… and a few years ago, I happened to move in across the street and two down from the lead vocalist.

      • Yeah, I can imagine these guys would be fun to see. So they’re from Lawrence Kansas, eh? I’ve always been intrigued by Lawrence, Kansas. First, of course, why Burroughs would choose to domicile there at the end of his life. Second, my buddy Eric went to school there and spoke very highly of it. I think of Lawrence, KS like Austin TX, a small oasis of culture and cool. I’d love to go there someday. Get my funk on. Thanks again.

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