bakunin_the_cat
15th Jan 2008, 23:19
Nobody knows but I'm not long for this Earth. I haven't told people because they will
a) not believe me or
b) force me to see a doctor who will
a) pump me full of drugs or
b) put me through painful surgery
all of which will do nothing for me except give me two months' more life with side-effects so bad that I would gladly have taken death had I known. Not that my illness is exactly a barrel of laughs. After too many years of abuse, either my liver or my kidneys have given up and come out with the white flag. What this means in practice is that I get abdomenal (spell?) cramps that are so bad I can't move and when I go to sleep I have to be careful that I'm not slipping into death. This is not a joke. Indeed, sometimes I feel like embracing death but upto now I have pulled myself back, woken myself up. In this restaurant you get table service. Death comes to you. You don't have to go up to the counter and order. And given that he's coming to you anyway, you don't have to make his life easier. It's not like you're in such a hurry to get what he's giving you. OK, I should quantify that, if you're in constant pain and/or you want to release your family/friends/carers from the burden of looking after you then hey, Death's a friend you embrace with open arms.
But I'm not there just yet. I have long painless periods assisted almost ironically by the thing that's killling me, namely alcohol. I do worry about the people that do care about me, my partner, Steve, my family and my friends, and what they will go through when I die but then even if I had treatment they would go through this in 2 months time. The difference being that I would have enjoyed my last few weeks/months less. Given that "it's my life" as tampon ads were keen to tell us a few years ago, I might as well enjoy what's left of it. Wouldn't you agree?
Am I bitter that I will never see old age or bounce bouncing grandchildren on my knee and sing songs as old as the mountain? No, not really. Alzheimers, Parkinsons, Senile Dementia, all of your body falling to pieces instead of just one particular organ. And as for grandchildren, well that wasn't really likely, what with me being gay and not having any children. It's a shame I won't get to see my young niece and nephew grow and develop into proper fuck-up adults but then again if there is an afterlife after all I might yet see them make the same mistakes I made.
A touch cynical perhaps? You're right. I'd love to see little Jackie win the Nobel Prize for Science or even littler Max be the van Gogh of his day. Chances are though, they won't. After five years of giving them freedom, the schools will batten them down and make them decent citizens who will do nothing but create similar fuck-ups. The house doesn't lose. The system remains.
But anyway, before I lose the point, my time is limited and this isn't as much fun as it was 40 minutes ago in the Club, or 20 minutes ago starting to type it. I might not be here in the morning. You'll have to excuse me...
.................................................. ...............................
I have many names, as many names as there are people. I can come any time you want or any time you don't. I am there in the dark forgotten places and there in the bright spotlight of life and light and joy, though it has to be said, my presence tends to cast a certain pallor on the proceedings. It's not my fault. We all have our roles that must be endlessly performed. I might have chosen something more cheerful but it was not to be. The director chooses the cast. On the other hand, there are many that are glad to recognise my face. If I could choose there are many that I'd visit sooner but it's not my place to write the script. We are merely players. The show must go on. Without the show there is only void.
Luckily for our hero, despite his well-groomed fears, it is not yet his time. There are a few strikes left in that particular clock. The hour is not yet up. Whether he can conquer the demons of the past to meet the demons of the future or whether there'll even be a future beyond this frozen moment. We do not yet know. Read on, gentle reader and surely all will be revealed.
For the moment, anyway, it seems there are more pressing needs for the reapers scythe. I may still see him later. But for this short time I have a little grace. But what to do? Maybe Death has just been delayed upon the road and I have but hours or minutes. What would you want to do in the last hours or minutes of your life? Laugh with friends, enjoy the best orgasm you've ever had with someone you love truly, madly, deeply? Or just be happy that you haven't screwed everybody and helped somebody? Is sitting in a pub drinking ale a fitting ending for a man who spent his life sitting in a pub drinking ale? Or does it show a lack of ambition, a failure to strive beyond the familiar?
a) not believe me or
b) force me to see a doctor who will
a) pump me full of drugs or
b) put me through painful surgery
all of which will do nothing for me except give me two months' more life with side-effects so bad that I would gladly have taken death had I known. Not that my illness is exactly a barrel of laughs. After too many years of abuse, either my liver or my kidneys have given up and come out with the white flag. What this means in practice is that I get abdomenal (spell?) cramps that are so bad I can't move and when I go to sleep I have to be careful that I'm not slipping into death. This is not a joke. Indeed, sometimes I feel like embracing death but upto now I have pulled myself back, woken myself up. In this restaurant you get table service. Death comes to you. You don't have to go up to the counter and order. And given that he's coming to you anyway, you don't have to make his life easier. It's not like you're in such a hurry to get what he's giving you. OK, I should quantify that, if you're in constant pain and/or you want to release your family/friends/carers from the burden of looking after you then hey, Death's a friend you embrace with open arms.
But I'm not there just yet. I have long painless periods assisted almost ironically by the thing that's killling me, namely alcohol. I do worry about the people that do care about me, my partner, Steve, my family and my friends, and what they will go through when I die but then even if I had treatment they would go through this in 2 months time. The difference being that I would have enjoyed my last few weeks/months less. Given that "it's my life" as tampon ads were keen to tell us a few years ago, I might as well enjoy what's left of it. Wouldn't you agree?
Am I bitter that I will never see old age or bounce bouncing grandchildren on my knee and sing songs as old as the mountain? No, not really. Alzheimers, Parkinsons, Senile Dementia, all of your body falling to pieces instead of just one particular organ. And as for grandchildren, well that wasn't really likely, what with me being gay and not having any children. It's a shame I won't get to see my young niece and nephew grow and develop into proper fuck-up adults but then again if there is an afterlife after all I might yet see them make the same mistakes I made.
A touch cynical perhaps? You're right. I'd love to see little Jackie win the Nobel Prize for Science or even littler Max be the van Gogh of his day. Chances are though, they won't. After five years of giving them freedom, the schools will batten them down and make them decent citizens who will do nothing but create similar fuck-ups. The house doesn't lose. The system remains.
But anyway, before I lose the point, my time is limited and this isn't as much fun as it was 40 minutes ago in the Club, or 20 minutes ago starting to type it. I might not be here in the morning. You'll have to excuse me...
.................................................. ...............................
I have many names, as many names as there are people. I can come any time you want or any time you don't. I am there in the dark forgotten places and there in the bright spotlight of life and light and joy, though it has to be said, my presence tends to cast a certain pallor on the proceedings. It's not my fault. We all have our roles that must be endlessly performed. I might have chosen something more cheerful but it was not to be. The director chooses the cast. On the other hand, there are many that are glad to recognise my face. If I could choose there are many that I'd visit sooner but it's not my place to write the script. We are merely players. The show must go on. Without the show there is only void.
Luckily for our hero, despite his well-groomed fears, it is not yet his time. There are a few strikes left in that particular clock. The hour is not yet up. Whether he can conquer the demons of the past to meet the demons of the future or whether there'll even be a future beyond this frozen moment. We do not yet know. Read on, gentle reader and surely all will be revealed.
For the moment, anyway, it seems there are more pressing needs for the reapers scythe. I may still see him later. But for this short time I have a little grace. But what to do? Maybe Death has just been delayed upon the road and I have but hours or minutes. What would you want to do in the last hours or minutes of your life? Laugh with friends, enjoy the best orgasm you've ever had with someone you love truly, madly, deeply? Or just be happy that you haven't screwed everybody and helped somebody? Is sitting in a pub drinking ale a fitting ending for a man who spent his life sitting in a pub drinking ale? Or does it show a lack of ambition, a failure to strive beyond the familiar?