“Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
— Dylan Thomas
There are times I think about dieing. It’s not morbid. For most people, it’s a fact of life. And while I have every intention of living forever, I am forced to acknowledge there a situations I put myself in that are very dangerous. It’s like how I never worried much about violence in the city until I was jumped. My neighbors seem to be pretty cool people, raising families and enjoying their retirements. Except for the guy next door who occasionally photographed some porn, and eventually found himself chopped into little pieces. And while the least favorite part of my flights home to New York are the drives from the airport, I remember every time I step foot in the airport terminal that this is the city one of the planes took off from.
Goddamn, I must be bulletproof.
No. That’s not it.
I read something recently. That you truly own your life once you accept that whatever you do, your continued existence is in your own hands. That nobody is here to protect you. Even if they were… this is your life, not theirs. “Public Safety” is a ridiculous idea and a myth.
Ya know… this is my life. And I will damn well do what I want and need to do. I cannot live my life as if someone might come at me with the knife next, or set off the nuke outside my window. That would be obsessing about what could happen instead of what is happening,
When I leave this city, it won’t be visions of a mushroom cloud that make me do it. That cloud could appear before I press the next key, but there is nothing I could do to stop it.
If it comes, I will face it face-forwards. If someone decides to kill me, they will certainly be in barely better shape before I’m gone.
There is a great line; I think it is in Red Dwarf. Something to the effect that, “If the Grim Reaper shows up for me, I’m gonna bloody well rip his nipples off!”
I better post this now, just in case.