Pretentious Afternoon Tea |-/

::rant::
//warning - strong language use//

Each day a day closer to your grave. The long dirt nap. The eternal slumber. Who knows what happens? No one from beyond has ever come back to tell us. For me... it is scary and relieving at the same time. Scary because death is the ultimate unknown. We have no clue as to what happens to us, or any living creature for that matter. When we are conscious no more, and our ticker no longer ticks, where do "we" go? Relieving because there are days where I'm done with this shit. Those days I feel relieved there is an end in sight. Humanity is a stain on the planet at the moment. And I want off of this goddamn ride sometimes. Those days of feeling relief are few and far between now'a'days. I'm not so much scared often either. Lately death seems to be just a painful part of life that I cannot avoid. I cringe at the thought of the day of a close loved one passing - I've been lucky as of yet. But I cannot avoid it forever. There's going to come a day someone dies, and I can't breathe for the next few months. I know this. I'm not scared of it though. I just feel it as 'a matter of fact'. But I don't know if it's going to be a relief - what comes after this? Maybe it will be worse? Maybe it will be better? Maybe it will be nothing? But right now I like living. I owe that to many different things in my life. It's taken me quite a few years to get there, a shit-ton of therapy, switching meds again and again, adjusting my life style, stint or three in the hospital, a shit-ton of help from my loved ones, and a fuck-ton of patience from all those involved. But I'm here. Still. I'm still alive fren. There are tons of us out here still making it despite the pieces of us that pull from graves at our bones. We cling to life sometimes by a three minute song that drives us. That music somehow finds its way to hidden pain that just needs an outlet. Somehow a man from Ohio whom you've never met it leading you in a anthem of your own heart with his white sunglasses ski masks skeletons yellow duct tape vultures ceiling fans raw emotional genuine vessels bones and ancestors. Somehow I've gone from the grave to music to medicine men. Magic how that happens so flawlessly. The art of a rant this is. Going on about something that leads to another that follows to the left then stops turns around alas always going. With no end. Well, I do suppose there must be an end or I'd still be writing this. And I can't be two places at once - yet. I've got to figure out that whole quantum physics thing yet. I feel I've got one to many 'yets' in my life. Time to get to livin' I suppose.

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