Life Outside PLT1

A story about angst: Part 6

January 8, 2006 on 6:01 pm | In Kumara | | Sicopath

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Dear friends,
Some people go so far as to say the best advice is “live life like you’re going to die” but if there’s one thing I’ve learned through the process of dying, it’s that if advice were ever to be given, I’d say “live life like you’re already dead.”

That’s the truth; nothing could be more beneficial than if people considered themselves relics of the past. And by that, I don’t mean the anti-Christian Goth stereotype where the primary mode of thought is “I’ve climbed my last mountain, there’s nothing left to look out for so I guess I’ll rot.” No; I mean to be dead in a way that you cherish your historical great achievements and use them as a reminder of your humanity; “I’ve climbed mountains, oh what mountains they were!”

Well, I’ve had mountains. Mountains I remember, mountains I can nostalgically revisit at my leisure. This one, in fact, being the gateway to my predicament. The bridge over bridges where I once sat and passed the time away, watching vehicles glide by ignorant of the world outside their shells. The concrete on the banisters etched with the scars of years and years and years gone by, the perfect place to stake a claim to the future’s past. My eye glided over the letters and numbers, which represent the claims of such a variety of individuals. Claims such as “4 a gud time, call Geri @ 025-63…” or “barrys gay” or my personal favourite; “go home dad, you’re drunk”. But those weren’t what I needed to see, I slid across to my corner of one slab, looking for something I’d scrawled in deep, dark resignation. Next to a badly drawn picture of copulating men was a block of lyrics from a song I’d never heard before. And next to that, I found my message; my own claim on the future’s past, if I could cry – I would have, reading my thoughts of that day; “I’m here for you…”

Links to:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5