mahiwaga

In the end of it all, I am simply a moron, and I’ve come so close to just accepting it, but foolish, insane pride always gets me to reconsider. I mean, it really didn’t change a damn thing, even with a pretty girl sitting beside me. I don’t even want to give voice to my incredible sense of frustration with myself. I could almost imagine my soul yelling and screaming, pounding at the doors of my heart, only to collapse weeping with despair.

I am still trying to justify it. It was that stupid game in Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn, where the object of the game was not to win, but to make the game last as long as possible, even if it meant losing, which, I suppose, is an incredibly simplistic metaphor for life, and then you start wondering what the point of living that long would be.

I guess it is not for nothing that Lucifer was booted out of heaven for overweening pride. Nobody likes an arrogant asshole. I can almost see it now.

So. The lesson: to abandon pride. Hiya is such a confusing concept [to me], because it is not really just shame or pride. There really is no English translation for it, except maybe the obsolete term of honor which in itself demands a translation. Because the society that values honor is long dust, devolved into [the] murderous criminals of the Mafia. It’s kind of depressing how it would make more sense to trust a hit man than a salesman.

But there is the ridiculous coincidence [from two days ago], brewing and stewing in my brain, and it’s at times like this where I wonder if life isn’t really just some horrific cosmic joke. The lunacy and ludicrousness of it all just really boggles my mind, and I wonder if I should jsut go mad and be done with it.

But, for the pathetic fragments fermenting in my [brain]:

“So would you do it?” [he] asked me out of nowhere, as we went out on patrol again. “Do what?” I demanded, slightly annoyed, because I was pretty sure what he meant, since he’d asked me at least two thousand times already, even though I’d told him not to. “Medial temporal [lobectomy],” he answered simply, with infinite patience.

I contemplated the lunacy and ludicrousness of just showing up mysteriously, sitting in the back row and staring, like the stalker that I am obviously becoming, but I really didn’t feel like scaring people, and it’s been a hard, rough weekend, one of those vacations that you need another vacation to recover from. (Yes, this is purposefully cryptic, because, as bizarre as it seems, people actually read this, and if you really want to go up against futility, you can read the archives and try to make some sense of it, which will be hard since it’s not finished yet….) I’m not sure I’m going to be up to partying in N.Y.C. for 13 days straight, but, like many wise men and women have pointed out, life is short. Carpe diem and all that razzmatazz.

I have to tell you, I feel like the world is a much more desolate place since I learned that Douglas Adams died from a heart attack last week. But then I finally reread So Long and Thanks for All the Fish and reread God’s final message to his Creation, and, like Marvin the Paranoid Android, felt pretty good about it, but I guess it’s hard to accept when someone is just gone forever. (And while I realize that at best, these songs are only coincidentally related to DNA’s seminal works, I still think of him when I hear “Paranoid Android” by Radiohead and “Don’t Panic” by Coldplay)

I had avoided So Long for quite a while, because it was set mostly on Earth, it’s kind of lovy-dovy, and some people have claimed that it is a mutilation of the universe that Douglas Adams created (a la “Highlander 2” , “Wing Commander” the movie, and “The Phantom Menace” , just to name a few examples of creative mutilation). But I realize that this is also kind of what I’m looking for—to find the one person in the entire world who just gets the dark dirty secret of the universe and who isn’t depressed about it or driven insane by it. I mean, it’s clearly a fairy-tale, but I have never been one to wish for possible things.

And it’s funny what hormones, Ouija boards, and straight-up Random Chance will get a credulous man believing. Alas.