Monday, December 22, 2008

Death viewed on a precipice.

I'm going to have a major headache, or flu, or I'm just gonna be bogged down by stupor now, I think, because of the extremest of temperatures I subjected myself into today coming from the highlands of about 15 or so degrees and going off the private bus with a searing Christmas heat of the friggin city. And I’m so sweating right now, vintage James Dean on my shirt is practically licking the sweat falling off my man-boobs.

There was some major joint party that the office has to attend to in those highlands and thank God the scenery made up for it, which was kind of what I expected in a way or I really wouldn't be going. One time I was standing on a precipice -- but there was some kind of wooden fence on it -- and I really feel so one with nature looking at the mountain range, I feel like jumping. I feel like those fancy pieces of colored silk cloths attached on the poles all over the place looking so dandy, fluttering in the cold wind that could chuck an anemometer.

But of course I’m not gonna jump or else I’m gonna ruin the merriment of 100 fucking people because some jerk decided to end his life. And it’s not like I’m gonna die or something when I jump off -- maybe a broken limb or or some ribs, maybe a cracked cranium, I guess -- which is gonna piss them off anyway. My being jaded with life is not so much as death hovering above me like imaginary vultures or so ominous its familiar like the Fishers of Six Feet Under operating a funeral service business in their own house.

Nor does it anything to do, really, with Six Feet Under, which I’m watching again coz it’s the Christmas break (season 2 now) and I dunno if this is going to be an annual thing or something and SFU is not really the type of viewing for the season, but what can I do, I really get a kick out of this show, especially if you learn not to really take it so seriously. Like scenes where children, 30-something children at least, slap the hell out of their loudmouth pathetic mothers and just walk out, snap, like that.

Plus, like me, you could really learn a thing or two, or replenish elementary general information you thought you once knew like Hemingway writes while standing, or that aubergines are edible or weird things you never thought existed like death from autoerotic asphyxiation, which is really kind of funny, but then it’s really lethal, if you know anything about it. Really, that’s all, I just find the show fucking funny and no, it didn’t even occur to me to try that autoerotic asphyxiation shit.

6 comments:

Visual Velocity said...

I too have morbid thoughts; I actually have them on a daily basis. I have this perennial death wish — persistently wishing that a bus would hit me (which up to now never happened) and that I would fall through a manhole and die (which I did, accidentally, but unfortunately, I survived).

Such morbid thoughts, and it's December.

On that note, I wish you all the best. Happy holidays! :-)

jayclops said...

Yeah I too constantly have morbid thoughts of dying, not just myself but other people. I think Final Destination has really got the better of me. Hahaha. Happy holidays too Andy, and have a nice year ahead. :)

jayclops said...

Yeah I too constantly have morbid thoughts of dying, not just myself but other people. I think Final Destination has really got the better of me. Hahaha. Happy holidays too Andy, and have a nice year ahead. :)

jayclops said...

Yeah I too constantly have morbid thoughts of dying, not just myself but other people. I think Final Destination has really got the better of me. Hahaha. Happy holidays too Andy, and have a nice year ahead. :)

Anonymous said...

I think I'm going to be really pissed off if I die on some lonely deathbed, alone! So if it's going to be a tragedy, count me in. Go out in a blaze of glory baby!

lucas said...

i have never watched even a single episode of SFU but i think it's a cool series...

standing on precipice, being one with nature and suppressing the urge to jump---i could relate to this :)

happy new year.:)

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting