I stood on the precipice, as I had many times before. I dived in.
It now seemed a rant, a long-confused rant. I was confused myself, if I was confused would it be possible for others to understand? They could join me on the precipice, we could stand and hold hands, perhaps look at each other, no, not look at each other; must avoid eye contact. I’ll just feel guilty if we lock eyes.
I look at my life a lot, I look at other people’s lives. Neither of these options makes sense. I once believed that humans may be rational, and I now realise what a mistake that was. Perhaps we could sit the whole world down and have a cup of tea, we all sit down and realise we have fucked up. Now no one can make eye contact, we wonder whether the gods will notice, they don’t seem to have noticed anything for a while. Maybe a good cuppa will bring them out, make them realise that there is always time for a good smiting.
I wonder why I dived in.
What did I hope would happen?
Everything would suddenly become clear?
Humanity is really nothing but an obfuscation of the facts if I was Keats that would have sounded a lot more poetical and definitely a lot more sexual. You know Keats had a life mask made 5 years before his death, I would like one but 5 years after my death. I wonder what the world will look like 5 years after my death, I guess that will probably depend on when I die and how I die may also affect the cosmic balance of life.
Humanity has this lovely thing of being preoccupied with death, we should probably realise that we spend a lot longer dead than alive and should allow ourselves to be preoccupied with living and leave the death part until it inevitably takes us. In the end, I would like to be known as having tried to avoid the human preoccupation with death. If I become too preoccupied with death I would like to be known as the finest Russian author from Tsarist times.
The precipice though, is it a metaphor or a literal precipice that I am confronting?