Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Tales from the Drunk Side: Death

Some people say, I live in the future. And therefore is unhappy with the present.

This is both true and bollocks.

I do live in the future. On the day I die.

I often ask myself, on the very last day of my life, would I have any regrets?

Well. Maybe.

Using that perspective, seeing myself from that vantage point, how relevant are things to me?

I mean, if I were to die, 20-30 years from now, if I live that long, what would matter today?

My blog? My Blackberry? My scripts? My book(s)? My job? My title? How much I make? What people think of me? What people thought of me, two seconds a year, five years ago?

How many girls I fucked?

I mean, what would matter, to ME? On my death bed.

Honestly, and I am not gloating, I have lived a charmed life. If I were to die tomorrow, I'd die happy. And I am ever thankful for that.

I have done what most people usually just complain about wanting to do.

"Oh, I wanna write movies, nyeeee."

"I wanna write a book, nyeee."

"I wanna have sex with four girls. Nyeeee"


"I can't find the time. Boo hoo hoo."

"I don't have the money. Boo hoo hoo."

"I'm not good looking enough. Boo hoo hoo."

"They won't let me do that. Or SHE won't let me do that."

"I wanna do it with emotion. Nyeee."

Boo fucking hoo. Been there, done that. That is sooo 2004.

Well, just do it, bitch. The only reason you are stopping yourself is because somehow, on some level, it works for you.

Being a victim. Justifying. Being in pain. Fear of getting what you want.

As a person who more often than not gets what he wants, I can tell you that Neil Gaiman is right.

"Sometimes, the price of getting what you want, is getting what you once wanted."

And, "The destination is sometimes a surprise to the destined."

This, my friends, Romans and motherfuckers, is called greed. Avarice.

When you don't really know what you want and simply grab as much as you can. I've met grabbers before.

Sons and daughters of millionaires who fight for a free plastic toy camera. Wives of multi-million dollar companies' board members bringing fucking tupperware to an AGM meeting, so they can doggy-bag the caviar - used as garnishing.

And some, less obvious examples.

I can see it in their eyes. This greed for space. For attention. For recognition. For worship.

The fear that if you give some ground, or give some pussy, that you will have less pussy. Actually, the more you give your pussy, the bigger it gets. Moar pussy for meh!

So you want a million US dollars. Why? Nothing wrong with that. I want USD400 million. But always know - for what? Always know what you're asking for.

Do you even know the headache it takes to manage a million bucks? The worry, and the responsibility that comes with it?

I know why I want to be rich. So I can be free. And then free others from whatever it is they want to be free from.

Greedy people, they are creatures of desire. They are never thin enough. They are never pretty enough. They are never rich enough. They are like walking black holes.

And believe it or not, we are also them at some point in our lives. Some move on. Some, don't. That's just the way it is.


I want to die in a library.

I want to die, surrounded by comic books.

And on my grave, I want these words:

"...A handful of yarn. Lots of weaving and stitching. Some embroidery, perhaps. A few loose ends, but that is to be expected."