My biggest fear
Is it being trapped in a box underground? Alone. Forever.
Or being caught naked on a stage.
Or is it that the standardized happiness will chafe me in the wrong way.
That the instructions for fun will be poorly translated from Chinese into something with Roman letters.
That looks like English but makes no sense.
And like those instructions will be my life,
And I fear that nothing will ever again be amazing.
To think that the God of the universe created me for a purpose… and I fucked it up.
that at the end of this journey I will find that it has meant nothing
And I have meant nothing to anyone
And it doesn’t matter
And it isn’t the cut up bloody feet from walking barefoot over hot jagged pavement…
That isn’t the fear, really.
Maybe there is something that you live with.
And maybe we all sit quietly and learn to fold our hands and never say what we really think
And maybe never create anything new
Or get dirty… grimy, dirt under the fingernails and clay in the hair dirty.
Or scream as loud as you can until your throat hurts
Or swing at a ball with everything you got and watch it sail over the fences.
Or melt a green army man with the biggest magnifying glass.
But I will never hear that string of questions that my son used to ask
Ever, ever again.
I will never get to figure out a new answer… to who would win a fight between ninjas and dinosaurs
Or tell him, “I don’t know… let’s find out.”
Because it was … and now he is gone… and the questions have stopped.
Why do you want to create? To make something new? To try, even if the outcome
Could be failure? Do you stop making and thinking and interacting until something new and different comes about?
And simply exist…
But nothing really translates to the thought of a life lived with only the memories of people…
No one to share with.
Like my son who has now been dead for two years
And I live with only his memory.
And when no one believes in you… do those ideas you have–
Do you stop trying to turn them into things that are real?
Or change a life for the better?
And you think… or I think about my life stretching out before me…
I don’t think I fear getting my ass kicked and ending up bleeding on the pavement somewhere
Or some fiery crash… and go out in some hellish painful blaze of glory.
It is life devolving into some silent, motionless, airless lowest state of entropy.
Where no one is helped. Nothing really changes.
And nothing is created.
And walking through it alone
With only my memories
Or as I age, perhaps without even those
Reduced to wandering
taking in air and breathing out
Metabolizing carbohydrates and nutrients
And then shitting out the waste…
trapped as if in a box