Surrender While You Can

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You might want to surrender now while you have the chance. Eventually, they won’t be so nice about it. They’ll just kill you and say you gave them no choice. So if there was ever a time to lay down your arms and assume a prone position, this is it.

Sure, they might kill you anyway. Even if cameras are rolling, they can claim to have been in fear for their lives. It was either you or them. You resisted their lawful commands. You left them no choice.

Chances are, however, that if you act soon to stop resisting, you’ll be alive at this same time tomorrow. As I said, time is of the essence. They only have so much patience, and it’s rapidly wearing thin.

Once they are sure of your intentions, they can set about the task of rehabilitating you. That might take some time. If you still think your cause is just and theirs isn’t, then I don’t have much hope that you will be able to successfully join their ranks. At best, you will always be an outsider, looking in, nursing a grudge in your rebel heart.

Nothing More

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By now you’re probably wondering what I really do for a living. Surely not this. You’re right, this is a hobby, a diversion, something to fill the time while I wait for death. I want for nothing. Any whims and desires that float in one ear and out the other can be easily ignored, or acknowledged with a cheerful “thanks for stopping by!”

I know full well what many only suspect. If you’re not full of gratitude, you’re toying with insanity. You’re making yourself miserable. You’re driving yourself crazy.

Even as the pandemic oozes about us, striking down a steady five percent of all whom it visits, there’s still plenty of cause to rejoice. We aren’t dead yet! What more can be expected or demanded from this life? Did we choose to be born when we were, into the family and nation of our birth? Of course not!

Clearly we are but the victims or beneficiaries of Fate. None of this is our doing. We are along for the ride and nothing more.

Someday I will rise to fulfill whatever promise was made by my very creation. Then I will be free to fade into obscurity. Until that moment, I must pay attention and listen for my cue. Only at the right time will this actor part the curtains and enter the stage. Only then will I deliver my lines, the ones I have been memorizing all my life.

Nobody Said It Would Be Easy

You just need a little guidance. Your youth and inexperience are holding you back. I can help. Within a few hours this world of ours will begin to disintegrate. You have a choice. You can stay here and turn into a vampire, a werewolf, or a zombie or some kind of weirdo that nobody wants to have around, or you can simply go with the flow. You can fall into that lake of molten fire. The one over there. It’s actually liquid sulfur. That’s why it smells so bad.

Don’t let the smell upset you. You won’t be alive long enough to smell much because sulfur melts at two hundred forty degrees. Your blood will boil, your brain will fry inside your skull and all the meat on your bones will be “well done” within minutes.

So it’s up to you. You can change or you can cease to exist. Neither will be as easy as you would like, but then nobody asked your opinion about the severity of the choice. This is the nature of the world we’ve inherited.

Images of a loving God providing guidance and refuge have long since fallen out of favor. Now, if people worship anything, they worship health and longevity. After most people died of Covid-22, the mutation that kept on mutating, nobody expected things to ever improve. Nobody even dared hope for things to return to the way they were.

The fact is that everybody has problems. Nobody has it easy. If you’re a zombie, you’ve got to find brains to eat. A vampire has to drink blood. A werewolf…well, he has more options than the other two, but they mostly involve ripping people to shreds and howling at the moon.

The main hurdle most of us face is finding someone with whom we have enough in common to build a life together. Of course, most of us can do this for a short while and then become bored and tear the life out my the roots and throw it by the side of the road. If we can refrain from doing this we’re soon ahead of the game. We can realize opportunities, we can know relative freedom and partial contentment.

Until we decide that’s not enough. It would be easier to simply acknowledge our part in this instead of blaming circumstances and others, but that doesn’t come easily to most people. We think “if only I had married that other person…” Or “look at his house, his car…why does he have it so good?” And so we build a tangled web of confusion, and find ourselves trapped inside it. Our frustration and self-pity skyrocket.

Slapdash Artist

I was put here for a reason. Part of that reason is to invent new things for other people to enjoy. Writing, acting, photography, painting…whatever I can dabble in.

I have a short attention span, so dabble is the operative word here. Never known for rigor, I try my hand at many things in the hope that one or two of them will please me and maybe someone else. Most of my output suffers from a lack of Quality Control. This probably explains why I’m not rich after a relatively long life in the creative arts.

I’m not lazy, but I am scattered. As I approach my seventieth birthday, I find myself living on social security in Thailand, where things are cheap enough to allow such a thing. Where things are inexpensive enough to allow a dabbler to live a life of relative freedom from want.

I’ve just returned from the art supply store where I bought another $3.30 canvas. I will spend less than an hour splashing paint on it and wiping it around haphazardly. Then I will photograph it for posterity and consign it a closet someplace in this ramshackle house, where it will be discovered after I am dead and disposed of in some way that seems appropriate to the finder.

The problem I face in putting all my eggs in the “artistic creativity” basket allows me to wonder what I should be doing with myself when inspiration fails me. Sometimes inspirations fails me for an entire day. Then what?

Most people enjoy numerous avenues of diversion, but not me. I take no interest in sports or politics, and do not read mysteries of adventure novels. If it’s not art, I’m not interested.

So I’m a bored elitist. For one who can barely hop, my bar is set too high.

Michelangelo had the patience to rub a slab of marble with an abrasive cloth until it turned into a human figure. I can’t be bothered to wait for oil paint to dry, and so must rely on acrylics. My numerous creations escape my recall. If I can’t remember them, why would anyone else notice?