ABBA is fuckin' awesome.
I'm not even sure why.
Mama Mia yer brains out!
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Moving On
The final video was recorded unbeknownst to the videographer.
The payoff is at the end when Mom chases me down the street.
I have no idea why she did that, but I intend to tell people that it's because she's a huge SpongeBob fan.
...And Another Thing
Conducting ourselves based on what she 'would have wanted' is misguided.
You can't always get what you want, no matter what.
No one suddenly gets everything they want simply because they're dead.
Otherwise, no one would die in the first place.
Focusing solely on what she would have wanted is a misjudgement on the side of grief. We want her back so badly that we just want to please her.
Just doesn't work that way.
Sometimes we'll have to do what she would have hated (eat pickles). That's realistically 'moving on'.
Time helps because time forgets those who aren't a part of time any more.
Time numbs.
Time busies us into Christmas shopping and getting back to hating our fucking jobs, and the result is a distracted detachment.
That's not healing.
Of course, writing sad poetry and never getting another job isn't healing either.
Perhaps getting back to ourselves in spite of ourselves is the best option, but only given the circumstances.
In a make-believe society with no wars, where everyone lives in grass huts and eats fruit every morning, I believe they would find a better approach to mourning.
Ours is the consumerist's take on it.
Throw money at it, and if that doesn't work, just keep our heads down and act like this is what we wanted all along.
I'm playing ball only because I have to.
If and when I die, don't worry about what I wanted.
I've never known what's best for me anyway.
Instead, concern yourself with what I hated - what I rallied against, and then ask yourself why.
Ask yourself if I was right.
That's logical, isn't it?
"This is what he would have wanted, but was he wise to want that?"
Then you'll truly be contemplating me.
Sorry about that, by the way.
If I'm dead.
I swear, I don't mean to be. In all liklihood, it was an accident and we're looking at a closed casket affair.
Just as well. Everyone looks better alive.
In one of my ass-pocket-comedy-books I wrote:
I always assumed I'd die first.
I guess that means the joke's on me.
You can't always get what you want, no matter what.
No one suddenly gets everything they want simply because they're dead.
Otherwise, no one would die in the first place.
Focusing solely on what she would have wanted is a misjudgement on the side of grief. We want her back so badly that we just want to please her.
Just doesn't work that way.
Sometimes we'll have to do what she would have hated (eat pickles). That's realistically 'moving on'.
Time helps because time forgets those who aren't a part of time any more.
Time numbs.
Time busies us into Christmas shopping and getting back to hating our fucking jobs, and the result is a distracted detachment.
That's not healing.
Of course, writing sad poetry and never getting another job isn't healing either.
Perhaps getting back to ourselves in spite of ourselves is the best option, but only given the circumstances.
In a make-believe society with no wars, where everyone lives in grass huts and eats fruit every morning, I believe they would find a better approach to mourning.
Ours is the consumerist's take on it.
Throw money at it, and if that doesn't work, just keep our heads down and act like this is what we wanted all along.
I'm playing ball only because I have to.
If and when I die, don't worry about what I wanted.
I've never known what's best for me anyway.
Instead, concern yourself with what I hated - what I rallied against, and then ask yourself why.
Ask yourself if I was right.
That's logical, isn't it?
"This is what he would have wanted, but was he wise to want that?"
Then you'll truly be contemplating me.
Sorry about that, by the way.
If I'm dead.
I swear, I don't mean to be. In all liklihood, it was an accident and we're looking at a closed casket affair.
Just as well. Everyone looks better alive.
In one of my ass-pocket-comedy-books I wrote:
IF I'M DEAD AND YOU'RE READING THIS, THEN WE BOTH HAVE THE WORST LUCK
I specifically wrote that as a joke for Turpin.I always assumed I'd die first.
I guess that means the joke's on me.
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