One wasted day at the time

Before too long…

All this will be gone , all this delusional dream that I could have been someone, that I could have been a contender, that I could have left a mark, a name, a memory, a legacy, …SOMETHING

Many have left something behind in much less time.
I have ‘beaten’ Balzac and Proust and Christ, I have beaten Christ himself,
let’s not mention Alexandre the Great here and so many others.
In May 2014 I will have ‘beaten’ Dickens himself.

All ‘beaten’! In YEARS that is.

Soon, this consciousness, this potential, this great white hope will be gone and forgotten.

Would I have an eternity, I still don’t see me leaving a mark, given that many others would also have an eternity to leave their mark, but then again was I the only one, that eternity alone would be my flavourless mark.

What does it matter really one might ask?
Do you think Balzac, Proust and the above mentioned are any happier for the better that they are ‘remembered’?

In all probability soon enough, give it 4 or 5 billion years, all of us will disappear in utter dust, nothing left at all.
No memory, no books, no deed, no records, no digital mark of any kind.  I do expect that Voyager gold CD to be long gone as well.

Maybe in the year 802,701 there will be some vestiges of old forgotten memories no one listens to anyway, and maybe Herbert George was totally wrong and we will be all gone by then also.
Who knows?

Truth is most of our forefathers are forgotten and have no history or memory whatsoever. 
Who knows anything much about the daily lives of our great- great- forebearers anyway?

I just can’t help though watching every minute going by as one breath closer to death sometimes and wonder why?

The good old sempiternal questions: Who am I? Where am I? What is the purpose of life? And more importantly who’s gonna be in the bottom two on the X factor tonight? :)

A longing for deeper meaning, for so called ‘truth’ which is at best a recognition of some of the lies methinks sometimes.
The antithetic Lethe river.

A longing for ‘true’ knowledge, here is that word again.

A longing for wisdom and sense in an unwise and insensible world.

Maybe all a disguise for a god complex
and a sense of narcissistic superiority?

What would I do with the truth anyway?
And with all knowledge that passeth understanding? 

What did Charlie Gordon do? 

Here is one that is still 'hanging around' at 86, Daniel Keyes,
50 years after his absolute masterpiece,
May he be remembered forever!

Most actually just literally lose their ‘minds’ as soon as they get too close to the fire.

The infamous Icarus Complex.

I watch things judging people’s creativity or lack of when mine is not any better when all I can say is I could do better with the subject but I don’t, as a matter of fact I wouldn’t know how. 
I see a great potential and I see the possibilities and the lack thereof but bottom line I am nothing but a Salieri who thanks to Peter Shaffer, F. Murray Abraham, and Milos Forman, at least WILL be remembered for something as the ‘patron saint’ of MEDIOCRITY.

I still would not know what to do with my favourite subject of all: dystopia.

Dystopia and time travel certainly have tons of potential but none I can exploit properly.

In the meanwhile I guess I can keep on reading the works of the true masters even though master is a loaded word.  Not sure what to think so far of shallow pedantic spoiled rotten rich child Marcel here… fascinating at times and so irritating at others with his sycophant snobbery and warped little mind, his fake duel and all his utter bullshit and so much of it… a bit like life itself really, digging though tons of manure to find one or two precious gems. No gems that I could use I am afraid but pleasant to look at when one falls upon them and quickly forgets them isn’t it what we do when we search for lost time now?

Attracted by the old and proven classics all the while neglecting other good potential dystopias like the Veronica Roth Divergent series. Still haven’t finished the Lois Lowry’s quatuor.

Anyway as long as there is life there is hope ‘they’ say,
don’t ‘they’?

Let’s make it do Dickens' 58th now and move on. J

One wasted day at the time.

P.S. Editing is not my forte but a second though occurred here that 'remembrance' in many ways is also very provincial or parochial as I like to call it. Notice there is no Chinese, Portuguese, Greek or Romanian, Norwegian or Senegalese, or any other nation celebrated memories here and in history, we tend to remember them locally like Louis Hemon for instance.  Wikipedia is not exactly the barometer of success but still. :) 

And the hours go by like minutes 
and the shadows come to stay 
So you take a little something 
to make them go away 
And I could have done so many things, baby 
If I could only stop my mind from wonderin' what 
I left behind and from worrying 'bout this wasted time 

Ooh, another love has come and gone 
Ooh, and the years keep rushing on 
I remember what you told me 
before you went out on your own: 
"Sometimes to keep it together, 
you got to leave it alone." 

So you can get on with your search, baby, 
and I can get on with mine 
And maybe someday we will find, 
that it wasn't really wasted time 

  

Alexander III of Macedon (20/21 July 356 – 10/11 June 323 BC) 32
Honoré de Balzac  20 May 1799 – 18 August 1850)  51
Marcel Proust (10 July 1871 – 18 November 1922)   51
William Shakespeare (26 April 1564 (baptised) – 23 April 1616)  almost 53
Charles John Huffam Dickens (7 February 1812 – 9 June 1870) 58