O Me! O Life!

 

I Don’t Need My Life to Be Remarkable

Or do I now?

That is the question!

I can of feel a cringe when even animals; horses, dogs etc make it to Wikipedia and chances are my name will never ever appear there unless I become a cardinal or go out with a bang and bottom line
like the great Zoroastrian prophet Farrokh Bulsara once said:

NOTHING REALLY MATTERS

Same cringe I feel I supposed when I listen to
Bon Iver’s Holocene

And at once, I knew
I was not magnificent

Who doesn’t wanna be MAGNIFICENT?

There sure was times in my many manias where I was

FUCKING MAGNIFICENT

but that seems to be such a distant past now

so NOT MAGNIFICENT NOT REMARKABLE

so in other words utterly normal and boring

your typical bungled and botched asshole really

one of 117 billion that have passed on this planet

one of the current 8 billion living on it now

well for the moment anyway.

No marks left!

And then again all of my ancestors have left no marks really.

Go back only 3 generations and all history is lost and forgotten.

Go forward 3 generations and my history will be lost and forgotten

and gone

and THAT’S THE WAY IT IS as Céline would say!

Mind you a lot of people who have left a Mark didn’t leave it for good really whatever that constructed word is and also the mark we see now and are told may not be the real story either as we all know the winner writes history and the winner is not always the good one as we are led to believe.

Facts are getting more and more warped these days and history which has always been erased and rewritten is doing it now at warp 9 speed going boldly where no generation has gone before.

Anyway still waiting for this kick ass epilogue of mine
that fucking verse I am suppose to contribute :)

That you are here—that life exists and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

When 116.9 billion have left no verse at all.

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,

Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,

Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,

Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?