Thursday, January 5, 2012

and other things that come back to bite us in the ass
(Contributed by Dave Smith)

So the new fifty-five is really forty-five, right? Sixty-five is the new fifty-five? I wonder if this is because as I grow into that age, the 65 one, I realize in truth that gas is simply a result of eating some flagrantly piquant Mexican delight? No, not that kind of delight; rather the edible kind. Hell, that is not correct either. It is always a question of the sauce, right? Well, not really. You see, at this age, I remember on rare occasion the fact that as an adolescent, smell… well, smell was in the hinter regions of my mind. If it swelled, which was constantly, then what the hell had smell to do with it? I admit to the sweet smell of a young lady, that it was intoxicating, brilliant plumage in my nose which went straight to my loins. That I admit to, however, not the stink of a sweaty piece of old meat. Harsh, you say? We all ripen with age? I suppose so. Problem is that at this age, other so readily useable passages being in decline, why is it that my smeller has taken over my damned body?

Speaking of my body, which I consider to actually be in reasonable shape, the delusions of age coming with perhaps too much squatting on the shitter, tortures me constantly. Perhaps it is my mind, which seems to be still in the effervescent river of my past that is causing the substitution of wish for reality? I arise each morning full of myself then I stand naked before the unfortunately placed full-length mirror by the bed – built-in closet and all that. The wife likes the sliding doors and the space. I have come to realize that it is actually a dastardly thing to do to a man who, the previous evening, ran full out for around an hour and a half. Not bad, right? No matter; the aged dissolve. The skin sags, the knees have curtains; it is, however, fair to say that I take no external medications or supplements, so what the hell can I expect? Thing is, I have expectations which fly away the minute I stand before the mirror. Understand; it is built-in. I said that, however, repeating it is important. Yes, it is the mirror's fault. You see, it never lies. It stares you in the face regardless of expectations from the night before. Enough of that!

At this age, with my life experience, I consider God a terrible plague on humanity. Yes, yes, one can argue it is a case of organized religion, however, I do not think that is the crux of the matter for me. I have stood on Mutter's Ridge, full of the glory of God and country. I was young at the time, full of the things that slip quickly into the night. It was not well worth it; the blood, the guts, the wailing of men. Yes indeed, it was a fine thing we were doing. Let me explain: Mutter's Ridge / Mother's Ridge -- it is a metaphor for all those who love God and country, which was a righteous thing at that age and for many it still is. I think most of us have stood on a Mother's Ridge, staring over the precipice, hoping, praying that it was them not us. I certainly did… then had to deal with the guilt. Years and years of said bullshit! I was wandering as I often do, had the mutt with me. I looked down at him. Unconditional love stared into my gut. I would say soul but that would be hypocritical of me, right? I realized that there was no God. Why the hell do I capitalize the word? Interesting programming, I should think. It was a strange place to come upon the fancy that we are born, live and die. When the computer is shut off, we are simply gone. How can I be sure? Christ, who is sure? Not me. You see, this is an age thing. Speaking for myself, it was just that simple spark of time when for some reason the synapses in the brain snap, the chemistry kicks you in the ass. I replied out loud "What the fuck!" then went on my merry way, understanding everything and realizing nothing at all. So it is, you see: The age thing -- everything and nothing. Makes perfect sense to me; then again, why not?

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