I’m immortal.
Immortal like every men and women I know. (Ok. I admit there may be a several people who are not immortal and I know them, but I can’t recognize that quality in them so it doesn’t matter. Sort of.) What I want to say is that I do not know that I’m going to die one day. I mean, I do know, but only as idea. I do not know it by my heart and certainly not by my stomach. And these are parts where our true knowledge is, where what we really know is. All those funny ideas what we have in our mind (some people call it “head”) about our values, who we are (kind and loving person), who we love (yes, darling I’ll love you until the end of time) very quickly evaporate when our everyday routine has been shaken. Like, for example, when stupid bitch that I call “wife” (or “mother”, or “sister”, or “grandma”) ate last peace of my favorite chocolate. All that stories that we talk ourselves about love, care, giving etc. are flushed down the toilet in second. Isn’t that funny?
- Hey, man! Who you are?
(with crying voice)
- Don’t know, man!
- Why?
- I’ve been flushed down the toilet.
That’s why I’m immortal. I have a story, imagination about my mortality and it goes something like this: The average age for dying (in Croatia) is 75 (last year they moved it to 78), so it’s 78 years. I have 38. (This is moment where I’ve been stopped by strange shiver going through my spine. God damn it! I used up a half of my fuckin’ life! But quickly proceed forward.) This is almost 40 years ahead! 40 years, man! So I have time.
Truth is – I don’t.
Truth is – I’ll die.
Truth is – I don’t know when it will happen. (Or how, or where.)
In spite of all that “knowledge” I’m still livin’ like I’m twenty something, still not having a plan, still not carrying it, still avoiding chances, still thinking “my time will come”, still waiting. Waiting what!? I realize that I’m actually waiting for all that what I call “my life” to pass. Because I have time, because I’m immortal.
To switch off immortality and to turn on mortality is not easy job. One of the thing what I must to do is to constantly, every day, from morning to evening, remind myself of my mortality. Memento mori! Old Romans used to say or Carpe diem!
Because until I don’t really know (with my stomach) that I’m actually going to die, I wouldn’t be able to really live. And I’ll just pass away.
That’s why Departed, that’s why paraphrase of Gladiators hail to the Cesar in sub header, that’s why skull in favicon, that's why adress is kicking the bucket. That’s why my best friend and ally now is Death.
Like I said on the beginning of this post:
It’s all about life.
Live well your short lives, cockroaches!
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