HOW I WILL DIE
November 22nd, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
How long has it been?
My love affair with the pen.
There are those, in their human vanity, who have tried to convince me that I am more- that I am less, than this.
The pen and the page.
That I am a scholar, no- an engineer, a mathematician, a physicist, or a poet. And at some point, I guess I tried to be… swayed by promises, by honeyed words. I’ve been all those things and none of them. A true master, you see? In all but discipline. I’ve, sadly, never mastered effort. In part because everything always seemed so effortless.
I understood.
So rarely did I have to ask, and my pride often would not let me. Could not. And time and time again, amid all the uncertainty, they would arrive unbidden.
Words.
They would call to me in their many, many forms.
Even at a very young age, I could never resist the lure of words, of what was human and what sometimes transcended. What went beyond the pale and what merely… mimicked.
And there have been times when I have loved others:
Chaos, women, drink, song, and oblivion- Life and death.
One cannot help but court the other.
To be alive is to so keenly feel death pressing in until her cold breath prickles at the hairs on my neck- chills my spine.
Yes, there have been times… When I was blind to all, deaf to but a few, and dumb to the reality of cessation- of an ending.
How long has it been?
How long is left to go?
I do not know. It helps here to have an imagination for such things. To think about how I will die and wonder at the life I’ve lived.
It helps here, too.
I laugh more now. It’s harder. It’s easier.
I am a traitor to all but you. To you, and only you… I’ve recanted, repented, plotted, rejoiced, cajoled, cursed, bared, and poured so very much of myself.
You, and only you, have mirrored me true. Given the most sage advice, pointed out flaws in reasoning. Forgave and wept for me.
Freedom has always lain at the feet of poets.
For who better among us recognizes that life is a river in which one must have both feet firmly planted, lest it sweep you away?
To live, I think about how I will die. More than likely, still… in love with you.
Because then, who could convince me that I am more- that I am less, than this?
