You didn’t do anything, so what did you expect?

I believe you can have a great life, a big life, with little money and no real achievements, but there must be joy and celebration, even and especially in the smallest of moments - in drinking water, breathing deep and clean, listening to music and stretching your legs, watching the sunlight and rain fall on trees and imagining everything behind that.

Geologic time and the fate of an ant, the speed of light and the vast emptiness of space.

There’s greatness in being alive.

Of all the things that could be learned, I chose none.

You will always have nicer things, more opportunities, more safety. More of everything good, less of everything bad. No panic when the bills come in, no worries at the checkout.

Steak tonight, why not? And the better wine.

This is how those with less see me.

A coming to terms with the realities of life, an honest accounting of my good fortune and poor decision-making. A further retreat into myself.

I sit on the terrace, the evening sun and a light breeze on my shaved head, listening to music, a can of beer open, another chilling in the freezer, while I am writing this and breathing in and out, knowing all is good.

Now of course, in myth and legend I'd be at the head of a conquering army, horse damp with sweat, sword slick with blood, or better yet driving a supercar along a stunning road, hot chick by my side, as we head to lunch and drink and drugs in a well-appointed hotel with a view of the bay, or just cut to the chase and I'm getting my dick sucked by three women while smoking a joint and rolling hard on foxy moxy, a fourth lady doing my admin, keeping my accounts in order, a fifth whispering in my ear "you will never die".

 

I sat quietly and thought the world would come to me, as it did in dreams.

After a while it becomes impossible to believe in the excitement of the life I once led, and how I still found time to be bored, stressed and depressed.

There was so much color and variety, so many open roads in all directions, and I spent years (decades) doing strange and unusual things that are difficult to explain, much like the change from then to now.

I cannot tell my story with any kind of realism.

Napoleon's apples were no better than mine, his capacity for joy no greater, and at my age he was dead.

Nothing new will happen now, nothing good. There'll be no sudden plot twists, no unexpected hero, heroine, windfall or change in character. This - it seems certain - is how things will remain, unless they get substantially worse.

But even here, in the midst of the blank and overwhelming reality of a life done strange and unwell, there's the lure of the stillness inside, the same easy joy that's always been my secret and shame, my turning from the world.

I wake up and fall into the abyss.