The Omega Man
The Omega Man
How much is your soul worth?
Your actions reveal not what you want, but what you choose.
Desperation is like hate: you’ll always find as much as you’ll ever want. How much you want is curbed only by how much you choose. And you like getting what you want, don’t you? Are you happy always with everything you always wanted?
Sadness is like that. Feeding off misery and pain, it spawns more of the same. We nurture our demons like the mad doctor. Harnessing lightening to spark life into a collection of dead parts. And the demon always hates his creator. So we indulge.
Human beings are like that. My friend Valentina writes all about how humans are frail and fail, but, also, how we overcome and find ourselves right where we need to be. Right at the right moment. Like her recent post. Please check it out.
So you may have noticed my writing and posting patterns have undergone a shift in routine. It’s not you. It’s me. Making excuses is like shitting pinecones. It don’t feel good. Wiping up with a pine needle is even trickier.
So I stopped hitting some deadlines. I heard about it from one hustle. Another hustle said thanks. Compartmentalization comes in 31 flavors. And I’ve missed some deadlines with you. Taking that for granted. The demon screams.
And the ones that hit are less. Not nothing. But light and breezy would be a summer description. My first two or three paragraphs set a tone that has more PO than TENTIAL. A slow fizzle might be a clever device if not utilized as a sub for a bright spot.
Desperation as existence. Adrenaline hardens into exhaustion the older we live.
Completely ignoring all hustles except the one that required my proneness in bed, I indulged The Omega Man. Its dystopian beauty just keeps shining. My extended proneness now bothered. Being all fired up and all. I think long and hard about the last man on earth. It might be me. Or you. I don’t gamble, but I’d bet on me.
The search for logic in that statement runs dry. A feeling such as this is not rationally decided upon. Thought Frames often defy and define the way a person sees the path before them unfold. I look at life backwards. Where is the end?
And then unfold the folds to find the future. Much as everykid re-wrapped the paper on the hidden present once found. To be hidden back and surprised joy feigned. I took it a step further. Joyriding my moms car when she carpooled.
We (the delinquents) precisely noted the hubcap position relative to the ground. At 12. Then removed them so they wouldn’t fly off. Over a ditch. In a pasture. Amongst Ol Man Johnson’s cows. Work backwards, my friends.
Gliding back to the origin spot, erasing the tracks, replacing the caps. Like nothing ever happened. Paranoia infects every action. Pleasure attends every risk. Gratification reached by deception. Survival the ultimate goal. And the pinnacle high.
Evading detection was more a method of not getting the shit beat out of oneself than an outright goal. We lived the ethos “less is more” by default. The less the elders saw of us, the more shit we could get away with. And the less we got beat.
I sold my soul somewhere so long ago
Oh I didn’t think too much at the time
I was young and i didn’t know
Oh till i saw it late one night
On the antique road show
Expert collectors to appraise
Listening to songs, especially their lyrics, has become an intensity for me ever since I started this project. The more I listen, more meanings evolve. Unlayering the unknown from the useless, sometimes wrenching reality from illusion’s grip.
What is sung is not what is said. I know that now. Choosing to (instead of simply wanting to) understand makes it a direct command, not a helpless plea. The simpleness of a boy and girl in love is what the singer sold. Not what the expert collector appraised. Nobody experienced love in that antique roadshow.
Just a valuation of an antiquated desire. Already exchanged for a price, the bargain is yet to be had. What’s left of your soul to sell? And how much is it worth? Is that more than what you would value it at?
I spend a fair amount of time in my car. It’s a classic (old) Honda, so it’s solid. It was a cousin’s Grandma’s car, so it has all those cool little old lady vibes. I put an Alpine Stereo in it just because it was an aspiration. Achieved. And it was $200.
Back in the day, it was what everybody wanted. I mean hi-fi power and clarity? I want that now, right? So I chose Alpine. Took 40 years, but I got what I wanted. By choosing.
The lyrics scattered throughout this playlist tell a story not far removed from the themes of this piece. Do you recognize anyone? The person in the mirror?
A rose is nature expressing love. How many times do you actually, really, truly stop what you’re doing when you walk by a rose? And smell it? Why not? Is your time on earth so damn important that smelling a rose for a mere 30 seconds is totally off limits and off schedule? So be it.
These roses grew up in San Clemente. In the same backyard that I did. I wish I could smell them now.
Be well my friends,
Ric
An Alpine! I wanted one of those for years. You’ve truly arrived!
Awe. Super cool. Thanks for the mention!