They Want You to End Your Story as an Archetype

Has anyone ever said to you, “You think outside the box.”

Or, “You are different, you don’t think like most people.”

“Dude, you’re crazy.”

Did you think twice about it?

My whole life has been scattered with sentiments such as this and when I watch media I see where people base their reactions.

No, I don’t think inside Saturns Cube.  No, I don’t think like most people, because I think for myself.  And, No, I’m not crazy, I am the best kind of sane.

Here is what I will admit that is uncomfortable for everyone but me;

1.)  I look at Death, dead in the eyes, daily.

2.) If you tell me what I am going to do, I will do everything in my power to work against your orders.

3.) I am familiar with the script, and if I can’t flip it, I am going to burn it.

I probably don’t seem like the “type” with my brightly colored clothing and admiration for Natalie Merchant.  You expect this from people who predominately wear black clothing and listen to death metal.  “Those are the people really looking Death and Destruction right in the eye socket.”

Nope.  I love daisies and sunsets and technicolor leggings.  I believe in some prophetic hope and I choose to support life where pain exists at every opportunity.  I’ve spent a life time feeling like a walking contradiction.

I probably talk about Death, more openly than anyone I know who listens to Death Metal, and only slightly less than a Mortician.   If you just look at me with no knowing, you probably think that the conversation has never crossed my path, or so I assume.

It’s been five dogless days.  I’ve given myself a week to dig deep with no judgement, and quite honestly I don’t give a fuck if any of it offends.  I know I am going to experience new waves of realization down the road.  I know I will never be the same.  I know she isn’t coming back, so I am going to be like the Jews and sit Shiva for seven days.  I am going to purposely mourn the fuck out of myself.

Already, each day is a bit easier because crying is just a pain in the eyes.  It is hard to do anything.  I know I am perpetually dehydrated, so I cried as much as I could, until I couldn’t.  Realistically I know future tears will be shed once my water stores have been replenished.

I’ve reached a point of brief anger, willing to call out any person who thinks they are more Death Metal than me, to sit with me and really talk about death in realistic terms and not just in strange dark corruptions of the real thing for the sake of imagination and anger.  Quit fucking pretending the worst, because sometimes the most innocuous circumstances lacking in violence are actually “the worst it could be.”

Stop hiding behind dark facades of separation, the real end of it all will never make it as a t-shirt slogan worth baring.  Stop pretending to be so callus.  Stop pretending to know more about death than the dead themselves.   I admit I don’t know shit, but I am still so invigorated by feeling, that it is undeniable that I am still alive.

You don’t have to change your wardrobe or interests in order to understand this; just know that those of us who seem unsuspecting to certain concepts, specifically Death, may have been contemplating it’s role in life for as long as they can remember.  The acceptance and comprehension of it is so deep there is no need to display it outwardly until we are called in a moment to do so.

You won’t learn anything from this, I am sure, but I needed to write it nonetheless.

The only useful advice I have, is to recognize your demons and deal with them the best you can.  If you can at least call them by name, you have a better chance at dominating them but few of us can slay them on our own.  Know the names of your specific team when it comes to protection and support; we can all use all the support we can get.




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