… and all they serve is human flesh.
Smoked, cured, dried and salted; all laid out under glass panelling for you to drool over as you walk the line of existentialism. It’s a smorgasbord of sliced me and you.
There is a choice of bread to go with either cold cut or hot sandwiches, of course, nothing but the best for you. A various array of kraut, slaws and pickles, and a massive range of sauces, dips and dressings. There are trays of sliced thigh meat, pulled belly meat, a potage of human brain and liver, a soup with eyes floating about in it like in that Indian Jones movie. Nothing is wasted. No one makes it out without being stripped to the bone.
Woe betides the man that asks for a salad in the Deli of Damnation.
There is a large Mediterranean man with un-naturally hairy arms that works behind the counter; all day he dips great salt meat sandwiches in human dripping and gravy (on request) and slaps the subs on to plain white china. He will never like you yet he makes your sandwich with grace and perfection.
Welcome to the wonderful biological mechanism that is my mind deconstructing my character.
Let’s face it, that’s all you do when you start questioning the meaning of existence isn’t it; you start devouring yourself. You take gory lumps of your persona and ingest then, take them on-board to get a taste of what it is that makes you, you.
And you don’t just nibble, what would be the point in that? Great big mouthfuls of your own shit, that’s what you must force down.
Then the desert.
After you have gorged yourself on your own ego comes that single dark moment that makes you shudder. A feeling that you can’t explain, like you stood too close to the void of nothing and it started to suck at your guts. A sinking feeling as you realise that at some point you won’t be here anymore.
So what would any normal person do when that moment hits? Well, in most cases people turn or start religion. An answer to what happens when you die. A punch line to the joke if you will.
And it is funny, you live then you die and the funny bit is that you go to heaven and meet with all the people you loved and live forever in servitude in a dictated utopia. Nah, that’s not for me.
Nice idea but unfortunately a lot of you have taken that ‘tranquilizer’ and let it go to your head; and it is a tranquiliser. Can you imagine what sort of chaos there would be if everyone realised that life had no point, that there isn’t an afterlife and everything you were taught by your elders was bullshit. Oh, wait.
That’s when it starts to get weird.
When you start to question whether any of this has a point, whether any of this is actually real or just some illusion that you are having in some void of space somewhere. Are you a part of someone else’s dream? There is a good chance that you might be in a coma and wake to find a whole new reality waiting for you. Is this just a hallucination caused by lack of oxygen to the brain during child birth explaining why a lot of cultures believe in reincarnation?
Because I have a conscience does that mean I am conscious or have I just been given this by some higher power to be part of their perverse game of Risk?
Do dogs go to heaven?
Will we find proof of the missing link?
What are the true properties of the Higgs Boson particle and will its existence become the new god?
If I kill someone, what are the real consequences, is it morally wrong or is it just brain washing?
Take all these questions and throw in large fistfuls of self-loathing and persecution paranoia then gently fold in some fat breaks and you have an average night for me.
So many things that keep me awake at night. It’s enough to drive one insane.
But the question I guess is what does my existence mean for me?
Well, I guess just being awake is pretty good. Feelings. Thoughts. Ideas.
That to me is the point of being alive. Every night I wake up sharply and realise that at some point I won’t be able to feel air filling my lungs or go outside and smell the asphalt in the road heat up on a hot day. I won’t be able to enjoy the quenching my thirst with a cold glass of water. I won’t feel scared any more. I won’t find anything funny anymore. I won’t think that guy over there is a bit of a dick anymore. I won’t hear music anymore. Taste a slice of pickle when I bite into a burger anymore.
I really find life a bit of a sick joke. We get this gift that we call consciousness by fluke, then it slowly drives us mad and evolves to the point that we are totally self-aware. Meaning we know at some point that we die. And for those of us that haven’t fallen into the religion ‘safety net’ it really takes the shine off of the later years. Guess I just want to live forever, how greedy of me.
I can’t remember who said it but it has stayed with me for many years, “childhood is over the moment that you know you are going to die”. It was probably in some shite 90’s movie.
Take time out to think about it for five minutes every day; get used to the idea that you are going to end at some point and all that will be left is a puddle of crap in a box somewhere. Let it shock you; let it turn your blood to ice for a second and let the shudder of mortality hold you in its arms. After about a year of this you will still become upset but you’ll stop crying every night, and the night terrors will get better.
Then go and enjoy the rest of the day, because tomorrow you might not be able to.