[This one was 4, but I was like…”I’ll take it!”]
At the end of the world, there is a single darkness
It is round and perfect, and it waits for everything
Its metal body is gray, its dusty age a testament
To all mankind
It sits on a throne of rocks
The mechanical man with his azure eyes
Both the first creation and the last
And he casts a his hand out, a shadow that makes its way across the earth,
Never stopping, it comes in contact with each heart,
Travels over and is away
It mercifully poisons, it draws like a pencil through the words that are
And it pulls everyone back to its home in the end
Because Death wants what anyone wants
And that is to not be alone
At the end of all days.
A beautiful quote from a bit on Radiolab’s Sunday show on NPR. It really resonated with me.
Hi. Hello. Yes, yes, we’re here. We’re alive. We are in THE HOUSE. I’m sorry you all were left under radio silence for a while. Getting the technologies to coexist in the titanium dome that is obviously hiding in the attic has proven difficult.
How are you?
Owning a house – I almost wrote possessing, but that didn’t exactly feel right – is unlike anything I could have thought it to be. The first time something went wrong, I stormed up to my husband and asked, “We should call them back and tell them that we didn’t sign up for this shit!”
“Tell who what?”
“Everyone! Everyone else should fix this! I don’t want to fix this! Do you?”
And that was when my husband walked away. Not really, but he told me that there was no one to fix it. We had to fix it. Or call a plumber, electrician, carpenter, or handyman to fix it while we pay them. And I knew that. I just didn’t want to.
Lesson 1: There’s no one to place blame on, or ask to take up the burden. You only have yourself to rely on.
We were scrambling with the last of the detritus and flim-flam of our old residence. We had just barely gotten everything out the last day, in the last hour. Suddenly, faced with the closed, locked door, I started choking.
“Are you okay?”
“This is it,” I said. “This is it. Like…it’s happening right now.”
He headed down the stairs, and slowly I followed. There was no last big hurrah, no ridiculous Polaroid. Nothing. Except the ting of a key at the bottom of the mailbox and salty, stingy tears from the driver’s seat.
Lesson 2: Make the memories while the thing is happening. They will hold on longer than last hurrahs.
I’m sitting in the eating nook adjacent to the kitchen. It has been cleared of most boxes, and I can look out over the table to the rats that are playing in the cage against the window. I can watch as little birds eat the neighbor’s wild grapes.
In the corner of my eye is a black and white animal. Despite our keeping the gate closed to the back yard, the checkered Maine Coon is utterly undeterred. It pauses momentarily, giving the metal obstruction barely more than a measured look, before squeezing under it. It doesn’t even run. It saunters to the next gate and is gone.
Lesson 3: Life is full of wonder. Just wait. You’ll see.