darklord666

When these frail vessels that house our souls start to buckle and wear we reflect. I am taking care of a gentleman who is ninety-four. He is alert and self-reliant though has serious short-term memory failure. I just took him to an eye doc appointment (after recent lazer surgery) and he aced the examine. He's got 20/20 but he can't remember long enough to read a paragraph. I couldn't read the same chart with my glasses on.

I usually work with kids, so being with this gentleman is new to me. He sits in his large house, watches golf and worries about his finances (he was a local bank president.) He has no wife or children, or really any family. He is truly an island. I keep thinking, "this is how we all end up," like the poet Gregory Corso said, "...alone in a rented room with shit stains in our underwear...bereft of love?" Well yeah." Or we go through our routines and try to loose ourselves in the details.

We ace our eye examines at 94 but are too weary to read all the books we said we would one day.
Like Burgess Meredith in that old Twighlight Zone episode. Stacking up all the books and then breaking our glasses. It's all a wicked crap shoot and the dice are only hot in your hands for a little while. But while they are, breathe the air of winning. . Here's what T.S.Elliot said on turning 50:
There were three gifts, specifically: ... "First, the cold friction of expiring sense, without enchantment."... "Second, the conscious impotence of rage, at human folly." ... "And last, the rending pain of re-enactment, of all that you have done, and been."