Something about a good conversation on mortality just gets me. Might just be good conversation in general, but I dare argue that if you converse effectively, the doomed topic arises. What else are we mortals to think about? Life and living are the only things we know. Along with knowing we don’t do so forever.

Though when life and the ever-looming death become a topic, I still find myself believing something towards the bolder side of perspective. Nothing regarding afterlife, just a whole lot of gusto with the regular type of life. Not that my behavior and actions always reflect these rants. But even at my most humble, what I do every day follows the approach somewhat.

I keep on living. And I will continue to do so. Until I die. Which as far as I can tell, has yet to happen. And I don’t claim knowledge beyond this realm. I don’t even know if it would be all that swell to know what happens after, or what has happened before this flesh of mine all came together and got itself a name and all that.

It might have just been nothing. Might go on being nothing. Or something else. Whatever, really.

So, I rambled back and forth with a dear friend. Oh, and how we wonder whether we know ourselves or whether what we do is what should be done or is right for doing. Yet we both agree, though in slightly different styles, that as far as we’ve come and further still to go, our endeavors remain in pursuit.

Now the what of this pursuit is only at times specific. We have areas of concentration. The means and methods which fit within the molds of both ability and desire. The latter being the more important, considering its power to shape the former. To an extent.

And we agreed within this ramble more than once. Though with the length of the conversation and the scattered nature of my mind in normal function, not all points be remembered. Though this one, was.

There exists adversity in these bold and as we see, golden pursuits. At times, it may seem more immense than anything such puny souls might handle.

Shit gets hard. You know it. I know it. He and she and all that in between- if they be human and they think, they know it. And no apple of Eden can seem sweeter than quitting, at times of low residence.

But if I speak only for me, I will say this. No apple seems sweeter than that out of reach. Fuck Eden and fuck quitting. I want that which I was told won’t be. I need the challenge more than the goal. The chase. Not the destination. At least not yet. Perhaps I shall be some wise and mellow old man someday. Content with what he has done with what was had. Not content, maybe. But alright, we’ll say.

A rocking chair. An old dog. A pipe. A porch.

Maybe. Someday.

Not for a long time, though.

Today, and likely tomorrow, I press forward.

And.

I know my failures.

The many that have piled behind me. And those still left to guess until they crash all around. And they will. What they will be, I cannot say. I could not have told you all that has happened up until now until at soonest, when it happened. Most things, my peanut brain can take a good while to process. Somethings, it may always be brewing and brooding over.

And though sometimes useful, knowing all that you have let down, or has let you down, can serve as deterrent with much less effort than anything else.

Why try? They ask. If you only fail and fail, until the big failure at the end. When your body finally up and quits on you. Why would you ever bother making efforts to only increase your losing average.

Well, I would say. Slowly… stalling for more time.

Madness, I suppose. Because my attention span is so pathetic that if I do not fill my life with as much chaos as can be juggled, I may grow so bored I forget to breath.

Because you live until you die. And you damn sure will die, or at least you believe you will. You wouldn’t have kept reading if you didn’t think it might also be coming for you. I don’t imagine immortals would discuss mortality with each other. Not within the parameters of what they’d call good conversation. Mortality is likely similar to us discussing the weather. Small talk. Which funny enough, might now take more substance out of my spirit than any other form of talking. I would rather silence.

But to be fair, silence doesn’t really happen for me. There’s always something or someone or some thought bouncing between shuffling and screaming around my consciousness.

Not to say that is unique. I don’t even have it the worst among us.

Still, I am not one of those folks who can shut off the mind. I would likely make a terrible Buddhist. But I make for a poor follower of many preconceived doctrines, no matter how beneficial some may find they be.