Death

So the doctor told me that it was all my fault. The fault wasn't unique. It is very common among men. They have a thing about macho and don't have regular physicals or go to see a physician if they don't feel good, unless they are really sick and close to death. By that time, it often is too late. Such was the case with me. I was diagnosed of having advanced liver cancer and given three months, at the most, to live.

The news came yesterday. What should I do with my perennial "ire" now? Should I go on a killing spree as I always fantasized or should I just be suddenly "enlightened" and work on my upcoming departure from this world? One thing I know for sure, however, is that my contempt for several assholes remains undiminished.

As I lie dying for a burst and balm of comfort and solace, a strange desire overtakes me: I want to be able to read German and Chinese and grasp a sound theory about human language before I heave my last breath. So you can see that I remain impractical to the very end. A man without pride would have a hard time to go through life to the end.

I also remain disdainful of the stupid escape in the notions of salvation and redemption after I die. Such ridiculous notions are for ignoramuses and cowards for whom I have shown a strong contempt all my life since they are not quite developed as real humans. They are slaves to spiritual peddlers and charlatans.

"Death is a sound sleep undisturbed by foolish dreams."
"Death is a chute to hell."
"Nothing of the kind. Hell dies with you."

Henrietta asked me why I didn't go after Tannin. My reply was that I had a sense of honor and dignity and that Love was forever elusive to me. Too many assholes and not enough noble souls in this world. The more women I know, the more disappointed I am of the fair sex. Most of them are bitches and my natural affection for human females has decreased sharply because of them.

Ms. Epistolary's antics just opened my eyes to new vistas of human depravity while Tannin is my untouchable lover and my tutor in unbearable fantasy and hope. Dreams are unresolved feelings. In these dying days of mine, I look forward to each morning when the amber rays of the sun reach the earth, telling me that I have at least one more day to extract the meaning out of my existence and to derive the pleasure of watching ignorant fools at work.

(to be continued)