Coming home.

Being a human being is a very weird experience. Supernatural in its ability, and yet doomed to a life of pain and tumult at birth, and an unknown pain in death. It's truly an asinine concept we all must live with, the only grace being that we as human beings are very good at putting shit out of our minds that's far in the future, in favor of the instant gravitational pull of the present. Which often isn't pleasant either -- at times.

Being close to death in occupation, as part of circumstance, or due to pure rambling thought and morbid obsession, is unsettling. I know there are those among us with a fixation, however, I hesitate to believe that the macabre thought of their death doesn't at least put the slightest bit of fear into their minds. Doubt at the very least.

War, famine, illness, vehicular collision, fire, and all manner of accidents. Manmade and natural. Not only are we at the whims of ourselves but we're at the whims of the natural world around us. Which we subvert to our purposes through structures, fossil fuels, mineral cultivation, that is a sentence which could go on comma by comma ad infinitum. This subversion leads to deaths of our own making, occasionally, far more than anyone would like, or like to admit. The natural world around us often takes it upon itself to fuck up all these manmade things and cause more death yet.

That's what I find myself thinking on a Wednesday evening. Alone trying to play music loud enough to try to cut that tension hanging in the air, and the grief in my heart and head. Trying to drink enough booze to feel okay for a few today.

Am I glad I'm back? I am. Ask me again. Am I glad I'm back? I'm not.