About The Funk...

Observational Spittle from the mind of a man of color in his 40s, without the color added (most times). Come in, laugh, and you may learn something...

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Sunday, August 5, 2018

Dying to tell ya

And now, something morbid from G. Eric Francis...

I haven't worked on the book in more than 3 months.  I recently swapped out my iPad Pro (mostly to pay for my trip to MI a couple of weeks ago) and decided to pick up the new MIcrosoft Surface Go.  It is a quaint little thing, relatively easy to type on (once I got used to it; having big hands sometimes can be a biznatch) and while I will be a Mac guy 4ever, I have also swapped out most of my apple products besides my main computer (to once again help cover my trip).

Anyway, I am getting off subject here...onto the morbid part.

I have always thought about my own demise, since I was a teen.  I know that isn't something one should dwell on, but the fact that one of these days I will no longer exist (now that I am less than a year from 50 getting closer every day) sort of bugs me....as well as fascinates me.

Let me get you to the bug me part.

After watching an episode of "CSI" several years back where a body had decomposed to the point that it was simply black muck sort of gave me the creeps.  It is hard enough to be black in America, but then to become black muck really sucks.

The one advantage of that is at least the police can try to beat me my muck, and I can have revenge by splattering into their orifices.

Gag on that, a-holes.

Another thing is having my body on display, more bloated than I was in life, for folks to say "goodbye" to.

Wait, that is going with the expectation that anyone would come to my funeral; my oldest has told me more than once that he hopes I go first.

Well loved, I am.

Then there is the other alternative of my body's disposal...cremation.  I know, I know...why should I care what happens to my remains....I WOULD BE DEAD, right?  I guess that since I have cooked enough dead flesh on a grill, the idea of being tossed in a cardboard box (mingling with paper is the ultimate paper cut) and tossed into an over w/o at least seasoning (I am a black man....we gotta have our seasoning, damn it) is not appealing.

Then again, neither is being slowly eaten by bugs while I become a burnt milkshake.

Ok, creepy part over.  Here is the fascinating part (and the inspiration of my current project, providing I ever finish the mofo).

My mother told me when her brother died that right before she got the call the iron that she was using "moved."  Now this tale has changed into more supernatural stuff as I got older, but she stuck by her story.

In my nearly 1/2 century on Earth, I have seen some inexplicable shit that science cannot explain away.  I know a few of my associates are agnostic or atheist, but the fact that I have 2 sons (where medical science said one should have died because his umbilical cord ruptured) tells me something is more powerful than us out there running shit.

With that being said, it has made me questioned my life's decisions.

I have broken a few commandments.....more than once.  With that being said, and assuming Christianity is the truth (something else driven into me by my mom) I am screwed.

This makes me go back to the whole roasting my body like I was a dead pig in a smoker.

If there is a soul, well, damnation awaits if I croak before I figure things out and I change.

Then you gotta look at the other argument.

Supposed the agnostics and atheists are right, that we are basically no more than organisms that expire....AND THAT IS IT.

It is humbling to know that the ants that I killed this morning and I are equally irrelevant.

It's  a bummer, cuz it makes me regret not being a bigger male slut, or a massive asshole (even tho I have been a mid-sized asshole once or twice...Mrs. Flagler would confirm this).

I mean, what is the point of accepting a savior and being a good person when I missed out on a lot more fun?

This is my daily internal struggle, to be honest.  My teen is on the atheist side, since his Aspergers riddled mind cannot accept something he cannot see, hear or touch.

Is he right?

I guess that is where I am in the middle.  If he is right, well the worst that awaits me when my time is up is muckville.

If he is wrong, well he won't be attending the family heaven reunion....and I might be right there next to him doing the whole biblical "gnashing of teeth."

Yeah, I paid a little attention in Sunday School.

The biggest thing tho, as I end this so I don't burn my ranch red potatoes with five cheese dish in the oven, is that my fear that I didn't matter.  Very few people are remembered hundreds or thousands of years after their death.  I guess that I'd be more cool about what is inevitably coming if when I go, as long as those folks who I beat to the death finish line still draw air, thought that I mattered.

I think there are a few of those folks out there.

But sometimes the silence makes me not so sure.

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