I am a piss-pot philosopher. Not one that is expecting a round of applause at this somewhat alcoholics-anonymous style statement, just a fact. Plain and simple: and there you have it. Clarity.
I have reached my Damascus moment, my defining point, the moment in my life when all has finally become clear. The summary of this all defining moment? The long winded and overly drawn out conclusion? I don’t matter. Overly goth perhaps? A little too swoony and fetch me a grape perhaps? Nothing that complex really.
People I loved are now long dead and gone: a statement of fact. Once I am dead who will this matter to? No one at all; not one single person will remember Jack Stringer Thompson (my great grandfather) when I am dead. There will be yellowed photographs, there will be stories told, there will be oft repeated references to things that he said, but no one will really remember where they came from, why they are important, or even what they have to do with the proverbial price of fish. This has, surprisingly, made me a very much happier person. I have realised that there are one hundred and one daily things that drive me absolutely nuts that really aren’t worth caring about at all. I have probably just wasted my breath venting steam about something that won’t be any different afterwards, or that I can’t change at all, or that would need a lottery win to be able to sort out.
I sometimes wonder what we have doomed the future generations to, but then realise that they would probably have done the same as us given the chance. In fact, in a not quite so profound as Nostradamus sort of way, I can almost guarantee that once we area relocated on another planet within our solar system, the first thing we will busy ourselves with is polluting the hell out of it, creating new religions, and generally power grabbing right left and centre until we have a hotter version of where we live now. As the old saying goes, the King is dead, long live the King. Wherever we go we have done the same. Destroy everything around us as quickly and economically profitably as we can, and damn our children. Could anyone living in plague conditions feasibly think about continuing the family line? Did it ever occur to just one of them that maybe they’d be damning their children to a life far worse and far more difficult than theirs? People just carried on thinking totally selfishly and doing what all humans did before them and have continued to do to the present day. Reproduce, try and make ends meet, die.
There is the thought that Hell is other people, but I think that is a little too optimistic, let’s try and bring a modern day shine to it. Hell is you, hell is me, hell is here, and hell is now so make the best of it because none of it really matters. You will die, you will be forgotten, people will stop caring because it’s their own hide they’re thinking of when they lay themselves down to sleep at night, so enjoy the ride because the last stop is indeed a terminal.