Good-Fearing People

I contemplate my own death. I’m not suicidal, just curious. The best thing I’ve ever done is almost attempt it, it wasn’t high enough and I don't want to be crippled. These self loathing politicians haven't legalised euthanasia yet. I realise I’m not going to miss out on dying, that will come in due course. Everything I’ve experienced since shouldn’t have happened, it’s all additional. To live out of the limitations of fearing death is truly liberating. I was dead before I was born and never had a problem with it. The god-fearing people dare not let unorthodox thought enter the mind – blasphemy – for once it enters, it remains. I think religion is a great tool for people beyond self-forgiveness, having faith that a higher being will forgive you can set the mind at ease. Few get to choose their religion, even fewer understand what they believe in. I was born Protestant, because of where my family was born. Location Depression, where you're born, where you live. The locations history shapes you, people here don't have half the trauma or courage as the refugees coming from war torn 'fill in the blank' yet complain often and think themselves better. My troubles are nothing compared to some, this doesn't make mine any less real. It's reassuring and troubling simultaneously to be told how good I have it. I think man wasn’t created in God’s image, God was created in man’s imagination. God is within. Time to time I almost panic pondering ‘what if the Christian God is real?’ then I remember kids die of cancer, floods kill puppies and world leaders are corrupt peodophiles. I humour myself that if God is real, I am removed from heaven’s guest list.

I wish I was removed from this parties guest list. My family are members of parliament, I am invited to meet some of the people running the state. Snakes in the grass with transparent smiles and second hand greetings. The local member of parliament in my area is a heavy smoker. I’ll proposition a vote for a smoke and fail to live up to my end like it's a campaign promise after re-election. I crave a smoke when I drink, they go hand in hand. Two consistent killers with death tolls surpassing genocide, worth billions of dollars any given year. Paying to slowly die quicker like we're betting it all on black. We choose how the world runs with our money, these suits follow the money at the cost of the Earth. Even these small time politicians are corrupt who govern a few post-codes. As unhappy in life as they are unpleasant to be around. They spend far too much time in meaningless photo-ops and are compensated far to generously. Our evolution is at a cross roads, halted at a stop sign waiting for something.

Solutions for world problems are available and possible, theoretically. It's the practicality side of things where the trouble begins. Asking the system to fix the system is asking the man who stabbed you to call an ambulance, they could do it but helping you will put themselves in trouble. They could legalise marijuana not so people can smoke weed, people do that everyday whether it's legal or not. Hemp could create biodegradable plastics, putting disturbances in billion dollar business. Produce paper, yielding far quicker in smaller amounts of land than cutting down forests that house native fauna. Producing clothes, rope and medicine. Changing the way the world runs, changes the way business makes profit. To change the world for better is to take money away from the rich, people are killed for a lot less. When its over a smaller lot of money it is murder, when it's putting fortunes at risk its "suicide".

I know many people at this party, fewer know me, fewer more I like. Charlotte, my mothers old friend from University is here. She's dying of cancer. People aren't supposed to know, I was told in confidence. Confidence can be arrogance at the wrong moment. I'm not going to treat someone on borrowed time with the disgust I'll treat the living. It's disrespectful to treat her with pity without revealing your cards. Ignorance is bliss, a blind spot in your brain. You've put a wall before it with a pretty picture painted on it but you know what lies behind. Death. Gone forever. Forever exists in thought, in memory. When the living don't remember your name and your work is forgotten, you're gone forever. Nothing but evidence to look for in fine print in a newspaper memorial section, a plaque on a public bench or an etch in a tombstone above your decayed remains. People need to look death in the face to see life for what it is. To find their meaning in the meaningless. To simply live life is the meaning people search for their entire lives, they don't see that until the end. Maybe thats why the dead rest in peace. People believe the answer to their problems is else where and their happiness is somewhere else. It's wherever you are. There isn't a better time than today. New years resolutions are rarely fulfilled because people wait until tomorrow, then overmorrow etcetera. To ask me to treat Charlotte as if she isn't having an existential crisis is bullshit. I'm a raging bull and she's waving a red cape at me.

"I'm surprised you're not skydiving, why are you wasting your time in this snake pit?" I say to Charlotte. She looks at me as if betrayed by my mother for saying something.

"I beg your pardon" she says unsure of herself.

I envision a raging bull charging at the red cape.

"I hope you don't mind my mum told me the news, she was devastated and couldn't keep it to herself" I reply in a lie, my mother told me the news as if its hot gossip.

In my head the bull charges the matador and misses the cape. I notice she isn't drinking. She's wearing a beautiful black fascinator. One I imagine the Queen would wear. This close of a distance I can see her patchy hair.

"Why aren't you drinking?" I question with deep eye contact.

"The doctors told me not to drink" She humbly replies.

She looks anxious and keeps staring at my mother. My mother's talking to the Premier. She must have felt our gaze, because they're beginning their march toward us.

"Not drinking? Thats great news, mum made it seem like its terminal" I reply with hope.

"No, it is terminal" she begins tearing up.

"Then it doesn't matter if you drink" I reply with instant shame.

The raging bull charged the matador and pierced his side. Now all it sees is red. It got what it came for and can't take it back.

The Premier shows off his rehearsed smile and kisses Charlotte on the cheek. Pretending he didn't just get told her news he asks 'if there is anything he can get her'. She grabs the drink from his hand and downs it then walks away. My mother follows.

"I wonder what that's about" the Premier snidely remarks.

I don't answer and he looses his false smile.

"So what do you do?" he breaks the ice.

I reply with the lowest socioeconomic job I can think of. Something that would make the rich flare their nostrils and advert their gaze. Something so common and low wage that would make me not worthy of his presence. The Premier looks at me with an apparent disinterest and smiles his rehearsed smile. He breaks eye contact and looks to a colleague in the distance pretending he's needed elsewhere.

"It was very nice to meet you, now if you'd excuse me i've got to go."

I've never been more relieved as I was offended. As much as I hate these people and what they do and how they act. I can't help but hold a bit of respect and admiration for what they do. They start out meaning well and somehow loose their way once they get to a position to make change. In a way I pity them, almost as much as they pity me.