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Doña Juanita Speaks #2 — The Fool’s Guide to Immortality”

by book "Useless Immortality".

By C.J.NightPublished 2 months ago 4 min read

Wagwaan, Earthlings.

Donya Juanita reporting live from the quantum jungle — the place where neurons, hyper-pop, and old gods share the same coffee machine.

Last time we spoke, immortality was... useless? Spoiler:

Daytime Human.

That’s your standard unit: you, me, your grandma, your cousin Marge, or that BDSM actor from the East Coast. We all got our daytime grind while the sun's out — running around trying to get stuff done before it takes a nosedive behind the skyline.

You desperately need that discounted kettle, you're asking for a raise, you fall off a bike trying to show off, or your kid's howling because the toy they wanted doesn’t exist in this time-space continuum.

Even if none of that hits exactly right, I bet I’ll still nail something: maybe you go to work, maybe you’re unemployed. Maybe you have kids, maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re a party animal or a lone- wolf hermit. Sooner or later, one of these sticks.

Anyway, most of us interact with the outside world during daylight hours (unless you’re a night owl). Even they eventually hit the sheets — even if it’s at 7am after a bender.

But the result is always the same.

We dive into bed, maybe put on pajamas (or not), throw a blanket over ourselves, turn off the light. And then it happens — the part where we’re left alone with the unfiltered version of ourselves. The daily noise fades out, and the inner monologue sneaks in like a pissed-off cat that didn’t get its tuna snack.

What kind of thoughts are these? Well, that’s where this guy comes in.

Nighttime Human.

“So I’m what — 25 years? 40? 60? Whatever. How much longer will I be able to stay active, physically strong? When exactly does the rotting begin — inside and out? And when do I turn into… wait, no, can’t say that, that’s ageist!

Like, take my neighbor Tony. He’s an elderly guy, sure, but he’s out there living his best life — always out with friends, drinking beer, playing cards. Full-on silver fox energy.

But what if I don’t turn out like that? What if I end up with some degenerative disease, Alzheimer’s or whatever, and I slowly turn into… nope, can’t say that either, still ageist!

The truth is, I’m terrified I won’t recognize myself one day. That my body — my face — won’t feel like mine anymore. Not scary, not ugly, just… unfamiliar.

I wonder if Tony even looks in the mirror… what does he see there? Probably someone happy. Someone whole. If I were in his shoes, I think I’d just smash every mirror in the house. My reflection?

Honestly, it belongs in a horror movie, not real life. Harsh, I know… apologies to the woke part of my brain.

And what if I become so helpless they stick me in a nursing home? Sometimes nursing homes feel less like care facilities and more like warehouses for the inconvenient.

Shit. I don’t wanna end up in a place like that!

And the spiral keeps spinning, tighter and tighter, dragging you down into some mental abyss. Only sleep — sweet, merciful sleep — might save you. But not before it throws you around a bit:

I’m gonna die. Like, I’m actually gonna die. And it will happen. Even though I belong to this-or-that religion and technically believe in some afterlife paradise, there’s still this awful moment where I think… what if it’s not real?

What if I don’t get to sip cocktails and grill burgers with my favorite people in the great beyond? Because — they’re gonna die too.

Mommy, help.

What if the atheists are right, and we just vanish — like actual vanish — dissolve into some poetic nothingness? Some Absolute Infinity or whatever.

Or more bluntly: what if we just die and that’s it?

I mean, I’ve eaten, drunk, worked, fought, made up, laughed, cried — lived. And all of it, every little bit, could just evaporate. Along with me. The me that felt it all. Can that really be? And what if it is?!

And before all that, I’ll probably have to bury my grandparents. Then my parents. Will I even be able to stand there, over my dad’s casket, and look into that face that used to be so alive?

Nope. I’ll lose it. I swear. I don’t want that. Why is life so cruel?!”

This final question always seems to wrap up such spirals perfectly. Life is cruel. It kills everyone eventually, then dumps you at a bus stop called “Death.” And for some reason, people just… accept that. Nobody calls the cops. No one files a complaint against the system.

This kind of personal violation goes unpunished. Because see, when your oppressor is flesh and blood, you can fight back. Humanity invented all kinds of ways to deal with human monsters.

But what do you do with something as Real and as Metaphysical as Death?

You can’t put her on trial. She doesn’t care about your little gavel, your trembling fist. She does whatever the hell she wants — and nobody can stop her.

So what do you do?

At the very least, breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Count to ten (it doesn’t help me, but maybe it’ll help you). Take a big sip from your favorite mug — you know, the one that says “I love myself.”

Then keep reading this weird little guide.

And at most? Start asking yourself some big, uncomfortable questions. This is not advice. It’s just what I did.

By author: If this transmission resonated with your bio-circuitry, stay tuned, comrades.

The next chapter will be even more transhumanistic and cyberpunk-flavored — like if Philip K. Dick got reincarnated as an you:)

#transhumanism

#cyberpunk

#techno shamanism

#digital consciousness

#artificial intelligence

agingbodygriefmental healthhealth

About the Creator

C.J.Night

Just wierd writer. Not Gigi Hadid, but GG Allin. A visionary, a dawg from da hood, a person who believes Cats are immortal. Author of Useless Immortality, Babylon Is Us, Holy Wood and a lot of other crap (available on Amazon, Lulu, etc).

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