Mortality

[unixronin]

First, a pointer:  This diary of a recording engineer has some interesting insights into the music industry.  Some of it, you've probably heard before.  Other details, you probably haven't.  Interesting reading.

I'd also like to call your attention to this post from Howard Tayler, author of Schlock Mercenary.  Here, he's taking on the NCAA decision to require the complete removal of Native American imagery from NCAA teams, completely regardless of objections from Native American tribes who'd like the teams that adopted their imagery and names to keep on using them, thank you very much.  "How much momentum does this stupid PC pendulum have left in it, anyway?" Howard asks.  Unfortunately, a fair bit yet, I suspect ... there are clear limits to wisdom, but sadly, none whatsoever to arrant stupidity.

In other news, today -- August 7 -- is my 45th birthday, and I have very mixed feelings about it; feelings I'm not entirely clear on myself.  I don't doubt this is made no better by finding my limited supply of spoons exhausted in Shaws.  I'm tired of being in pain, dammit, and tired of my foot hurting whenever I walk, and tired of my knees giving out on me, but I'm stuck with all of those.  I have a hard time forgetting that on the morning of May 10, 1999, I was in the best physical shape I'd probably ever been in my life, until about 8pm that night when that was taken away from me.  And since then, I feel I've been doing little but getting older, and more tired, and more bitter and cynical.  It gets harder and harder to find motivation for much of anything.

Birthdays are supposed to be times for celebration, for fun, not for brooding over where your life went wrong.  I'm not even sure sometimes how far back it went wrong, or if it was ever right in the first place.  I don't really know where I'm going with this at all, really.  I suppose a part of it is that if there's one thing I've wanted all my life, it's to accomplish something that really MATTERS, and now I cannot help but see it growing increasingly unlikely that I ever will.  I'm not likely to ever contribute anything of real consequence to the world, no great work of literature, no notable scientific theory, no radical new mathematical proof, no work of art that would attract attention in a high school art classroom.  Nor do I think I could stomach the influence-whoring and money games that seem required these days to get beyond the school-board level in politics.  I have a critical flaw that immediately disqualifies me for politics as the game is played in latter-day America: integrity.  My professional services may be available for hire (not that anyone is exactly lining up to get them), but I am not for sale.  Period.

I'm sure there are still places I could go, things I could do.  I just don't know what they are, and it's becoming harder and harder to find the energy and will to make the effort to seek them out, given my un-enviable record so far in failing to accomplish life goals.  I'm not meaning by that to belittle the good things there are in my life; I just can't pretend they're enough to keep my spirit satisfied with what I'm accomplishing, even when I think they should be.

I thought the future held a perfect place for us
That together we would learn to be the best that we could be
In my naiveté I ran, I fell and lost my way
Somehow I always end up falling over me

And one day I woke to find
The future had no place for me
I was unwanted in a world that with my hands I helped to build
Where once was honesty and pride, I now stand broken and alone
Just a shadow of what I was meant to be

They say that time will heal, the truth shall set us free
Well that depends on what it is that you choose to believe
In this prison made of lies we see what it is we want to see
And find comfort in this broken hall of dreams

Does anybody feel the way I do?
Is there anybody out there?
Are you hearing me?
I believe in you
Will you believe in me?
Or am I alone in this hall of dreams?
I believe in you
You believe in me
But I have no trust in anything
Somehow I'm always
Always falling over me

Somehow I'm always
I'm always falling over me

(Holding On, VNV Nation)

There's a word in German for some of what I'm feeling.  They call it Weltschmerz, sadness at the world's pain.  In Michael Moorcock's fiction, the War Hound, the Ritter von Bek, was given a mission to find a cure for the world's pain.  If anyone knows a cure, I'd love to hear it.  But more than that, I feel like I've lost my way and I don't know how to find it again.

Comments

[k-crow.livejournal.com]

Happy birthday, Alaric.