It is common opinion that the human lifespan is relatively short. It hadn't quite hit me fully until the recent death of my grandfather. A man who lived a very full life and dies under the most loathsome of circumstances (see my writeup under grandfather). In sifting through his belongings I saw a record of that life. It was laid out in pictures, letters and newspaper clippings, telling me the story my grandfather never had the opportunity to tell me himself.

Now I ask myself, "self, what will my grandchildren know of me?, what legacy will I leave behind?". In this day and age most of the records of my exploits are kept digitally. Sitting on magnetic plates, easily wiped from existence with a simple rm command. Then again it's caused me to ask myself what it is I've really done with my life. In comparison my life seems a mere shadow of my grandfather's. He was an archery champion, an accomplished hunter, veteran of the Korean War, little league coach. Will my son or daughter tell their children "well your grandfather was a Linux Geek during the great Open Source Revolution and Served in the military during peacetime"?

I now feel the need to save those old programs from the plays I've been in, the photographs I have that are actually prints now must be preserved. I feel a strong urge to create something lasting, something permanent. Perhaps it took the loss of my Grandfather to cement this in my brain. A human being, in the long term, will always be known by what they leave behind. My goal is to make sure that I leave behind something positive.

Ping, ping, ping.

Day after day after day.

Enmeshed in my focus is your hand around mine that one night, and then around hers, and then your confession that you were decieving me. Riding around at night with one eye open and the other helplessly myopic. The nights I sat by the kitchen table, squeezing my brain like a near-empty tube of toothpaste. The alarm clock I set every night. The drawings and poems I dream about that never come out. The complaints and health problems of people around me. The films and cameras collecting dust in my room, occasionally used but not focused towards any artistic goal. The nausea and dehydration and constipation upon every waking moment. The square hats and tassels of a week ago. The eyebrows that need to regrow in the next three months. The slight chance of someone else in my uterus.

So many things we are told we should do. So many things we think we need to survive. So many things we just do to satisfy our hungers.

Ping, Ping, Ping.

CLick, click CLICK.

Is any of this real? Did I ask for any of this? A tangled vat of tasteless spaghetti. I know life is short. I just don't know what to do with it.

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