The above is a question that constantly plagues me. I am not alone in that regard, of course. The best answer I have come up with so far is ‘probably nothing much’ which seems a little bit unsatisfactory. Even if we accept life as entirely without meaning it remains difficult to shrug off the impression that, for some reason, it should mean something.
Anyway, I spotted a post from my buddy, Cyranny, that suggested the human act of breathing in and breathing out was sufficient for getting one through to another day. That might be right, I suppose, but it is notion that, likewise, struck me as being a little bit unsatisfactory.
It occurred to me though, that if two humans were involved …together … just breathing in and out … together … then just maybe, somehow it might all be worthwhile.
So this is what I wrote …
*
Our beating hearts, our inhalation
Beating faster. Perspiration
Skin to skin. Sweet expectation
No spoken words. Negotiation
Two souls entwined, let no-one sever
Moments pass that last forever
Just breathing in and breathing out
And that’s what life is all about.
*
I’m not really trying to say very much. Because there’s really not very much to say.
This is supposed to be 87 words. I cheated a bit. But THE and END are both words and I seem to remember them featuring at the completion of those magical movies of my youth. So they sort of belong here.
This is for a prompt from Sammi (#230 …. so I’ve only missed 228 thus far) … to be found here
I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t post often on here these days (I never did, really) but when I do it’s tending to come out all warm and fuzzy and suggestive that I have some sort of social conscience. I don’t. I’m rude, obnoxious and self-absorbed. I like nothing more than talking about football, heavy drinking, irresponsible drug ingestion and women’s bare breasts.
Any yet, occasionally, something blurts out that seems to point to a conscience, of sorts. Is this some sort of emotional breakdown or simply another symptom of senility???
My ‘sort of’ relative, Kate, (don’t ask … it’s complicated) is always banging on about flowers and cute animals and peace and happiness and incense sticks and meditation and how we should be nice to each other and all sorts of other crap. And whilst I blame most of this on her mother I can’t help but worry that it might be having an impact on me.
I find myself writing ‘nice’ things occasionally.
Sometimes even a bit sloppy.
A recent post of hers suggested that Mother Nature might be a bit pissed off with us. I don’t happen to agree. I don’t think Mother Nature could give a flying fuck about us. Mother Nature is perfectly happy to see us out. We’ll be gone soon enough and Mother Nature is unlikely to really notice. To her, we will come and go in the blink of an eye. If we render the planet uninhabitable for humans, she really couldn’t care. She’d be perfectly happy if Earth became an uninhabitable gaseous wasteland. She’s seen it all before.
It might come as a bit of a disappointment for our great grandchildren, though.
She’s an observer. She doesn’t intervene. We create the floods and the famine, not Mother Nature.
Anyway … I responded to Kate’s post in a sort of embarrassingly warm and fuzzy manner, and I repeat it, below.
I will be back on to inflammatory insults and gratuitous nudity in my next post.
Over at The Carrot Ranch Community I stumbled upon an article about cemeteries. It is a very well written article and suggests, I think, that cemeteries are a treasure trove of human history, full of stories from our past. This may be very true in some cases, but I have always been struck by the notion that they rarely tell the full story and tend to gloss over the less palatable realities.
Nowhere does this notion come to mind more than in military cemeteries – where the great myth of war heroics is perpetuated.
My response to the lovely people at Carrot Ranch was, therefore, a bit negative. Because cemeteries, military or otherwise, have always struck me as outdoor museums of human folly.
Richmond Road 
