Friday 25 April 2008

Something tiny

Everything passes by so swiftly, everything ends before you even realise it’s begun. That’s why I don’t get suicide. Suicide is impatience.
I know a few people, friends, who’ve died. Most sad, their deaths aside, was that they barely knew they were alive. I mean, they barely thought about it: this thing, existence.
So, is living a reckless pursuit? Should we think more about it, consider every option, enjoy every painful second? I’m not saying I have the answers, I’m just saying: think about it.
I know it’s scary - hell, it’s a massive thing, too big sometimes for a human mind to cope with, to massive to comprehend. Not just where we are, and why – mere specks in the shifting universe – but everything here and hereafter. Time, infinity, the breathlessness that awaits us all one day.
What next? Hmmm, have you thought about that?
Next time you feel something, think about it. Then maybe you won’t ever think like Vanessa, because every day I miss her. And every day she’s missing something. It maybe tiny, something she never even thought was special; but maybe all I had to do was make her realise how special that thing was. Maybe that would have been enough?
My friend Patrick was a valet at some swanky hotel. He was driving a great new car, an Aston Martin. And then he crashed it. He wasn’t even going that fast, they reckon, but he died all the same. He felt like James Bond driving that thing, so he rang up to tell me. He sounded so charged, so vital. It’s sick, really. The owner of the car was distraught; the Aston Martin was written off.
My Aunt Susan was a painter. Now she loved life, or at least she loved the opportunity life had given her. Not just to notice the tiny things around her – the flower growing through the concrete, the butterfly landing on a brown autumn leaf, the moon shining through the mist – but to love it, to suck it all in and feed off it, and to capture it and share the bounty with others.
Aunt Susan found she had a brain tumour. First it affected her hands, so she couldn’t hold a brush. Later she couldn’t see. And that’s cruel. It’s cruel to take away something so loved and so needed, you know?
Anyway, just remember that. For me. Okay?

7 comments:

Jaquanda Rae said...

Highly philosophical...suicide impatience I appreciate completely.

2. As the song goes "Liquor make you get mad in the club...if I pull on your underwear, don't blame me baby blame it on the beer" (dancehall song by Kiprich translated)

'Parently, it makes one poetic! Glad you get the poem now.

So Say Yes is your jam eh? Easy nuh bredrin (what you saying!/is it?). Funnily enough, my Mom says she doesn't like it because they make too many sexual sounds!LOL...prudes should eat prunes.

Question: how do I protect my artwork? I'd love to share more of my poems on my blog but I'm concerned about copyright protection...how do I go about it?

Aleta said...

Life is for the living, so you best get living. Read that in a book somewhere and it's a clue.

It's precious, every moment, even the bad times, because that's part of life too. I liked this post of yours, because it considers the importance of life through the eyes of death.

Have you ever read "Slaughterhouse-Five" by Kurt Vonnegut. It's an interesting read.

Anonymous said...

Hmmmm.

Sucharita Sarkar said...

Hey, this is more of a cautionary, lust-for-life-which-is-in-the-details spiel than a story, but I like the conversational, not-so-preachy tone anyway. Speaking in many voices is also a story-teller's skill, isn't it?

Anonymous said...

You have great talent Paul Benard, I really like your work, especially this one.
Im only 14 but i think the people who best understand suicide is kids.

Keep it up,
Lots of Love,
Age xoxoxoxo

Svetlana said...

it's funny how one minute you can make me laugh out loud and the next, cry like a baby!

i love life so much, i have a debilitating fear of getting old and dying. i know it's a natural cycle and all that but man is it ever unfair!

on the other hand, i'm sure people who have horrible lives (i mean real horrible, war, starvation, torture, rape, etc., etc.)look to death as a way out, a doorway to a better place. and i hope to God that it exist and that death is not the end. cuz that would really suck! and it wouldn't make sense, God, it just makes no sense at all!

tina said...

i like the characterizations. i find it hard to characterize somebody so concisely, in only a few sentences... i guess i need more practice. :)