The Death Clause

It's 7:30 in the morning. I cracked my window to get a breeze. I've been up for about a half hour. Loki and Coke Dad are still up from last night. I'm jealous. I think about parallel of lives lived and those who chose to walk the righteous path. Sister Mamie Clemons was a pillar in the Christian community and lived to be 101. She probably got 8 hours of sleep every night and never even thought about blow. All in all none of that matters.

Death changes everything. Even now while I type I'm wrestling with myself on which words to choose. I'm going over the overall message in my head, the end result of these collective words and the order in which to say them. I'm writing with a goal in mind. A hunger for perfection eats at me to the point of sometimes stifling any progress at times.  On one hand I wanna get it right. On the other I think that nothing I do matters, I'm still going to die.

Watching older footage tricks me. In its grainy black and white, lack of high definition, I think that's how they saw the world. I have to remind myself that they saw life just as vibrantly as I'm viewing it today. They didn't walk around hoping God would fix their vision so they could see in 1080p. They loved those moments at the edge of time. Full of life. Then they died. 

My window is still open and no bugs have flown in. The breeze feels nice. The sights and sounds of sunrise make me feel like I live amongst magic. Moments like these help me forget about death. Living is my prescription to depression. Death itself is the ultimate downer. 

Thoughts of mortality gnaw at me. It also releases me from burdens. Every crime that was committed a century ago is long forgotten. Death is a clean slate. It takes all of the good, bad or indifferent and disperses it into nothingness. Thinking like this helps curb my anxieties. At the end of my life none of this will matter... Sure, I'll go to your fuckin party.

"YOLO." 

-Drake

The Death Clause is simple. Me and everyone I know, those I don't and those yet to come will all die. Striving for perfection is cool and all but even a perfect pirouette will be forgotten. Every single action will be lost in time. My mistakes won't make a difference and neither will my accomplishments. The Death Clause is definitive. No one escapes. 

I'm 33 now but I feel ancient, like I've lived ten simultaneous lives. I need more sleep, more vegetables and less smokey smoke. Or not. I mean, I'm gonna die anyway.