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The Living Death

Discussion in 'Blogs' started by Harry Haller, Oct 16, 2015.

  1. Harry Haller

    Harry Haller United Kingdom
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    Writer SPNer Contributor

    Jan 31, 2011
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    I cannot remember the last day off I had, I am now practically living at the shop, and looking round you can tell, empty chocolate wrappers everywhere, empty lucozade cans, boxes filled with dead laptops, and in the centre of it all, my chair.

    This is what they must call the living death, just one step away from enlightenment I am told, although, I do not feel particularly enlightened at the moment. I think Sian is already at this place, no desires, no appetites, no cares, just a general feeling that you are put on this earth to give, and not receive, yet, I am a fraud, my wife is the real deal, I am just an imposter, all week, I have had the sound of laughter ringing in my ears, the shop has turned into a comedy sketch show now that my stepson is working with me, and that seems to be my mission, making people laugh, helping people, but I do not do it with the same love as Sian, I do it because it is the truth, but you don't have to like the truth, you don't have to love the truth, just acknowledge it is the truth.

    I am tired, its the Sunday before Christmas, and I am here building laptops, the sun is shining hard outside, the queue of cars stretches outside the main road outside my shop, people, with more money than sense, spending money they do not have on things they do not need, purely to keep the social wheels turning, I have only had one Christmas card, from the chap who owns the music shop up the road, its a yearly ritual, he comes in, gives me a card, waits, I open the card, grab a marker pen, cross out 'to' and replace it with 'from', cross out 'from' and replace it with 'to', bit of sticky tape to seal, and then give it back to him, he never seems to tire of this, even though the joke is about 4 years old now between us, he then wishes me a truly miserable Christmas and walks out.

    Sunday, the day the laughter stops, duality, isnt it grand and great, have you noticed those that show the most love, also get the most hurt, that those that praise far beyond what is needed also curse in the same fashion, it is also the curse of duality that when the laughter stops, hoards of black dogs come to stay the day, they are dobermans, big black slobbery dobermans, with huge black sad eyes, its the same knowing look, the same understanding knowing look as the mad clown, but what does it matter, the internal struggle of one man exists to highlight one simple soundbite, that life is cheap, maybe even pointless, that ones own desires are pointless, cheap, the only thing one can do given the struggle is to bow your head down and give it to Creation, on a silver platter, with an apple in the mouth!,
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