Sooner or later nobody will ever have known I existed. The same is true for everyone, even the most famous. Eventually there will be nothing left behind, no memory, no words, no feelings. Nothing. Even if it takes until the very, very end of humanity before Einstein is forgotten, or Alexandra the Great, or Julius Caesar, it will happen. Because nothing is really truly infinite in the context of everything else. Nothing.
So even the greatest fuck ups we ever, ever make will amount to nothing. Your biggest guilt now will, down the line, become nothing. It won’t matter. It won’t affect anything past the present. It will be forgiven, or forgotten, its effect will be downtrodden through time. Even Hitler’s sins will become unnecessary. Stalin will be forgotten. Oh, so you once stole from a shop, or broke up with someone who loved you for no real reason, or took advantage of a friend. Maybe the guilt will last a decade, maybe barely a second, but it doesn’t matter. Don’t let it control you, because the effect is minuscule. Maybe you insulted someone who later killed themselves. Maybe you think you failed in helping a friend sometime, and feel that killed them. Maybe that stays with you, and maybe it should, but… Sooner or later, nobody will remember your friend. Sooner or later nobody will remember you. Sooner or later you will be nothing, whether you cured cancer, saved the world, enslaved it or killed it. Sooner or later the world gives everyone a blank slate, and everyone anonymity.
People seem determined to put a negative spin on that. Nothing amounts to anything, so why bother with it? Fuck that. Fuck that negativity. Nothing ever amounts to anything. You are fucking free. Free to do what you want, today, tomorrow, always. Free to say what you want to, think what you need to, feel what you have to. You want to live off jobseeker’s and spend your days masturbating, well you’re wasting your time, but fuck it. Why the hell not. If you want to spend a comfortable life, do what every other fucker does. Find something that someone will pay you for, and then use the money to live. If you’re lucky, do what you love and get paid for it, whatever that is. Write, paint, sing… It doesn’t matter. If you can make it work, go for it. You are free. In 100 years nobody will remember that one time you got fired for taking a dump in the photocopier. In 100 years nobody will remember that time you got an award for stopping that armed robbery. In a 100 years it’s a fair bet that nobody will remember any of the shit you’ve done, no matter how consequential it seems now. So yeah, make your life comfortable. Try and live so you can sleep at night. Seek forgiveness, seek happiness, seek life. But if you can’t get forgiveness? Fuck. At least forgive yourself, because it means precisely jack shit tomorrow.
Just stick with your mates, or your family, or the little dancing creatures in your head that told you to murder all those hookers. Whatever floats your boat. Find the people who accept you anyway and spend your life with them, don’t try to change for other people. Don’t try and hang around where you’re not wanted. Because it’s awkward for all involved. You’re not really being the unique ‘you’ you’re supposed to be. Were born to be. So yeah, this is all seeming clichéd and crappy, but, damn, I’ve had a fucking eureka moment here, and if the only way I can get it down is in a forced second person, then you can be damn tooting that’s how I’m going to organise my thoughts. So fuck you, hypothetical reader, fuck you.
There are better things to be doing than worrying about a tomorrow that isn’t here yet, might never be, and won’t matter when it does. Because if you’re worrying about a tomorrow you always will be, and to be honest there’s enough to fucking worry about today. Look at yourself. Look around. Fuck tomorrow, fuck yesterday. There is so much going on RIGHT NOW that will never happen again. NEVER. That feeling in your heart, or your head, or soul, or you’re fucking little toe, whatever. That music you’re listening to, that book you just read, film you just saw… That important business you did earlier, or that inconsequential chat. Today happened in a certain way, a certain order, that will never be replicated by anyone. Not ever. Your feelings, your words, your actions. What other people said in your presence, did in your presence. The people you inconsequentially saw. Each day is a unique sequence. So don’t squander it. Don’t worry about the fucking hypotheticals. Sit down and sequence every fucking second of your day as best you can. What did you do, who with, how were you feeling? What did you say, hear? How did your mood change? Do you know why?

Shit, I don’t even know how to tag this fucking thing before I post it. And all WordPress is recommending is ‘fuck’. Apt, but not overly useful.


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2 Responses to I AM A SWEARY MAN.

  1. evan says:

    Why tag it at all? It won’t last 😉

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