Dying in Ludwig's View  By  W. Bruce Watson
Like taking one of
those Japanese salted cherries
whole in the mouth at one time.
Thus savoring the complete agony of it
in a single instant.
Good breeding dictating that one suffer stoically
and make no gesture or grimace
to be interpreted as bad manners.
Not spitting it back onto the plate
to consume it subsequently and
almost pleasurably
bit by bit.
Yet spitting a mouthful of blast-furnace potatoes onto the floor,
deaf Beethoven responding
to the self righteous stares
of the others present,
"Only an asshole would burn his mouth."

Beethoven's dead.
Beethoven's dead.
Am I dying an asshole then in Ludwig's view?

The truth is, after much furrowing of brow, I can't think of anything to say by way of preface to my blog. Along the way I wondered what it's purpose might be and maybe I should say a few words about that and would, except that I don't know what its purpose is, or could be, or should be. I only know that my clock is winding down and I'm so desperate to have my mind known that I could just spit! Maybe my blog could be about that. But how depressing and pretentious that could be! But hold on a second, maybe not—my therapist commented the other day how in late adulthood (AKA elder years), one is forced to deal with the sense of loss, all the time, it's always there, and it's painful, it takes great faith to live on even though one knows it's going to end and that whatever they accomplish, if anything, is not going to matter all that much. How does one find meaning or a sense of fulfillment in life knowing that it’s coming to an end? Psychologists have not written much about this if anything. It's sort of an unexamined part of adult life. It takes a lot of self-discipline to function in spite of this sense of loss—it's so easy to give up on the constant struggle, on life. A lot of people do—drinking, TV, drugs, electrosex, So, if you'll bear with me, let us examine this unexamined part of adult life.
Copyright © 2011 W. Bruce Watson, Inc. All rights reserved.  
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