When I Die

Blink In, Blink Out

I've blotted it all out.

I don't need my past anymore.

So fuck it.

I repeat: fuck the past.

Don't need that excess baggage.

From now on, what you have before you isn't 1) an American living in India, 2) a child abused by his beloved granny, 3) a kid who lost his childhood friends, 4) a deprived lover, 5) a bloke who thinks too much, 6) a walking, talking hate-machine, 7) a nostalgic asshole, 8) fatherless, 9) a musician, 10) a depressed renegade, 11) a whiner, 12) jealous, 13) just plain fucking sad.

What you have before you is a blank page. A white cloud. A black feather.

What you have before you is a heart that's beating its first beats. Eyes that watch everything with simple, questionless curiosity and accept everything they see with the firm trust a child has in his mother.

What you have before you is someone who hasn't yet learned what love is. Someone who doesn't recognize that expression because he hasn't seen it yet.

What you have before you is someone who hasn't yet learned what hate is. Someone who doesn't recognize that expression because nobody's given him any reason to.

What you have before you is a pastless puppet who just blinked into existence in a writer's mind one fine March morning. The guy you meet in the first few pages of a new novel.

What you have before you is a nameless foreigner. New among human beings. New to this world.

What you have before you a stranger in every sense of the word.

What you have before you is a newborn infant in a man's body.

What you have before you is a clear conscience.

A spotless soul.

A blinking cursor.

A fresh tape.

A blank CD.

Unlike anything he was before he became what he is now.

He is an okay guy, now.

He doesn't care about his future.

Doesn't wonder what life would be like.

Doesn't fight the destiny those motherfuckers up above have gifted him. Rather, he will float along the course they've set for him. If it leads to fire, so be it.

He sees beauty in this world. Doesn't look at everything through pink-fogged, nostalgic, pain-filled, hate-rimmed spectacles.

Someone who does what life wants him to without bitching about it.

Someone who doesn't resist blows. Someone who takes those blows when they come and forgets them.

Someone who doesn't want or expect anything from life. Doesn't want anything at all. He will live if that's what is expected of him. He will die if that's his fate.

He's an everyday guy now. He has no history. He could be the guy washing your loo. He could be the guy you see everyday in the old coffee shop. He could be a salesman in a burger joint.

Just another nameless, pointless face among the hoard.

Another ant in the pack.

Another maggot in the pantry.

Another leech in the damp marshes.

Another mosquito in the swamps.

Another organism. Someone you can love or hate with equal ease. Someone who doesn't have any skeletons in his closet. He threw them all away. Someone who doesn't think about anything more than is required.

Someone who is just like everyone else.

Brain dead.

Who am I?

Just another dude you pass on the long walk.

---Your average joe.

"You're gonna miss your Daddy when he's gone."

---Mark Knopfler, "The Ragpicker's Dream."

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