So I’ve decided that I have 6 months to live – not in any suicidal way or anything. I just want to live my life as if I have 6 months to live and so have decided that it’s the case. I’m actively trying to put myself in a mental state of assuming that come July 28, 2019, my physical form is kaput. I had a scary physical and physiological feeling a few days back that genuinely made me wonder if the next phase is nigh, or maybe the feeling was just trying to figure out this primal feeling of awe and raw emotion when thinking of one’s death, or maybe it was just really bad gas.
I’m still as fit as a goddamn commando in his prime, have been training for at least a half hour average every day for the last two years at least (try it, it’s no mean feat). But yet… I have this nagging feeling that death is just always around the corner is ever present, that I’m on borrowed time, weirdly enough when my life has never been more filled with love and fulfillment than it is now. I don’t want to do the doctor thing…would rather nature take its course with me doing whatever I can to leave behind a good looking corpse. Indeed this post is scheduled to come out midnight 6 months from today. And it will essentially be a journal of imminent mortality. There’s a high probability I’m alive to witness it’s publication and perhaps renew this experiment until I get it eventually right (which I will, of course.)
But who knows? There’s a small fear that it actually might be the case, give or take – just cos the more love and happiness I receive in my life, the shorter I fear it might be…so this is actually a very serious, somewhat scary experiment to just meet that fear head on.
Plus, you know, I’ve decided:
Imma live the way I live and Imma die the way I die…
I need to get over my fear of death and live in the present you see. But it’s hard for me to live figuratively in the present without some grounded timeline. Nothing brings the present roaring to life like the reality of a season or two left to live.
First things first – gotta ensure that my loved ones will be ok without me and, more importantly, without the labor I contribute to the upkeep of our household and sustenance.
That is all important.
Safety net for family in place. Check.
To the best of my abilities. Check.
Doing the best I can. Check. (I think?)
Grateful. Check. Definitely a big fucking check.
Daily Trifecta – workout, massage for Sus, and at least three domestic chores. Check. The third “chore” was ordering pizza for dinner, but my completely secure self is claiming it… I made sure to order salads as well.
Some kind of legacy in place. Meh, check I guess, but you kinda gotta look hard for it. And hopefully you’ll consider being a failed activist an honorable legacy.
Leaving the world a slightly better place than when I came in. Dang… check I hope. But who the fuck knows?
Oh well, time to sleep the sleep of the innocent, the slumber of they who hath a peaceful heart, perchance to dream such dreams of joy…as only a restless insomniac can.
Still alive and kicking. Though the extra pizza I ate late last night might just make this a 3 month thing.
Anyhoo…been mulling about making the best of these last 6 months of mine and have decided that taking care of business at home, daily warrior clown training, and satirical writing while dicking around with a doable bucket list before kicking said bucket.
I have set up a timetable of satire and revolution till my impending demise entitled Warrior Clown’s Open Mic “Journal of Imminent Demise” Wannabe Comedian and Failed Activist Tour – with tbe optimistic goal of a public comment at every Minneapolis Board of Education meeting till my demise…no idea what’ll happen, but we’re gonna find out.
Otherwise family and community chugging along, love, chaos and all.
It’s incumbent upon any honest soul to get a grip on one’s poisons & medicines…
…and when on sabbatical from the green goddess, at the very least get the trifecta out of the way.
Always do what is needed to take care of business.
I feel the need to be grateful. A cursory glance at the above dates in this journal of imminent demise will display a a yawning gap between the last entry and this.
Well, that is in part because I can safely confirm my first paid writing gig, which consumed my flow for a bit, rendering me unavailable for personal journaling. The job’s freelance and it doesn’t seem to be the greatest pay, but hell, it’s good enough for me. I get to write for a youthful audience about important stuff and call myself a legit Academic Journalist (my official title, which should mean dick to everyone except me).
Plus, I get to work out of my favorite place on earth – my home. I get to be with the souls I love, and carve out alone time in my own sweet little corners of the house so I can get the fuck away from them (i.e. get high and pretend to work or exercise).
I’ve decided that I’m gonna work for as long as possible before moving on to whatever the universe has in store for me – which, you know, will definitely include death but I don’t know why I need to get all morbid in a journal of imminent demise.
I’ll keep the subbing thing going (but now increasingly from a failed activist perspective – by maintaining my subbing license and presenting my research that no one will hear during the public comments section of the monthly board meetings).
It’s a pain in the ass to wake up so goddamn early in the morning every weekday, but I think it keeps me honest and I’ve decided that I’ve earned this delectable variety and choice I am setting up for myself in terms of labor sold for financial sustenance.
Maybe another part-time remote gig too. For a non-profit or something. Make me feel all good about myself and shit.
Plus I always have my strong, fit body that houses a humble ego quivering with unrequited pride, just waiting to go into beast mode in the general labor category during the non-winter months.
But all that is taking care of business only as long as I’m alive.
I’m glad to say that business has been taken care of even in the event of my imminent demise.
The love between a man, his chosen brothers and his chosen sisters. Through promises interred spiritually. Sacred oaths to stand tall for one another’s loved ones. Blood bonds sans blood ties.
They will protect my family. My true brothers and sisters will protect my family.
Sus and Daya (not to mention Molly and Faiz and that cranky-ass Marley) are loved, will be loved, and will always have my peeps standing tall for them.
Should the reaper visit early to take me, I will tell him to do his worst. Hell, I’m feeling so grateful and fearless right now, I’ll smoke up with the bastard before he takes me with him on that final journey.
That makes me smile deep inside.
Writing is going well. Getting into that flow state rather easily and regularly now (green goddess is always there for me yo).
Training is keeping up too. I love taking care of business via the remote life and the freelance life.
Now if only I could do something about the daily ciggie or three I’m kinda feeling loathe to let go, this journal of imminent demise might just be all that.
I need to get into permanent fight camp…
The clock is always winding down. Love is the only way. Tending to the noble daily grind for our loved ones is indeed the glorious blessing that is this life. To nurture is to live. Anything else is always in danger of being corrupted by toxic patriarchy.
Bhoomi’s Grove – honoring all human and non-human souls, nurturing our community and the land, developing inter-generational resiliency to trauma while eliminating oppression – that is the way forward.
Susie Q Vazhgai
Daya Shakti Vazhgai
All hail Faiz and Molly (and I guess Marley too)
There are some souls, like Vaddu and Rumi, who are too special to stay imprisoned by the limitations of this life.
I hope I live a life that honors their glory and love.
I can’t wait to hang out with them again…
But that can wait.
The green goddess is a great healer. I am indeed grateful for this most glorious of plants. She helps me workout every day and gets my creative juices flowing. She calms my restless mind so I can keep my head in the game and uphold my duties to love and life. She lifts my soul, connecting my quantum being to alternate timelines and universes.
The trick is to always be mindful in honoring her glory while preventing stoner regressions.
Finding meaning and fulfillment the more I seek it in the most obvious places of gut and soul.
Dancing with my demons while trying to make ’em dance for love and liberation.
And I keep finding long term purpose and short term goals to keep training every goddamn day. (I guess I just like them unhealthy carbs too much…)
As always…Susie Q Vazhgai
I think, therefore a substitute teacher.
Now I need to just get the poisons under control before my imminent demise.
I’ve had many close calls.
But Imma keep on walking for love…
For great evil can only be destroyed with great love.
And with great love comes great responsibility and even greater truth.
I just realized something I’ve known deep down in my membrane for quite a while – we got a strong, stable mama bear on our side.
And she makes me fear nothing but fear itself.
Why be anxious about death when love is forever?
Why be anxious at all when we have goddesses?