Some words for forethought: never tell everything about yourself to anyone, rather always leave something to the imagination and next time. I know it sounds corny but you must not tell everything even to a police officer. (THIS IS NOT A SUGGESTION OR ADVICE TO LIE.)
It is time to turn the cards around and for once I will introduce the story before the moral and resolution, and even before the philosophical inquiring and questioning. Dear reader, what would you say about that? Sounds like a plan? Of course, your opinion (only) in this matter has no value. Evil I may be, but you cannot be the sunshine, because otherwise I would be the lost clouds. Can you see the reality of the matter now? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But let me tell you one thing; no answer comes without bloodshed. Today, the sacrificed lamb will be the "drunk six-pack-radio man". My sincere apologies. And now into the heart of the story:
9.06 p.m. and there the man comes, or what is left of a man who has not had a proper meal in a week, who has not showered in a month, who has n0t slept in a bed in an eternity and who is thoroughly lost in his own imagination and in the so-called good past, if one even existed; it is the Man that keeps falling for himself. A tragic tale, unfortunately, way to common story of life. I do not know if I should feel guilty for havin' it better in life, or if I should express empathy, or if I should feel hatred for someone who has ruined his life that God graciously offered to him, or perhaps I should feel pity and drink with him one or two beers. I say: God knows, and for Christ, heavens and the drunk's sake: surely God must know?
"I bet this man had not seen a mirror in quite a while. "
My instinctual first reaction is to take this man as one of the examples that life truly is a joke. J-O-K-E. This is not the devil's dance. And God I wish this was not a plea for you to get the fuck of my property, but really this is truly what it is. So, time to get of my property. I am the light of my story, as much as I am the shadow of my story. And with this way I am way better off. This must be something way better. — And so, I laughed. And I laughed. It was quite frankly nothing less than pure hilarious ingeniousness that the drunk man expressed — with his messy grayish hair, torn clothes and jacket from the oh-so amazing garbage trash (what a scavenger, ALAS). I bet this man had not seen a mirror in quite a while. I just kept laughing. Worst of all he was carrying sideways a beer can leaking all the fluids along the pathway and in his other hand swinging back and forth was some sort of a tool box, radio and six-pack of beer transformed into a wireless radio station accompanied by a beer for every limb. And this made me almost burst to tears. Although definitely and grammatically incorrect I would go on to call the man "the jukebox the Man". But really there is nothing wrong with "drunk six-pack-radio man". And while these thoughts flew past me, I continued to giggle at the expense of the drunk six-pack-radio man. Hilarious, I thought. Hysterical. I must be truly mad. Priceless. Humorous! Comic! Chucklesome! Rib-tickling. Riotous. Amusing. Uproarious. Farcical. Suicidal. Merciless. Vivacious. Cheerful. Witty. Wacky. Rowdy. And very funny.
"the jukebox the Man" or the "drunk six-pack-radio man".
Now finally my emphatic 'I' and my 'I' tendency to feel emotional of others pain started clocking in and rationalizing my body and soul. I felt a tear touching my cheek. It swept by even softer than October rain or windy and cold February weather. That is, it. Passionately I had seen enough suffering for today, as well as yesterday and tomorrow - so I mutinously planned to revolt against God and the cruelty of a world we live in. Reckless and hopeless, as youth can (/should) be, I had a dream. A dream to make it all better. Time to stop the hurt and pain. Time to start all over. But in minutes this moment of madness and the act of mimicking God had lost its momentum, and fear and anguish had taken over.
It could be me rang and played in my head like that one repetitive and most annoying hymn of one's childhood or like tinnitus, it was a perplexing, confusing and painful feeling. What more? What if that was my Dad? What if that was, dare I even think, my mother (the gentlest soul I know). My heart wants to bleed for the man, but my rationale could never allow this kind of injustice. Confused and dazed I must be. And pray should I. But what else is there left to say. A man lost is truly a man lost. Why should I be the one to save him? Why should Joseph or Marie be the savior. One could say that Joseph desires to use his time wisely by watching a hockey match and Marie wants to turn her kitchen into a bakery. Who is to stop her or him? And who dares to tell what using time wisely is. One more time, let the truth be stated: Responsibility is and will always be subjective, no way around that. The man must recognize, perhaps he already has and is ignorant or blissful by doing nothing at all to clean, better and develop himself. A man is only a wretch himself. Not by the acclaim of a God or priest, nor by society or foes, nor backstabbing and pretend-to-be friends. That is Life. Just is Life, but only while it is judged from a subjective lens.
That is the story done and dusted, and we shall return to the "in your face" assumptive forewords or forethought I presented earlier, and as the title goes: Never Reveal the Whole of Yourself to Anyone - and that must be clearly stated and judged right here and now. No shortcuts this time. Or...how could I state this mildly and in a most frankly gentleman and precious way that I am lost for words. I truly am. What more can I say? Bleed I won't, but I must. Reveal I have, reveal I must, and reveal I shall avoid at all cost. How can this paradox even be possible?
Now that this has been said let's get into business. For once I am adamant that this is all black and white, although no lines on the sand will be drawn (or written for the sake of the matter), and I am certain no compromise is required, mainly because this is how it is: If you tell all of yourself and all of how you feel, you arrive at the crossroad of revealing that you are weak; if you show strength and only what that is, you lie to yourself - there is still nothing that is of the intrinsic value of perfect, something may be perfect for a certain purpose, but rarely have we ever seen that. So, Revelation of Yourself is truly what the ultimate compromise is. Either too much or too little. Enough or not Enough. One more or one less. Let it be or let it not. Stay or leave. Now or never. This or That. Right away or next time. And how it goes on, forever. This is starting to grow into something (I think), let us summarize what the message compromises this far of when all the deciphered blogs here have been enumerated: i. the selfish nature of the human being is something we must come to face as subjective beings (although it is the objective truth as well), ii. do not lie to yourself, it is better to believe in something than nothing, self-betrayal is what truly destroys a human being, and finally iii. compromise, not about who you are, but who you are in the perception of others - but this does not mean that you are supposed to hide your shadow nor who you are. Compromise, as in life endangering and survival depending moments: you cannot show the lion that you are weak. Compromise, as in official and societal events and around human beings: you cannot show off or appear too strong, over-confident or egoistic, a dog can scent this from miles away and it is truly a sign of weakness. Compromise: because that is who we are; a herd animal disguised as an independent, self-sufficient, and intellectual being - truly this is a hopeless dream and only pure in thought.
That night the drunk six-pack-radio man taught me a vital life-lesson, not that I should avoid at all cost in becoming him (even if I should, although that is certainly quite impossible), but rather that I shall never again bleed like this for or in front of the world. After all, wounds are a heavy load to carry, and takes time to heal. Let the principals be heard: I may be me, I may have wounds, but I shall never let them bleed endlessly. 'Cause life goes by, 'cause rain stops for a while, and in an ocean far away a new wave shall say what has to be said, but it does not have to be me. And so, the moral goes like this: Do not bleed in vain.
And let me conclude with these lovely words and a puzzle for the fellow philosophy enthusiast: when the pessimist said that the bottle was half empty, what he left to tell for another time was that he had already filled half of the bottle's wine in glasses, and so what he meant by the bottle being half empty was his effort to disguise himself as a pessimist - when truly he was a masterful optimist...How could he?
Oliver Kuivasto, O.K
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