ENTERTAINING DEATH

I often wonder if I think about death too much. Am I alone? People are fascinated with death like no other action in the cosmos. Movies. What decent movie can you name in last three decades that was well done, poignant? Inspiring or not, some fucker bought the farm in it. And during the making of it. We cannot go to any major film or structure in this country without seeing a plaque memorializing those that have been lost. Died in the making.

Stories of workers falling to their deaths into freshly poured concrete bridge abutments, the bodies never recovered. Rumors of “His body is still in the cement” fascinated the tourists! I actually witnessed a traveler from Germany take a picture of his companion against a backdrop of one such bridge abutment below the George Washington Bridge.

They were speaking a mixture of English and German (Deutch-lish?). This was the only reason I could understand what they were saying. They were obviously told a tall tale by someone that couldn’t resist sending two tourists up to Washington Heights to yak it up and take some travel photos! I gotta admit, funny is funny.

What was I doing there? I was buying drugs, what the fuck do you think I was doing there? Two very effective ways of putting your life in extreme danger. I’m not saying that Washington Heights is a dangerous place (that’s exactly what I’m saying!) you just need to know your place. As long as your place is “not” Washington Heights! If you think “Spanish Harlem” sounds like a very romantic place, brimming with culture, then by all means go there for a stroll. Go at sunset. You want to see some local flavor? Be there when it gets dark!

I remember the early ‘90’s in New York City. The Dinkin’s Administration, or what I like to call “The Time When the City’s Traffic Lights Seemed to Stay Red Forever”. There was a Fireman or a Policeman, I can’t remember which, killed in the barrio on a hot summer night. Right in the hot zone, 165th street and MLK Blvd, some sick fuck with really good aim dropped a five gallon plastic bucket from a rooftop onto his head. The bucket was full of dried spackle, making it as heavy as if it were full of concrete. The man hit was killed instantly.

The Daily News quoted some people that witnessed the crime as remarking on what a horrible death it must have been. Was it? The circumstances were certainly horrible but the death itself in a literal sense was actually very swift. He never knew what hit him or if anything ever did hit him for that matter. It was in the line of duty. You’re not getting blown to pieces. There’s no suffering for the deceased. No body parts strewn about. Just a nice, neat, surprise, death.

If I absolutely had to pick a way to die I think that’s a pretty good way to go, actually.

Think about it.

First point: He didn’t know it was going to happen. Personally I would never want to know when I was going to die. For it to be a complete fucking surprise is just okey dokey with me. Standing by peaceful waters oh I oh I oh!

Second: He never knew what hit him. I can believe that. Noisy, chaotic, street, sirens blaring, people suspected of being “Mexican” all around you. All kinds of shit going on. Then, Blammo! Lights out!

Made me think. Think about death. Again. This must have been fifteen to twenty years ago. I’ve had death on my mind for quite some time I guess! Makes you think. Think about death. Again.

Think of what a logistical nightmare it would be if you knew exactly when you were going to die. Friends calling, wanting to take you to lunch, planning the wake, picking out your own coffin – the whole thing just sounds exhausting! Imagine what your schedule would look like two weeks before D-Day? And the fucking sympathy cards and the whimpering last phone calls! The surprise confessions might be fun, or some pity sex (that’s all you’ll hear about that, I don’t write about sex). Other than that give me quick bucket to the head.

I think Death is “in” these days more than ever. These crazy youngsters have forgotten Marilyn Manson because he’s not dead. Didn’t go far enough I guess. Now you got to be a fucking Vampire to be on the cover of “Tiger Beat” (now I gotta se if that still exists…). It’s not enough that you have to wear that douche bag make-up every fucking day and become a walking embarrassment to music itself (pontificate? you betcha!) now you have to walk in the afterlife.

I do admit that I have watched every episode of True Blood”. I will also admit openly that I think it’s a real dumb fucking show and it just keeps getting more fucking ridiculous with every plot twist. A girl that looks like Anna Paquin, sleeping with a dead guy. I hung in there like a trooper but when a crazy bitch turns out to be some giant crab-monster and a guy that owns the one club where all these vestiges hang out turns into a scrawny little dog, well it kind of speaks for itself right there.

It’s supposed to be about Vampires, God Damn it! Everyone likes a good Vampire! You know it was kind of interesting when the reality of Vampires was explored cinematically. They didn’t reveal everything at once, at first. It was kind of scary, creepy, and different (as am I). There must have been some major changes in screenwriting personnel because it turned dumber than dogshit real fucking quick.

Romanticizing Vampires is like putting the Jonas Brothers on the cover of Rolling Stone, it just should not be done. Ever. Vampires are supposed to be sinister, evil and dangerous just like Rock & Roll is supposed to be! And deadly. When new Rock music was good people were croaking left and right. Real rock music made you aware of all kinds of things about yourself, often with deadly results.

Rock & Roll has its’ own classic list of casualties; Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Brian Jones, Curt Cobain, Jerry Garcia. We’ve all heard these names before. These were people that had creative streaks deep within themselves. A fire that burned so brightly as to be subdued and diminished at such an early age.

Or it was all that fucking heroin.

Kurt Vonnegut used to opine that the human race was a cancer on this great earth. That nature should do some “House cleaning” as he so eloquently put it. Of course I have great respect for Vonnegut as he is one of my favorite writers, but he wanted us all dead! That wrinkled old fucker that had a face like an old paper shopping bag and eyes that held all the attraction of two dirty ash trays. Yes, a face only a cigarette could love!

Fuck Kurt Vonnegut. If he was true to his convictions then he should have led by example. You first, motherfucker! You knew how to open a window you old crotch.

Nope. We’re gonna hang on, not go softly into this good night. You’d have to drag me off kicking and screaming before I drink the Kool-Aid.

Straight Up.