One Badass Destiny

Knowing Your Destiny

Part 14 of 30

Anyone who knows me knows there's one major flaw in my personality, among all the obvious minor things, that tends to turn people off. And I end up alone. To put it briefly, There isn't really anything I want to go out and do, because no matter what it is, something could go wrong. They say the end of prevention is wasting your life.

Yes, I know all the arguments, along with the gifts and curses of persuasion, what it’s like to hear people wheedle and beg, pleading to the point as it were of great drops of sweat on their forehead, trying to put in greater perspective for me what the opportunities of life are, and, concerning a person's whole being, making the point that from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet, Life is a terrible thing to waste. O, the things I’ve heard; I’ve heard it all! If only they'd breathe that hot air into a hot air balloon, they’d soon have the world’s record for height and longevity, and with a steady crosswind typical of the upper sky, would be in the running for Vacation of the Year. But count me out, I’m not going to crash and burn for anyone's vainglory, no sir.

I actually have very little respect for anyone who does anything. And speaking of vainglory, it’s called that for a reason. You have to be some existence-hating fool to fall for vainglory! The word "vainglory" tells the whole story from “Once upon a time” to “The End.” And when I face my end -- and people have told me that I’ll face a lonely and justified death by my obstreperousness in the face of life’s compelling opportunities -- I hope to have the last laugh, alone in the glories above while the supposed “thrill-seekers” are writhing below, allowing me the final word: “There’s what your life of activity has given you, serious payback, really blowback, with every shiny temptation from your lying lips made up of some of the hot air that made your presence so loathsome to me and your end so justified.” I might tinker with that for greater dramatic effect.

So let’s think of what some of these supposedly desirable “badass” destinies people prefer. Of course a complete survey of the terrain is necessary to make the full case, but I’ll give just a brief sketch of their justifiable demise. The most common summary runs something like this: They thought it’d be A-B-C. They’d open themselves to this experience. Then a mild consequence results, perhaps rejection (which would’ve been preferable) or acquiescence. And so all parties are stripped down to their skivvies. The lights go dark, everyone’s feeling their way, tumescence and detumescence are experienced, the lights come back on and someone has substituted a gorilla for the girl! You’re mauled to death, in addition to being tagged “a bad lover” by a gorilla, no less, and as you’re flitting to the afterlife you behold a horizon full of angels showing thumbs-down, a hideous yet common sign of rejection.

If you're such a “badass,” maybe it’s not your fault that your destiny has badass qualities. And naturally you rejected my caution. But let me plead with you on this one point, whatever you do in your personal life, and no matter who it is with, please use protection. This world is bad enough, we don’t need any cross-pollination between man and gorilla. We passed that barrier back in the old days of evolution.

Power-Hungry, Crazy Ambition

Part 13 of 30 -- Speaking Ill of The Dead

I'm sort of a fan of big ambition. But I admire it from afar, since my own ambition -- while it exists in seed-form doesn't always sprout. Because I'm picky; anything I do, I want to be the first. Anything else and It's been done to death. If I can't come up with a fresh take on a thing, why bother? No one likes an imitator. Go big or go home, or just stay home. Maybe eat a big meal, wait a few hours, then go big.

So without big follow-through I'm a guy with just a little drive. I'm no Dr. Frankenstein, for example, who wanted to bring people back from the dead or piece together one guy out of multiple bodies. But his problem was like the guy in the graphic -- the danger of messing around with lightning. Thinking, "No pain, no gain," then proceeding, "If that's how it's done, that's how it's done. Gotta do what you gotta do. Let's get it in one take. If I'm gonna get knocked on my ass, I only wanna do it once..."

In Frankenstein, his book and movie, lightning reanimates a corpse and they basically live happily ever after. Yes, they had a few problems. A little girl was unfortunately frightened, but nothing terrible, about the same as if she turned over a rock and saw a spider.

But in the graphic, it's a different guy -- we're calling him Samson -- with big ambition, who undergoes the pain involved in achieving it. Because grabbing lightning is dangerous; it either kills or heals you. With a big payoff in Power, Force, Strength, and Endurance if you beat the odds.

It would be fascinating to watch Samson do it. With me standing far back in safety. He's got a huge ego, he's too big for his britches and not afraid to show it. He's stomping 'round the ring like a professional wrestler. He's cursing all heavenly powers, lightning bolts are going off everywhere. His grandma rolls up in a motorized wheelchair and shakes her cane at him, telling him to stop. A bolt of lightning strikes his head and he channels it out his arm toward her, blowing her across the arena. It's a mess, but there's no stopping him. Unfettered ambition!

He reaches his hand up and knows this terrible enterprise is the same as stealing fire. He has a grasp on several bolts. But he needs as large a dose as he can get, so he's got the bolts and he's wringing them dry, with prodigious quantities of Power, Force, Strength, and Endurance spilling everywhere. Someone brings in a huge funnel and bucket. But there's no telling what happens if it's all carelessly combined.

What should he do? You mess up, there's no Take 2. Grandma lies dead on the floor, he sees no use in stopping short of complete ambition and fulfillment. "Bring it down!" he commands, with the heavens responding in an enormous eruption. He gets the sense he can do all things. This is uncharted territory. But what happens is, If you have that much force flowing through you -- and all of it being carelessly combined, no isolation -- you are literally blown to smithereens and immediately declared dead, even in the absence of recognizable pieces of a human body.

So Samson's death is a death we can all celebrate. Anyone that bad ass who succeeded would've raised the bar way too high for the rest of us. We don't want a guy like him around. We want to get dates, too. Had he succeeded, he would've been proverbial, and every time anyone said, "Go for it," and you were afraid, they'd compare you in a negative way to him. Now as it is, he's the failure, and those who avoid such stupid ambition are seen as having enough sense to come in out of the rain.

Good riddance, Samson, and the same goes for your idiot grandma! Thought you were better than us, huh?