Excerpts from Electric Degeneration, Degenerate Press' semi-weekly e-zine, free and ad-free. A full episode contains sections for music reviews, upcoming events, blasphemy, classifieds, and anything else we feel like saying. If you'd like to subscribe just contact us.
You can surf the entire archive.
7/23/2002
Death is a strange and empty thing for us cynical atheists. No bullshit
phrases like "She's in a better place now" or "She's still alive as long as we
remember her." Even "We have to carry on because that's what she would have
wanted" sounds phony. I don't know what she would have wanted, it's just a
phrase we, the living, use to make it through the next day, get back up and go
back to the unemployment office and hit those job boards so I can get on with my
life, as I'm fortunate enough to still have one.
So instead of consoling myself with religious myths all I can really say is
"What a fucking drag."
I spent a day in mourning, sulking around the apartment exchanging sorrowful
hugs with SW, occasionally getting teary eyed when SW points out we're using
Dawn dishwashing detergent or when the film Death Before Dawn is next on the TV.
One of the dangers of having a punny name.
What a fucking drag.
But I don't really have time to mope, gotta get up, hit those job boards, and
while I'm at it hit Mapblast for directions to the funeral.
What a fucking drag.
Speaking of the funeral, I know how she would have wanted me to dress and act
for her funeral. Dawn Marie would have preferred the full-on costume bash with
drinks and merriment, but she's not really there to enjoy it, according to my
personal belief system.
What a fucking drag.
The funeral isn't for her, it's for the living. She only takes a passive role in
the affair while the rest of us show our respects, not to her but to her
survivors, by maintaining a proper, socially acceptable demeanor.
What a fucking drag.
Now I look back over her online journal, http://www.livejournal.com/users/dawnmarie/
and read her funny comments on life and read her friends' responses and it's
almost like she's still there. But then I'm tempted to respond with comments of
my own and I realize she won't read them, she won't respond in kind, her site
won't be updated again and eventually it, like her life, will pulled from the
server and forgotten.
What a fucking drag.
Sure, I could console myself with the thought that she worked hard to enjoy her
life, but frankly her life was no more or less enjoyable than anyone else I know
and now it's ended far too soon.
What a motherfucking drag.
About the only thing we cynical atheists can take away from a friend's death is
that it should encourage us to live our own lives to the fullest, carpe diem,
you know, pep talk. But it sure is a hell of a lot harder to get out there and
seize the day when one of your good friends ain't there to seize it with you.
What a goddamn motherfucking drag.
At least the faithful optimists out there can fall back on their beliefs that
one day they'll be reunited with loved ones at some fantastic convention in the
sky, or elsewhere. Wishful thinking, I believe, but some days being a cynical
atheist is, well...
such a fucking drag.
So here's something that might put a melancholy smile on your face, an excerpt
from The Simpsons:
Homer is crying at the dining room table, taking bites out of Pinchy's dead body
while the family is watching.
Homer: [eating, crying] Oh, man, that's good. [sob] Pass the butter.
Bart: Are you gonna eat that all by yourself?
Homer: Uh-huh. Pinchy would've wanted it this way. My dear, sweet Pinchy. [takes
a bite] No more pain where you are now, boy. [rips him in half and sucks out the
meat inside] Oh, God, that's tasty! I wish Pinchy were here to enjoy this.
[takes more bites] Oh, Pinchy ...
Take me to Degenerate Press' home page!
There's no place like home... no place like home...
All content on this site is owned by Degenerate Press and cannot be used without our permission. We have lawyers for friends with nothing better to do than cause trouble (no kidding), so play nice. Copyright © 2003, All Rights Reserved