No good. When you visit yer Ma in the ICU and she awakes screamin’ from payne. People rush and do and whatnot ; and after an hour when you have to leave because she’s too weak and she says its better and payne-free, and too weak to speak more or to interact, just sleep and forget and cheat death for another twelve hours. Something went wrong there.
And when you recollect what has happened before ; and when you remember your own experiences with pretty large and payneful operations and see what has happened here – you come to the conclusion things need to be changed. Especially when we talk about an op that deals with cancer, and – most important – when only some miles away there is a clinic specialised in the cancer that kills women.
So you find yerself in the middle of the night standing on a children’s playground with yer portable clinched to your ear searching for the cigarette machine. It must be somewhere around here. Peeing in the hedge is alright ( I say so and I know what I’m talking about ; of course way away from where the kiddies roam, but next to where the dogs shit ) ; it’s nearly full moon. The world depends on a Chesterfield, and after all, with my on and off relation to smoke, alc and whatnot, this cigarette will save the world, the creation, the cosmos.
Things need to be talked through, decisions need to be made – or, at least, some way, some direction, some kind of orientation needs to be found and given – NOW ! — no matter what time, what state of fear, or panic ; alcohol, for those of us, who know how to use the drug, may come in handy, as cigarettes may do – does this qualify as second-hand-smoke ?
The artificial paradises do not work, never ; payne wounds and hurt is real, death is lingering at the door. Some folks get going when the situation gets tense, others just can’t cope ; it’s all right, experience helps – I could not work as a nurse in an op theatre, but I can do the hospice thing. It’s all about emotion, and man that’s a force, you can stand it or not ; no shame, it’s like war : You have only one go.
Feeling. Images. Something we take with us into our own eternity. Possibly music or other art that expresses what we meant ; the chance for the descendants to see, to realise, and of course to frighten – “Huch ! It’s something already felt ! I am not original, but I am me, HEY !”
What always stays, is Fear. We all go into the unknown land, sooner or later. Who goes first, waits for the others. No escape.