Morbid non-flash in Adjunct to 8/9/2013 flash friday; a trinity of flashs

You know I used to kind of know what people meant about fear of dying alone and I kind of knew what people meant by Everyone Dies alone, though, honestly, I used to sing seventies power ballads in my head when someone would say that shit. I bring it up because it’s been coming up in TV shows and movies a lot. Perhaps it’s just the shit I chose to watch.

I always assumed the fear of dying alone was a broad stretch of time and really meant living alone and then dying. To take it literally it’s a scary thought; how many people would be comforted by dying in a crowd, or, you know, a few close friends. A bit too Jonestown for my taste. Or perhaps they mean they want someone holding their hand and crying.

My dogs and cats when they know they are dying try to creep away so that they can die alone. That makes sense to me; I don’t want to my death to be morbid and shit. It’s suck to have someone petting your head and crying or scratching behind your ears and trying not to cry. Honestly, I don’t think about my own death very often, except that when it’s over I can officially not give a shit. I was positive I wasn’t going to make it to thirty, mostly because I’m reckless and people are assholes. So, you know, it’s all been gravy since not dying. I think about how many times I haven’t died than the one time, yet to be announced, that I will die.

The phrase everyone dies alone is usually said by pessimists with squinty eyes like it was some line from a religious text written by Clint Eastwood. In the respect that it’s sort of a personal event it’s an obvious enough statement that it doesn’t need a squint. Again, the idea of dying in a crowd is frightening. I mean it’s frightening to hear someone say that, because, you know, they might be planning it.

One of those stoned philosophical conversations you sometimes have when you’re a teenager or just immature is something along the lines of Would you rather know the time of your death or not. I don’t really think it would make a difference. If I were going to die with a whole bunch of other people I would prefer that they didn’t the time of my death. Here’s why; you know how fucked up it is that a side effect of alcohol is loss of inhibition? I’m going to make an educated guess that knowing you and a whole lot of people were going to die on, say, Saturday, I think that’d lead to a loss of inhibitions. Having met people with inhibitions and people without inhibitions, I prefer the former for the most part. Though, I suppose if their inhibitions had something to do with having sex with me I might be persuaded to consider that ok, you know, if I liked them.

Another one of those immature death conversations is How Do You Want To Die and/or whats the worse way of going. To me that’s a little like grabbing a beer at the bottom of the eighth when your pitcher is working on a no hitter. Or breathing. Or crossing your legs. The sort of sympathetic magic that jinxs shit. Makes you want to make up a simple way to die so the universe thinks that’s what you’re afraid of.

So, one the flash Fridays I didn’t write this week was about a cop whose last name was down. And possibly a duck or a dancer or a dancing cop duck. Lots of potential for puns “ Dispatch, Officer down, fluffy down on scene, getting down”. It’s be real funny if it had a different plot, characters and something real funny in it. I don’t want to die being stoned for writing a stupid flash. Ok, miserable entry, just miserable.