by M. L. Morrill
Mortality: a word which contains its meaning and weight so efficiently. There is no misunderstanding what it means, in both literal and abstract terms.
The issue of mortality is always present. The fact that I will die and all sensation will end is a constant motivation to cram as much life into my 75 years as I possibly can. This is what motivates me to be my most positive self all the time. It is the positivest end of nihilism.
But man, real talk! that doesn’t mean shit doesn’t suck sometimes. In the past week my Uncle Kim died, I saw sara for the first time since we broke up, I got doored on friday and hit on the following monday.
All of this is within my abilities to stay positive despite the bullshit, except for my Uncle. Because he was the last vestige of 20th Century Masculinity. A role he most definitely inherited after my grandpa’s death. To be honest, my Uncle Kim’s death is as much about my Grandpa, Lawrence Omar Ford’s death as it is his own. My grandpa died in the winter of 2005, the same month both my sister and I were in separate but equally as terrifying car accidents. When my mom told me Grandpa died all I could say was something about how we just got ten new cars. The weight of grandpa’s death wouldn’t hit me until a year later when I was in at a campsite in Bandon, Oregon on route to San Francisco. Since then his death has only become real a handful of times. I still regret that he did’t get to see me graduate high school or college, and that when grandpa died I was still working that bullshit job at motherfucking Saturn of Monrovia.
What separates Grandpa and Uncle Kim from me and my entire concept of masculinity, is they were the real deal ideal of Modern Man. My grandpa had a wife, two kids, and a house in Torrence, CA with a Porsche 356 in the driveway. Kim had a house in poway with a hot rodded ’72 Toyota Celica with webber side drafts and the works. Granted I know that these men were not perfect, both went through more than one divorce, and Kim definitely had a life long battle with alcoholism which he sadly lost. But what stays with me is the fact that they were real people, not a pair of fictional characters a la McCarthy or Hemingway, they were the real deal. More than that, I not only knew them but am related to them, so you can see their status as legend in my concept of them.
Furthermore, I am not glossing over their flaws. They were not racists, (believe me, when I was in my anacho/crimethinc phase I was really looking for it) they were not republicans. They were two big dicked men that served in the military, raced cars, flew planes, and enjoyed 4 cylinder european and japanese automobiles when America was still “Economically viable.”
RIP L.O.F. and K.O.F
Team Escargot Reigns Supreme!
Anyways, I hate to be all down like that, but I’ve needed to get this out of my head for a while now. Stay Positive!