It’s not my place, this place. But I feel responsible somehow, as I always do. It seems it came to an end. So I think a tribute needs to top this page. I could talk about the splendid people who contributed here. The fact of the matter is, I don’t know any of them. From 2 or 3 I know approximately where they live and what they do. That’s it and that it is part of the heteronomous wonder of this place.
Instead let me talk about myself. I am a lucky bastard with the inborn capacity to feel out of luck. I am like most lucky bastards, that is. Things came easy to me, mainly because I settled for what comes easy. Kind of at least. Is that a crime? Just because it feels like one? Because the received opinion is that worthwhile is in association with making a tremendous effort? With pain and trembling?
Well, it is a crime, you know. If not a crime, at least a vice. Forget about the trying harder part. Think about the believe in yourself part. I didn’t. I don’t. You see the ships sailing away, out of sight. You see them – and you know: I could have been on them. But you aren’t. As the ships sail away, the sailors on them become as strange to you as you are to them. Who can blame them? Who can blame you? That ship has sailed.
Then the next ship sails. You have baggage. Can’t risk to go with. Blame the baggage, most of which is you; not believing in yourself. It’s awkward to carry a mirror around though. So you blame circumstances, luck, and, unavoidably, others; specifically the ones who do care. The others are on the ship. They don’t care. Get on with it is what they do. Going places. The final frontier. You gotta take that Star Trek shit seriously.
The philosophy ship sailed. The writing ship sailed. The being the big boss ship sailed. The instant internet success ship sailed.
There’s people around (if you’re as lucky as I am). Maybe they’re not philosophers, writers, big bosses – or internet successes; but they’re the ones you have chosen and who stuck around. They’re the ones who have chosen to sail with you. Life’s messy. You don’t get to choose your boat. Bad luck is drowning or keeping at bay. The rest is fabrication; mass fabrication of what ought to happen. Sunday stories.
Sail on then as I hope will I. Forget the missed opportunities. Look ahead if you can. Ask who is near you as they are there for good reasons. Otherwise hire some help; accepting payment for help isn’t a crime. These have been bad months for me and I only have myself to blame. I can see now how I can get with this crew to another port; maybe still board one of those other ships. Or not. We will see.
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