I'm not quite sure why I'm this sad today.
The dead people pictures didn't do anything for me... and they used to give me some sort of perverse pleasure, I think... I mean .. why else would I seek them out?
I bullshitted Armand once when he questioned me about it.
I told him it was because I was reminding myself of the inherent humanity all around me.. fragility of life.. all that crap.
Not at all.
I was looking because I could. Becuase it was just a picture there on the screen. I was so detached from it. It didn't affect me at all. It never penetrated. He thought I must be doing it as some sort of psychic punishment... but it wasn't. It wasn't anything. Just pictures on a screen.
Years ago, I was ushered to my sister's car after a shootout in the parking lot of the strip mall where we'd been looking for birthday cards for my mother. We walked past a guy.. about 10 feet from us laying on the ground, bleeding.. gasping... asking for help. Two cops guarded him with guns pulled and hard faces. The guy was in a puddle of his own blood and even in the half light you could see that his dark jeans were saturated with it. I'm sure he didn't see us walk past... but I sure as hell saw him. I couldn't *stop* looking at him. I assume now that there were ambulances on the way.... but for them to just stand there and watch a shot and unarmed guy bleed and moan and plead... seemed like they should be doing something.
I still don't know why they shot him. It was never on the news. MOST shootings aren't.
But that... that little picture in my head was so much more terrible than anything I ever looked at on a screen.
It wasn't as gorey. It wasn't as high contrast, well lit, or graphic, but it was worse.
The guy who was hanged and left in the secluded area, found weeks later, his face 'melting' off his skull.
The adipocere people (the famed soap lady is a poor example of the mortuary wax phenomena)... wet, dry, bloated pieces of dead and waxy 'soap' that used to be faces and vital organs and arms.. legs..It works just as well in arid climates as it does underwater.
The suicides, the car accidents, the eviscerations, decapitations, rapes and beatings and massacres.
Bombs and tanks kill just as well as small caliber guns and baseball bats. If there is a way for someone to die, I've seen the pictures of the aftermath.
Somehow, looking at the blood and guts pictures today was hard. Hard and horrible and I don't think I'll be doing it much anymore. I'm sure the change is me... but I keep trying to find the "why" ... and I'm not sure that there has to be one.
Why does it MATTER why it's more horrible now ?
It could be that I have reasons to live now.
It could be that I have hope for my life.
It could be that I have just finally had it driven home how pointless and sad death is.
It could be that I'm being a normal person with normal feelings and reactions.
It could be that I'm getting old and feeling my mortality.
It could be that I know just how fucking fragile skulls are.
it doesn't matter.
if we're just these strange, strong, adaptive things that happen to be disgustingly fragile and our lives happen to us at random or if there are reasons why someone can fall a story and break every bone in their body and someone else can fall 15 and just... bounce.
I know I'll never know those answers.
This isn't a call for answers.
This isn't some cry for help or a wish for god in my life or me feeling like I NEED these answers.
I think it might be the first time I've really asked them.
It's just a scary fucking thought no matter how I look at it. No matter what my working hypothesis.
If it's random and chaotic... it's wonderful that we ever live long enough to ask questions like this.
If it's all scripted... then the "why"s just multiply.
Did I really NEED all these fucking lessons I've been handed?
Did I really need to feel these things I've felt?
Have I learned yet? Have I had enough? Have I been privy to enough plot devices yet?
It's all just a horrible thought.