This isn't what you'd call a light post. ¬ ¬ It's not directed at anyone, either individual or group. It's just about the culture in general, today's culture, and going back till forever, I think. Thoughts that have been brewing in me for a while and that I'm not sure what to do with. Here goes. ¬ ¬ You know what drains all the hate out of me if I'm feeling myself filled with rage?¬ ¬ I think about the fact that I, you, and everyone we all know, love, and care about, is going to die one day. ¬ ¬ And the way we die is not going to be pleasant. Not for any of us. We'll choke on a piece of fruit and suffocate gasping for breath in pain as our throat violently contracts to try and push the lodged piece of food out.¬ ¬ Or we will get hit by a drunk driver and see pieces of our own entrails literally pop out of our ruptured belly as we bleed out.¬ ¬ Or we will slowly drown in our own bodily fluids from pneumonia while our family is too busy with work or their own problems to be there to hold our hands.¬ ¬ There are far worse ways to name. It has nothing to do with how much good we did. It doesn't matter how much bad we did, whether we're a mass murderer or a saint. Or if we had the most fun or the most dull life. Death is the great equalizer, they say, but that's just scratching the surface of it. ¬ ¬ I just watched the movie Trumbo. It's based on a true story, about a communist screenwriter who went to jail because the country decided for a short period of time that having a certain point of view was criminal. ¬ ¬ One of the people who made the Hollywood Blacklist possible was Hedda Hopper. She's the villain of the movie. A rich and powerful gossip columnist who ruined people's lives with a stroke of her pen and didn't give it a second thought. ¬ ¬ And I found myself hating her. Like waiting for the part of the movie where she got her comeuppance. I love that part of the movie, where the person who did the terrible things gets what's coming to them and it's a really fitting punishment that makes you go "yeah." inside.¬ ¬ That didn't really happen to Hooper in the movie, at least how I saw it.¬ ¬ So I looked up her Wiki article. Hungrily looking for some kind of satisfactory ending.¬ ¬ And reality is the same way. She didn't get "what was coming to her." ¬ ¬ So I go to the bottom of the page to how she died, already feeling guilty as I scrolled down. And I read it.¬ ¬ She died of pneumonia. And I had this visceral feeling as the hate drained out like taking the plug out of the bath water. ¬ ¬ When I think of that...I mean when I really MAKE myself go there. For real. I can't help but think of times in my life where I was terrified I might die. Not that I live a particularly dangerous life, but everyone has moments like that. You're sick and have trouble breathing. Am I going to suffocate? I'm choking on a sticky, thick piece of melted cheese. Am going to choke? ¬ ¬ And then I think about the times when I was in so much pain that I wished, in the moment, that I would die. Like at certain points during the kidney stone, or when I was deeply depressed at certain points in my younger days, or times when I've been violently ill. ¬ ¬ You know what drains all the hate out of me if I'm feeling myself filled with rage?¬ ¬ I think about the fact that I, you, and everyone we all know, love, and care about, is going to die one day. ¬ ¬ And the way we die is not going to be pleasant. Not for any of us. We'll choke on a piece of fruit and suffocate gasping for breath in pain as our throat violently contracts to try and push the lodged piece of food out.¬ ¬ Or we will get hit by a drunk driver and see pieces of our own entrails literally pop out of our ruptured belly as we bleed out.¬ ¬ Or we will slowly drown in our own bodily fluids from pneumonia while our family is too busy with work or their own problems to be there to hold our hands.¬ ¬ There are far worse ways to name. It has nothing to do with how much good we did. It doesn't matter how much bad we did, whether we're a mass murderer or a saint. Or if we had the most fun or the most dull life. Death is the great equalizer, they say, but that's just scratching the surface of it. ¬ ¬ I just watched the movie Trumbo. It's based on a true story, about a communist screenwriter who went to jail because the country decided for a short period of time that having a certain point of view was criminal. ¬ ¬ One of the people who made the Hollywood Blacklist possible was Hedda Hopper. She's the villain of the movie. A rich and powerful gossip columnist who ruined people's lives with a stroke of her pen and didn't give it a second thought. ¬ ¬ And I found myself hating her. Like waiting for the part of the movie where she got her comeuppance. I love that part of the movie, where the person who did the terrible things gets what's coming to them and it's a really fitting punishment that makes you go "yeah." inside.¬ ¬ That didn't really happen to Hooper in the movie, at least how I saw it.¬ ¬ So I looked up her Wiki article. Hungrily looking for some kind of satisfactory ending.¬ ¬ And reality is the same way. She didn't get "what was coming to her." ¬ ¬ So I go to the bottom of the page to how she died, already feeling guilty as I scrolled down. And I read it.¬ ¬ She died of pneumonia. And I had this visceral feeling as the hate drained out like taking the plug out of the bath water. ¬ ¬ When I think of that...I mean when I really MAKE myself go there. For real. I can't help but think of times in my life where I was terrified I might die. Not that I live a particularly dangerous life, but everyone has moments like that. You're sick and have trouble breathing. Am I going to suffocate? I'm choking on a sticky, thick piece of melted cheese. Am going to choke? ¬ ¬ And then I think about the times when I was in so much pain that I wished, in the moment, that I would die. Like at certain points during the kidney stone, or when I was deeply depressed at certain points in my younger days, or times when I've been violently ill. ¬ ¬ I think of Hopper...and Hopper is one of the countless, like Trumbo, who have been THERE. The one place we all spend our whole lives trying not to go. I can't help but feel bad for her. We've all made the trip part way at one time or another, and turned back. But she HAD to go all the way. And every moment of it, no matter how long it lasted, was horrible. ¬ ¬ I wish we could all, including myself, could carry that with us all the time. Not so we'd be depressed all the time, but for me, at least, it reminds me....all our hate really does amount to nothing in the end. It can be satisfying in the moment but I will guarantee you this: One day you will be lying in a puddle of excrement and desperately clinging to life and you will not care one iota that you showed this or that person what-for. And they won't care what you did to them either when they're in the same position. No, they'd gratefully kiss your feet for five more minutes with the person they love, and vice versa.¬ ¬ So what are we doing here? Like really? Why all the hate? For what? So we can do what? So we can feel what?

This isn't what you'd call a light-hearted post. ¬ ¬ If you are sensitive to topics about mortality or aren't in a good mood right now, you may wish to skip it or come back to it later. ¬ ¬ It's not directed at anyone, either individual or group. It's just about the culture in general, today's culture, and going back till forever, I think. Thoughts that have been brewing in me for a while and that I'm not sure what to do with. Here goes. ¬ ¬ You know what drains all the hate out of me if I'm feeling myself filled with rage?¬ ¬ I think about the fact that I, you, and everyone we all know, love, and care about, is going to die one day. ¬ ¬ And the way we die is not going to be pleasant. Not for any of us. We'll choke on a piece of fruit and suffocate gasping for breath in pain as our throat violently contracts to try and push the lodged piece of food out.¬ ¬ Or we will get hit by a drunk driver and see pieces of our own entrails literally pop out of our ruptured belly as we bleed out.¬ ¬ Or we will slowly drown in our own bodily fluids from pneumonia while our family is too busy with work or their own problems to be there to hold our hands.¬ ¬ There are far worse ways to name. It has nothing to do with how much good we did. It doesn't matter how much bad we did, whether we're a mass murderer or a saint. Or if we had the most fun or the most dull life. Death is the great equalizer, they say, but that's just scratching the surface of it. ¬ ¬ I just watched the movie Trumbo. It's based on a true story, about a communist screenwriter who went to jail because the country decided for a short period of time that having a certain point of view was criminal. ¬ ¬ One of the people who made the Hollywood Blacklist possible was Hedda Hopper. She's the villain of the movie. A rich and powerful gossip columnist who ruined people's lives with a stroke of her pen and didn't give it a second thought. ¬ ¬ And I found myself hating her. Like waiting for the part of the movie where she got her comeuppance. I love that part of the movie, where the person who did the terrible things gets what's coming to them and it's a really fitting punishment that makes you go "yeah." inside.¬ ¬ That didn't really happen to Hooper in the movie, at least how I saw it.¬ ¬ So I looked up her Wiki article. Hungrily looking for some kind of satisfactory ending.¬ ¬ And reality is the same way. She didn't get "what was coming to her." ¬ ¬ So I go to the bottom of the page to how she died, already feeling guilty as I scrolled down. And I read it.¬ ¬ She died of pneumonia. And I had this visceral feeling as the hate drained out like taking the plug out of the bath water. ¬ ¬ When I think of that...I mean when I really MAKE myself go there. For real. I can't help but think of times in my life where I was terrified I might die. Not that I live a particularly dangerous life, but everyone has moments like that. You're sick and have trouble breathing. Am I going to suffocate? I'm choking on a sticky, thick piece of melted cheese. Am going to choke? ¬ ¬ And then I think about the times when I was in so much pain that I wished, in the moment, that I would die. Like at certain points during the kidney stone, or when I was deeply depressed at certain points in my younger days, or times when I've been violently ill. ¬ ¬ I think of Hopper...and Hopper is one of the countless, like Trumbo, who have been THERE. The one place we all spend our whole lives trying not to go. I can't help but feel bad for her. We've all made the trip part way at one time or another, and turned back. But she HAD to go all the way. And every moment of it, no matter how long it lasted, was horrible. ¬ ¬ I wish we could all, including myself, could carry that with us all the time. Not so we'd be depressed all the time, but for me, at least, it reminds me....all our hate really does amount to nothing in the end. It can be satisfying in the moment but I will guarantee you this: One day you will be lying in a puddle of excrement and desperately clinging to life and you will not care one iota that you showed this or that person what-for. And they won't care what you did to them either when they're in the same position. No, they'd gratefully kiss your feet for five more minutes with the person they love, and vice versa.¬ ¬ So what are we doing here? Like really? Why all the hate? For what? So we can do what? So we can feel what?