death

There's some weird thing going on.  Somehow death gets into your bones, with every little submission that you resent and with other stuff too, like not thinking things through clearly but going along with what others say and do.  And that's the thing most people do not realise until it is too late, that they have let death in and now it's in their bones and they can't get it out.

I knew for sure that something ghostly had entered me.  I just had this strange, ghostly, bad sensation about things.  All things or most things, I'm not sure.  Somehow I had conceded too much ground and death was overrunning me.  That was why I was unhappy.  I'd had too many miserable experiences and not enough good ones, too.  I couldn't balance the books.  I was in the red.

To enter a contest with death was never on my mind, it was the last thing that would have entered it, but now I was doing that all the same because I was putting up little blocks to stop death coming in and I was saying no a lot and hiding myself through deocoys and false signs.   And also I just realized that I was fighting death to the death now.  One of us would win and I hoped that would be I, I mean me, yours truly, myself.

So I'd throw out a few decoys and see how people reacted to them.  That was one of the tricks I learned during that period.   I learned a lot from the decoys and also by the false trails I created by contradicting myself.  Never be afraid to self-contradict.  That is like if you leave a spoor in the sand and then go back and kick the sand in the other direction.  Nobody knows where you are.  That's one way to stop death from coming after you.

But fighting death takes quite a lot of courage.   You have to deny the patterns of behavior that you'd just slipped into and start anew.  If you feel naturally deferential, you have to take a different tack.  Even if it's like pressing your face against the wind, you have to do the opposite to what you would have done before.

And if you always are inclined to tell the truth, you might consider varying that a bit.  Otherwise you might just be a ghost, the wind racing right through you and to the other side.  A bit of resistance, a bit of substance, isn't bad after all.  You're not a windsock.

Anyway, I had to learn this in midtrack of having done the opposite for most of my adult life.  And I'd set a precedent for being windsockish, so now I wouldn't be.  I'd give confusing signals -- but that was really between me and Death, to set him on the wrong track, galloping ahead of me, or going beserk or.  Whatnot.  If death was nature, I'd be anti-nature.   I'd double myself and create many, many false flairs.  I'd resort to trickery.

I had to, anyway, to buy myself some space for learning stuff.  I hadn't learned much stuff at all, and there was a lot of huge stuff I still needed to learn.  Like stuff and stuff.

Like why are people doing the weird things?   Why did they try to take my happiness and peace.  What was up with that?  I didn't get this stuff and lots of other stuff I should have got but didn't.

But mostly getting death out of my was the primary necessity, because he'd wrapped me in that spider resin stuff and made me sticky and I felt so bad.

I couldn't get up and move around.  It was a really bad, bad feeling.