The Last Sunsets

My very first thought upon waking this morning was, “What’s it going to be like to be dead?”

Great. One of those one of those days!

I’m going to blame it on this:

See that one story brick building (edged with that nice burnished metal coping, or whatever it’s called)? That’s the back of the cabbage factory, bane of neighborhood folks for its oft-foul odors and powers of rattraction. Me? I kind of liked it. But that doesn’t matter, anyway, cause the cabbage factory is a goner. All that remains is that one wall, and any day now, for these new constructions go up astonishingly fast, I’ll have no more sky. See?

Those are my sunsets, people! Those are my sky!

And you see that bit of sky in the upper left-hand corner? The building that makes the right angle with the cabbage factory is for sale, too. SOON THERE WILL BE NO MORE SKY. NO MORE SUNSETS. WHAT IS DEATH GOING TO BE LIKE? WHY DO WE HAVE TO DIE, ANYWAY? AND WHY ARE THERE SUNSETS? NOT TECHNICALLY, I UNDERSTAND THAT, IT HAS TO DO WITH REFRACTION, RIGHT?, BUT ONTOLOGICALLY.

The thing about death is that it’s supposed to make you appreciate your remaining sunsets all the more. Like a prisoner awaiting execution, chewing on his filet mig, who’s all, “Damn, I never knew beef to be so fine. It is so delicious because it’s the LAST TIME I WILL EVER EAT IT.”

Wrong! It tastes okay or whatever, but as soon as you start to sanctify something, all the pleasure disappears. While I’ve enjoyed many sunsets (sometimes so gorgeous that I wanted to die), glimpsed by chance through my kitchen window, I’ve never been able to enjoy a sunset that I’ve decided to watch at 4:44 pm (OUCH) for the very purpose of marveling at it.

Here’s how Wittgenstein put it:

…if only you do not try to utter what is unutterable then nothing gets lost. But the unutterable will be–unutterably–contained in what has been uttered!

I love him for that exclamation mark.

So even though the evil voice in my head these past few days has been berating me non-stop because the wrecking ball approaches and I am WASTING MY GODDAMN SUNSETS, I can’t do anything about it.

Except cry.

And maybe listen to “Waterloo Sunset.”

Again.

by Left Hook | 8 November 2007 | in earnest, pms | Comments