True stories are often stranger than fiction. Stranger than cliches. Stranger than getting tossed into a volcano.

A man takes a vacation that starts with a completely unclothed midnight ocean swim, and ends with his mother in a fucking hospital. A nice place to visit, Savannah, but you wouldn’t want to be admitted there. And you really wouldn’t want to sit upright in a shitty little chair, with a shitty little blanket and a shitty little pillow, barely napping between thoughts and feelings and the eyes of all your demons staring you right in the face. Yet, this is the way of things, for this man, who checked off two things on his lists, one a desire, a confluence of alignments, and the other on a different list, that of the first day of the rest of someone else’s life, the inevitable madness of love versus morbidity. A long road that must be traveled like the trip home from a vacation, nonstop, shockingly few traffic jams, open and freely felt cruise control, fucking terrible music chosen by tasteless suburbanites, and at the end, the inability to sleep because the excitement at no longer moving makes him want to Just. Sit. Still… and feel the stillness, and hear the silence. A road longer than his self-imposed sentence.

A man watches a movie, just to avoid crossing paths with some of his living demons, and makes it only halfway. The movie, not important. The idea, very important. Whatever it was, he liked it… while it lasted. All good things come to an end, sure, but there are ends and there are ends, and this end came in the middle. As it happens,the rights to show this particular movie on this particular channel were to be revoked at midnight at the end of this particular day, and due to the time he started watching it, and the nature of rights, when this particular day ended, so did the movie. Game over. And this particular man, being partial to full-blown metaphors at all times, with analogy for dessert, realizes that this is life, all over again, and all the previous umpteen years of good things ending badly and bad things, as the saying might suggest, continuing in perpetuity, make him live the past week over again, and the past month and year and decade. That movie, at least, has no point, no plot, and can be started and ended at any point with the same result. No Hollywood ending for this man. All indie, all art, Oscar-bound, thanks to the academy, and an intentional Hillary Swank-style omission, of course. Even that reference has connections that remind this man of life, and demons, and the feeling of being the second Darrin on We-Bitched.

A man watches his life happening before him, wondering when it became okay for his children to swear out loud, when it became okay for image to be more important than reality even to the point where things are posted on social media that claim this isn’t true, lest the image of having image be more important than reality somehow become reality. To wit:

Navigation is helpful sometimes, if tracking holds, and GPS holds… but recalculation is always required, always. What is reality, anyway? Reality is what you make it.
“”Reality” is the only word in the language that should always be used in quotes.”
That quote comes from Nervous Xians by My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult. But the quote itself is a sample from Amityville 3-D. The sample begins with “A famous writer once said”… but in a search, the quote’s author is unknown – rumored to be Timothy Leary, but that is apocryphal. That means one of the best lines in the entirety of all written language has no origin. No beginning. It was just there, the whole time, waiting to be uttered or written, in the most metaphysical way possible. It came into being, and had an end, like all good things.

The man feels the stillness now, and feels the silence now. Revelations tend to do that. There are two sides to every story. They’re not what everyone thinks they are. Those of one person and another. They’re entirely not that.

Inside and outside. Reality and image. Feeling and projection. Two sides of the same coin, when all you have is paper currency from another economy.

The man, upon flipping such a coin, would choose ‘edge’. He’s already on the edge, after all.