the lost man chronicles
the daily chronicle

narcissus laments his aging hedonism

I think I am going to have to rethink this whole pleasure thing through.

Because even the smallest indulgences seem to be getting the best of my lately.

I’d like to think its not a matter of age, albeit my incessant aging probably does partake in my ailing peripherally, if anything, I readily attribute it to, ironically, being in far better shape than I’ve been in a rather long time.

Which is why the wine not only ripens me rather quickly, making me prime for picking when wily vixens vie to take advantage of me, but likewise the reason that a pique of good tannin is as apt to be as toxin and nauseating as it is euphorically swaying initially. Although, not a full and robust inebriation, half a glass suffices quite sufficiently these days, and any sip beyond that almost immediately turns my vertigo from philtering swoon to a monsoon of unease and infirmary.

The same goes for small pleasures like breathing fire with puff the magic dragon. The smallest dose of THC these days does wonders for my imagination and all my senses, which subsequently experience an incredibly wonderful dam burst of iridescent focus. And I’ve learned that one hit every two weeks, if not a month, is the perfect amount.

And although fairly harmless when indulged on its own, when combined with just one drink -the devil begins to take over. For the combination can prove lethal to my system, one goading the other. As a result, I am usually ugly-apathetic and frail and tender all the fairly long following-day, after a night of frolicking with this dynamic duo.

Speaking of nocturnal frivolity, I suppose the fact that for quite a while now I’ve deprived myself of sleep somewhat might have something to do with this lament as well. Four to five, an occasional six hours of sleep at night, pretty much prime me sufficiently for another day as long as coffee is there to aid me along – indeed another vice I probably should taper.

And to be thoroughly anal about my analysis, I should mention other mitigating factors I am aware of. These include the turn in the weather that naturally goads our immune systems to turn up the heat and deplete our bodies of its store of energy. “Well, I can’t be expected to always be on top of everything all the time you know- regulating your temperature, fighting off viruses, combating toxins, telling you when to stop and go, eat and sleep, laugh, cry, sigh, smile….”

There’s also the added pressure at work, stress which exponentially increases as we come to a close on the year when historically I have to manage several projects and work many 12-hour days to implement them. It is when I carry work home in my head and I grapple with all the problems until the next morning when I can transition my resolving ideas onto paper or into directives.

Oh, and then of course there’s my allergies, the ever-present thorn in the side of my lungs that gets driven in just a little deeper when the winds of change tumble musty leaves everywhere.

I suppose the list of causes could go on interminably, and therefore I could conclude that the toxic temptations themselves do not alone make me feel as downtrodden as I sometimes do. But then again I gather this is what they call age-old wisdom—when one is willing to come to conclusions and understand by prejudice and presumption and generalities garnered over years, judgment hewn by experience which allows one to adjudicate correctly in almost all cases, all in order to circumvent and prevent, if only because you no longer care to err, and you don’t have the patience to pay the high price of your indulgences. So we sacrifice our yearning to learn more, to continue the venture into the depths of interminable understanding of the innumerous exceptions and wonderful variety of everything, if only because, quite frankly, we’re not young anymore, and our obstinate age begs us to slow down and stop trying to dig deeper, if only to even the score with the incessant vigor of youth which has run us ragged in search of truth, if only so that we might actually enjoy some of the fruits of our labor—reread a prophetic passage or two perhaps—in the little time that is left. And ultimately, there is no greater truth than that.


That said, I do believe that the solution to all this, the ancient elixir, the all-powerful cure-all, is quite simply—old-fashioned good lovin’. Because, truth be told, I ain’t been getting’ any lately, actually that would be—I ain’t been getting’ any for a lonnnng time (there aren’t enough “n”s to properly convey how long). And large doses of endorphins go a long way toward keeping one sane and sanguine, you know what I mean?


Can anybody hear me, me, me, meeee…

Is anybody out therrre, there, there, there…?

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