swan song

Sadly enough, life is a lethal disease. Though not lethal enough. I mean, some people live just way too long. Isn’t a couple of years sufficient to acquire experience, get disillusioned, wither and die? Some people just insist on keeping on with living. Blind fools, I tell you. Nothing ever improves. You never get a second chance. You don’t get younger, thinner or more beautiful. Hence the plastic surgery. Hence botulin injections. But all solutions are temporary. Whatever you do, you’ll end up in a tomb, alone. Albeit all the attempts to do anything that could even vaguely improve any aspect of your life. If you have a weight problem and manage to solve it, lose weight and turn into an amazing looking runway model look-alike, the next day, week or month you’ll lose your job, boyfriend/girlfriend, get mugged, killed, you’ll be diagnosed with an incurable and agonizing, but slow-progressing and debilitating disease. Or simply enough, your pounds will come back. With reinforcements. If you can’t get a job, when you finally find one, it’ll turn out to be your worst nightmare come true. Or vacation in hell. Your boss will sexually harass you intermittently. Your colleagues will try to undermine your work as soon as you leave to have a piss. Or your work load will be so immense you will cease to have any social life whatsoever. If you have a medical problem, as soon as you find a way to ease it or cure it, next day it’ll turn out that the side-effects of the drug you’ll end up using will turn you into a zeppelin hovering low over the innocent by-standers in the streets, a horrifyingly disfigured stranger whose body has been taken over by aliens, your hair will fall out, you’ll get impotent, allegedly temporarily, you’ll lose your sex drive, sleep, appetite. Or simply get another disease, much worse than the original one. There’s no escape. Once you’ve been exposed to life, the surest thing to do is kill it before it spreads.