Mom and Dad

Barb Phillips

Lila Ashby

Arlyn Fisk

Stan Fisk

Mike Preslar

Debbie Tarr

Randy Ashby

Jerry Ashby

Danny Ashby

Jack Ashby

Dale Fisk

Dana Kellerman

Venus Zook

Mandy Miller

Sweet Evie

Luna Belle

Onion Soup

Poetry

Odds & Ends

Trivial Stuff

I stood alone and once again I faced the tremendous burden of choice; choosing my next action; performing the task that will soon be history. In the midst of forming an essence I automatically overlook it. Yet to overlook it dooms me to a fate cast upon me by the contingent events I face. But what does it matter anyway? Itís all been done before and will be again. These pages I write of my life are not new. I exist. Of this I have no doubt. I simply am here now. But to define this existence is an insurmountable task. How can I define what I am? I donít even know myself. I simply am. Life goes on around me everyday and I play a minor role in it, but I donít know why. Perhaps I cannot know why. I am merely a puppet whose strings dangle for any to pull on or play with at will, - or cut. Truly I try to maneuver the strings a bit myself but I donít know which way to maneuver them. Any way is equally likely to be good as it is bad. Contingency is at the core of my existence. I am absurd.

These thoughts raced through my head as I stood inside the garage peering out the open door to the rainy exterior. Should I leave or should I stay? I could easily do either. The choices were very clear to me and equally as absurd. To leave means to mount my motorcycle and speed off down the road to fulfill the tasks I had so carefully laid out for myself the evening before. The evening before there hadnít been this choice; the time had not yet come. I was a spectator of the future and I charted a course to follow all the contingencies I had faced up to then: because there was a meeting, I would attend; because it was Motherís Day, I would buy a present; because I needed money, I would work. I had already planned this day and now I found it necessary to go through the motions.

I didnít have to, of course. I could walk out of the garage and shut the door. Who would really care? What does it matter even if someone did care what choice I made? It is my life I am living; my existence I need account for and only then to myself. No one else can stand up for me and tell why I chose this instead of that. I really canít see why there should even be a reason. A choice is only a choice and a choice is made at every second of my infernal existence.

But still it was before me. I stomped my feet on the ground; I twirled myself around; I twisted my face in every direction, and when I finished I still had to choose. Before I could act, before I could live, I had to make a choice. That damned burdensome thing!

But it isnít a thing, it is simply a choice. I was struggling with a non-entity for surely a choice cannot be considered a thing in and of itself; it cannot be seen, smelled, tasted, touched or heard, but it was there. All around me I sensed its presence. I felt it gnawing at my stomach and writhing vehemently inside my head. I felt it move my body, force my steps to the bike, trying to set me in the saddle and shove me down the drive to oblivion. And I also felt it put lead in my shoes, stop me from finding the key and pull a blanket over my eyes. I was doomed. Whichever direction I took, I must take it. The choice was mine alone. I am the protagonist and the antagonist, the good and the bad, the doer and the non-doer, and as I realized this I felt as though I carried the weight of the world upon my shoulders.

I remained frozen in my steps, held down by a force I did not understand. Doomed to stand there for eternity. Thatís it! I would simply choose neither. But to choose neither is to choose nothing and that in itself is a choice. I had to choose something else.

I realized that I was helplessly alone. No one else even existed then and I believe that thought fed power to my soul and I knew I could act as one who knows what to do. I decided. I will boldly step forth and announce to the universe that I am going to leave this garage on my bike and live the pages as I had outlined them. There! I had done it! The choice is made. On I climbed and off I went feeling a powerful surge of bliss at the control I had over my existence. I had a choice to make and I made it. I decided my course in life and I abounded in delight at having set myself on it to achieve my goals. I was on top of the world, alone and mighty and unafraid.

Then suddenly I was struck down full force by the weight of a choice I hadnít seen. I drove smack into the rear end of a parked pickup truck and broke my leg. Contingency was still alive and it pulled me down from ecstatic heights to ground level pain and frustration. No choice is firm. No choice is forever. Existence cannot be defined and it surely cannot be controlled. The choice was merely a choice and it was merely a particle of time in this great sea of eternity. The choice was absurd. I could choose to die or I could simply die. What difference does it make?

Written 6/5/1974 by Stan Fisk