Whether t’is nobler in the mind to suffer

The First Noble Truth is that life is suffering.  You ain’t kiddin’, bub.  (That’s my pet name for the Buddha.  He calls me “Hank” so that’s cool.)

I don’t work in a very social environment, and I can’t add any more detail to that without saying something potentially mean, which is impermissable on the internet.  As you know.  Anyway, it is clear that I am steadily losing ye olde marbles, spending each day in silent contemplation of my screen, alternating with half hours of silent contemplation of salad.  (My lunch buddy cruelly defected to Korea and is never to be forgiven.  Not ever.  And when I write to him on the 15th of February, as I do every month, I will be sure to tell him.  Again.)  Since I am a mute cog on an equally dumb wheel, the days pass by without sensible converse.  Today I had the following exchange with myself:

“HELP ME”, the brain telegraphs.  “With what?”, I reply, rather innocently.  “WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?”,  the brain parries, as though I had said nothing at all.  “About what?”, I ask, getting annoyed.  Because the brain does not know.  The brain has absolutely no idea.  The brain does not even know what’s on its own mind.   “I HURT” is the only reply.  Or, more to the point, “I WANT”.  Poor child.  Actually, it’s more like “I WANT I WANT I WANT”.   Bloody nuisance.  And this is how Lambchop arrives, on January 26th at 12pm, between bitefuls of grilled eggplant and nicoise,  on the First Noble Truth, that all life is suffering.  This suffering is the constant dissatisfied search for…something.  And here you can fill in the blank, choose your own adventure style.  Wealth, sex, fame, the phone number of a drug dealer who delivers?  You know, whatever.  Extra bacon.  You love that.

How does one celebrate such a realization?  I suppose that depends on whether or not you got that phone number!

The cheery fact is that no matter what I do- still my brain with pills or quieting words or let it run amok like a Charlie Sheen Vegas holiday, the snow will continue falling, falling, falling just the same.  So I turn to my most trusted friend and spiritual guide, and ask the universe, as I like to do- what would Morrissey do?  This:

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