Friday, 25 July 2014


Call it what you may but it will forever be the fearsome stage of life, the boringly awesome entity, we get older to get wearily gruesome, more comprehensible than the far fetched, they say get older to get wiser, as querulously lonesome with a thought of a miser. Gain experience to remember pain, revisit depression unwholesomely and rely upon stress unsustainably. Forget sex to embrace hormonal quests. He who knows the darkness shall learn to live in the light, forever young, ever loveable, wrinkle free adorable. 

Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us. For no man dreams of rocking the hardest earned records of methuselah, bless his boringly weird soul.


Yet everyone deceitfully dreams of getting older, get married and bear kids, hopefully live in Buckingham palace. What about osteoarthritis, the thought of incontinence, the oscillation of social ostracism and imminent stereotypical insights, God bless the aged and the gifted ageing.    Thou would not underestimate impairments, various conditions and mobility malfunctions. 

The problem is not that there are problems. The problem is expecting otherwise and thinking that having problems is a problem. To endure is the first thing that a child ought to learn, and that which he will have the most need to know. Speak no ye of the memory, yet we come to bury old age not to praise the admonishing brain that castigates the body with effects of long, short term loses and worse unrelenting dementia. 

Sweet are the uses of old age, hence like the toad, ugly and venomous, deploys yet a precious jewel in his head; and old age our life, exempt from public haunt, exhumes tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, and good in everything. Age wisely and believe we are all victims of the inevitable.