Dying With Precision

Penthouse magazines stashed under my uncle's bed.  That was my first foray into pornographic imagery.  I was in upper elementary school at the time.  Staying at my uncle and aunt's apartment in West Jackson for the evening (w/ my cousin), the time it took for my cousin and I took leaf through these was enough for me to understand in detail who my uncle actually was.

He was my dad's oldest brother, named after my late grandfather.  And this meant he and I were family, connected together by genetics, predispositions and setting.  No questions asked.

Now, I did not admire my uncle for owning Penthouse magazines, especially considering the fact that he was a married man, but I did now clearly understand this man's delight in lust.  For I too delighted in tickling / baiting that part of my brain, especially considering its adolescent emergence at the time.

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Many men delight in lust, and therefore choose to identify as such.  

My uncle likely visited strip clubs in order to also partake of those opportunities at that level.  He may even have employed a prostitute on occasion.  

In contrast to my own father, he was unabashed about indulging in narcissistic, fleshly behaviors of all kinds.

And this, no doubt, cost him physically and spiritually.  

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Work is drudgery.  No matter how you slice it, working to earn money requires persistence and a boatload of mundane time invested.  For many of us, computers make our lives at work much easier, but also provide for opportunities to look away from our vocational proceedings (for better or for worse).

At my office, this has been ongoing (for far longer than I really care to admit), via one PC in particular, for some time now.  

And of course, the time I spend there (at that PC) is done in such a manner as to tickle that aforementioned portion (lust) of my brain, no thanks to the www, even if for a few minutes a day.

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My uncle died right before Christmas.  He was eating alone at a local Madison restaurant when he had a massive heart attack.  From there, he was transported by ambulance to St. Dominic's hospital where he was pronounced dead.  We buried him the Saturday after Christmas in Belzoni, MS.

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Will this portion of me myself die with him?

I'm banking on it.

Good riddance.

I do not wish to honor / keep that memory of him alive.  Let it die with him.