The Untitled Belgium

unfinished...

I arrive at the airport without much thought.

It’s necessary that I don’t think, that I relinquish control and responsibility like the good Catholic I am not, this so that I can maintain composure to the upcoming and inevitable fear of my flight. I am headed to Belgium and it will not come quietly, not without stress.

The motions come easy. I try ignore the ticket desk and her check in. The girl serving me is just that, a girl, times are tough for those over forty I think. Questions come answered with instinct, no chit chat, I’m unsure if this pleases me but I survive the incongruity. At security, like a good citizen, I do pay attention, searching with my good eye closed for an untrustworthy face; then, when finding none, back again[I return] to ignoring the process of my departure.

I place within myself a sense of calm by false association, a game I play when needing to remove myself from a situation, much like a game of this is not rape.

I am the everyday traveller and this is just a part of my job.

Fear is the upcoming presentation, that prick Johnson at the office; cocky son of a bitch, Joanne my secretary sucking my prick with teeth exposed, I am annoyed at the inconvenience of this call out of town business. To supplement my self preservations attitude, I will adopt a sense of apathy, cross my legs, read the paper and order a scotch without looking up at the help. I am a busy man after all. This flight is my bitch but not quite.

This I convince myself while sitting aboard the abominating union of advancement & nature, let the pilot worry I say too many times, but as we rise and level off, I feel little fear.

Fuck I’m a good bullshitter.



My fear of flying can be explained quite easily in one sentence: I believe myself important enough to live. Not to anyone else, no, I’m not that self involved but to myself instead rather.

How selfish of me.

Who the fuck am I? I am a nobody I tell those with a chip on their shoulder, to help alleviate the thick air that sometimes manifests in debate. I place myself on their petty level to bring about a sense of tribe, of community. I loathe those I need coddle to serve a greater purpose, that of shifting the balance of stupidity amongst the layman. Losing battle that is.

Flying however, has me believing otherwise, that somehow I am worth my existence’s weight in gold, of which I am not only enthralled by but dually invested in. I’ve cultivated if you will, a deeper sense of its meaning. How typical of the living.

My death would serve no purpose I will say. Save to fulfill the balance & cycle of life, the less incongruous part of myself will rebuke.

I am a self involved man because all I have is my own life, a dangerous singularity by itself. A rather pathetic reason for existing if not for the large learning curve we are alloted at the onset of our conscientiousness.. the early 20’s.

I become most apologetic & retrospective in flight. I changed man.

...unfinished