World Order.

Do you regret being born? Regret it with the same nonchalance that I do, recognising – at the very same time – that there isn’t much really you could do about it? Well.

I get very dizzy. So dizzy I fall from my chair sometimes. That short distance between the chair and the floor seems like the greatest distance ever, whilst in mid fall. And even when I come to get up, it still feels like it’s pretty far. Well, I guess it is ‘pretty’ far. It’s all relative, as some people would say. Some scientist or philosopher, a person of the world.

But I am not a person of the world, I know nothing about the world. But this is not my fault. Every time I try to get to know it, it just runs away you see. There is nothing I can do to persuade it to stay with me and chat a while.

If we did talk, if the world would stay long enough for us to do so, we would talk about the weather first, and then families. Maybe then we could talk about politics and ideologies, or history and gender. No, books, we would talk about books. And drink coffee and smoke the finest cigars from a drawer in my desk.

The world would say to me ‘So, what have you been reading?’ and I would say ‘I cant read, world, for I haven’t got any eyes’. And the world would gasp with despair and pledge to sit at the side of my death bed and read to me, and describe the pictures, and the weather. ‘But I am not dying’ I will cry, and the world will say ‘Of course you are, we all are.’

But I’m not dying. Look at my skin, there are no age spots or thin patches, my hair – albeit dyed – is still a bright colour, and only a few split ends. I don’t usually wobble when I walk, and when I mutter to myself in the street people think I’m singing because I’m young. And that’s what young people do.

I still have my own teeth, although they feel hollow and achy. My feet carry me places sometimes, and I can hear when people call my name. I could probably still touch my toes, and run if I had to.

But regardless the world will pick me up, ‘now stop complaining, it’s your time that’s all, we all have this you know, denial’

But I’m not in denial, ‘I’m not in denial!’ I say, as I’m tucked into my death bed and the sheets are pulled tight around my chest. Chuckling as it walks away, the world turns out the lights and closes the door. ‘Night then. Remember, you’re dying!”

And as I lay here in the dark, I remember I’m dying. The world is dying, and I let my thought wander to something else for a while, as painlessly the dark takes me, like a drug, to another place.