Control: Tragicomedy, Or Just Tragedy

I, Dalton Lewis, believe that life is tragically fucked up. People die before they should — everyone dies before their time. My friend Rylan Hooke died around thirty or before. Aaron Furness didn’t see forty. My grandmother — my Nana — had her mind gradually destroyed by Alzheimer’s before finally dying without seeing me make it as a novelist. (I still haven’t.) They died in confrontations with police officers that are supposed to be paragons of virtue, treating everyone wonderfully and perfectly. And, being my friends, they were mentally ill and probably scared and undiagnosed.

So people die — let’s analyze their lives, shall we? Aaron Furness defended our country in the military. Rylan Hooke wanted to be an engineer but no one helped him to do that — he struggled with his grades and couldn’t figure it out. I’m really trying hard to find the comedy half of this tragicomedy blog entry but can’t find it. My grandmother worked as a teacher for a long time — thirty years or so — and wasn’t recognized for it. I remember when she took me out for dinner one time the hostess at the front of the restaurant interrupted me.

“You know she’s one of the best teachers we’ve ever had in Muskegon, Michigan, right?” she asked. I nodded.

She loved politics. She did intern work after retiring from teaching because she wanted to help the Democrats so badly. She lived a full life but shouldn’t be gone. She shouldn’t be gone.

My grandfathers are both dead. They both died from Parkinson’s, a disease which made their bodies shake uncontrollably. That’s not completely true but true enough. I didn’t get to see them very much. They both died before I grew up. I don’t remember much of either of them.

Simon’s dad is dead. Richie’s dad is dead. They lost their fathers. I don’t have anything to say about it except that it happened.

Now there is a super psycho death virus, and it’s infected five million Americans. It’s killing one to two percent of the people who have it. I can’t go out of the house except when I wear a mask, and I have to take a chance when I do that. Movie theaters are closed.

Why? Why do people die? Will we overcome death? I think so. I predict that people will get everyone back eventually, and there will be fighting over who gets resurrected and who doesn’t. I know that no one else believes in this, but chatter is that it is happening. A few science fiction writers are writing about a scientific resurrection, and I think that it should happen.

What happens if that happens? I don’t know. I suppose that people will be acclimated to the future gradually during classes or something. I don’t know who would pay for all of this. If the world degenerates then this may not happen for many, many years.

I will die someday. I don’t want to die anytime soon. In order to live longer I should lose weight and work out. People should work out and live safe lives without taking ridiculous risks. Do they? No. I eat way too much even though it makes me fat. I didn’t work out for years at a time even though it made me gain weight.

Toni Morrison died. I didn’t know her, but she was supposed to be the best writer, and she died before I became famous or met her or showed up on her radar. I suppose the new best writer is Neil Gaiman. We will see what he does with his remaining time on this planet while still alive. And me? I’m towards the bottom still, plugging away, trying to get better as a writer. I will die. So will everyone. I’m not convinced, however, that we won’t all come back in some way or fashion.

Thanks, and take care, friends.