A eulogy fit for a pauper

I don’t normally keep abreast of the daily obituary report, but it seems Facebook serves that function quite well. Why is it people feel indebted and darkly obligated to remark on the deaths of famous people in the form of some trite 3-cent wisdom which surmise a stranger’s life? Whatever.

Tom Bosley.
He seemed like a nice guy and he was Mr. C. As in the Fonz, heeeeeeeeeeey!
Happy Days was a rite of passage for me back in the 70s or 80s or whenever the hell it aired. My mom loved to watch it with us and narrate in detail how true to life it was for a coming of age high schooler in the 1950’s.

Well apparently Mr. C kicked the bucket.

And thus, let the Facebook ridicule begin.
Mm, actually, I can’t do that.
This is a somber occasion.
The wonderful Tom Bosley is dead.
How can I make light of Facebook on this tragic day?
Mr. C seemed like the last of the “good guys” in showbiz cause most of them now see to be fucking vain self-obsessed dim-witted cretins who make lots of money off the pocketbooks of equally dim-witted American public that can’t even find itself on a map.

No, I want to focus on the Facebook wall post.


I suppose. A rich life. Sounds promising, doesn’t it?
To have a rich life…is to have a long life?
A life with many friends and lovers and jail sentences?
Lots of money and possessions?
Man, a rich life is so arbitrary. Who the hell knows what a rich life is. Because there is no such thing as a rich life. We define our own life’s richness. By our pursuits and their attainments, or lack thereof.

I thought of my own life.
If I died right now, struck down by this Southern California lightning (actually, there is none; this is a mild rainstorm, but it sounded good), what would I leave?

A rich life?
I doubt many people would think so because the concept of a rich life is the byproduct of fierce cultural indoctrination. My life, rich? LOL.

If anything, I probably have led a poor life.
Have you led a poor life?
I wonder if I can slip into my eulogy the line, “David —-. He led a poor life!”
What would the audience think.
The mourners? All those folks who don’t give a flying fuck about me but want to wear black suits and eat free food. What would they say?

He had a poor life!

And indeed, I do.
Scarce is the word which sums up my life.
Scarce goods, scarce company, scarce joy. My life oozes scarcity, it is for wont.
I’m a pauper in this stage play of life.
I’m a hobo on this wavering journey from birth to death and I strangle all my belongings in this simple and tattered soul. I drive a simple vessel. I seek to impress no one and I eat the simple fruits of life at every meal.

I live a poor life.
My soul does not glitter. There are no dazzling displays of ostentation spilling out my heart. A poor life.

My soul in tatters.
Dampened down by the vagaries of incessant life. Never prone to shine.
I sink into the murky existential poverty and eschew the pomp.

David…he led such a poor life.