A 71%.

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A dream.  A college course.  Philosophy.

I wasn't sure if the professor was just a cunt, or a sellout, or what.  Still, wasn't happy.  When I'm not happy about something, I go... face it.  Deal with it.  Win, lose, draw?  Be damned.  So, in I went.

The test was a set of questions ordered to question my ordering of life, my goals, theories, intentions, based on the past, present, and future.  Whatevs.  Of course I have those things, but they are... different.  Look... at the ruins of my life, and yet the grandeur within.  

Now, the structures, and beauty, and art... aren't my own.  I accept that.  But they are claimed, as artifacts representing my life?  Let the poet write for the incoherent, or prose artist depending on the need or want.  Let the painter do the portrait, for I have not the talent.  Let the singer sing, the chef cook, the woman dance or love.  For those without those talents, most certainly for the dead and nearly dead.  And so it was, is.

I spoke to the professor... a younger man, on his way up and through academia.  To be in your late twenties to early thirties, and be on course to permanent employ within academia, especially in such an oversaturated field?  Assuming no nepotism or else, of course?  Which I had the feeling weren't his schticks.  So... I spoke to him as if he had honor.

I explained that his perceptions were those of a man going places, with a wide if not quite yet sure future.  He had just gone, done, and found himself pretty much where he wanted, possibly planned, to be.  What he failed to take account, regarding the test, is those who did the same, then fell... all the way to death's door, and had been living there for decades.

Not that this alone was a reason to offer consideration.  But, the meanings of their understandings were beyond him.

While I don't accept failure, anymore than the next red blooded man?  I did have to learn to accept limits.  I did have to find others to speak for me, act for me, help me, heal me.  Even... when none of that would do, or help.  Beggars can't be choosers.

To see the side of the feminine.  Why their rage, at times.  At men, at themselves.  Their fragility, mens' strength, limits, vulnerabilities.  I learned much.  To gently fold and place the flag I waved as a banner, for victory, retreat, war, and life, on a shelf.  For my time of living, warring, and such was done.  Hard things.  But... beautiful, too.  A time for every season.  I have seen them all, and still am.

To hurt, when I wake in the night, for no good reason.  To touch death, from time to time, smell it, on me, as if we had been lovers a bit ago.  To embrace, run from, and play with that entity, or nature, or reality, on a regular schedule, but never quite be able to go with death, or Death, for a final time.

My... perceptions are different.  More than most men?  The end times of every man.  I know these.  The end of their careers.  The end of their health.  The end of their lives.  Even to seeing what is over there, on the other side.  And back, several times.  I understand things only the fallen may know, and yet as the living, mostly.

My... philosophy is beyond his hopes.  He doesn't, yet, dare to even consider all that I currently know, the whole of the fruits of life, and the next life.  He can't yet understand.  So, give me that 71%, if you must.  Just understand, you... will know these things yet, in your time.  Then... I could give you a passing grade, if you then understood.  Currently, your perceptions are a failure.  But there is hope.

I ended up with a 100%.  I just hope it wasn't pitty, or from pretty words, thoughts, but from understanding?  I'll never know.  Though, I honestly hope it was for the wisdom I offered.  Dunno.