When are property taxes due?

Today, this past week, probably the past few months and years, the world has not been big enough to satisfy my desire for more.

What is "more"? I do not know.

I repeat my research of subjects of interest.

I run out of curiously funny thoughts and ideas to entertain my brain.

I do not desire to end my life but I have what left to pursue to discover something new?

And yet there is nothing new.

I am tired. My body aches. I know many are in worse conditions than me but I am not them even if they would gladly be in my position.

What do connections get me? What do colleagues and associates bring to me that I don't already know in another place and time, if not now?

There is no worry about saving the species from itself. It will survive in one form or another as the global ecosystem changes.

If I - me, personally - will not live to travel to other worlds, does it matter if some other members of my species go in my place?

If I am not happy, then altruism loses its appeal.

I promote the new ways of life (equality for women, in this case) but I am also connected to the Old Guard, standing on a bridge that crosses to a previous age when a man who liked what a man liked when he wanted to like it took what he wanted without getting permission from polite society. There is that caveman in me, I know.

If the caveman thoughts still roam through my synapses and veins, then it courses through the bodies of others, too, in weaker and stronger doses.

In a world where women are becoming more assertive/aggressive, where does a man like me find a comfortable place to call his own?

I cannot see a place for me. I am trapped in a corner with no escape, my supply of oxygen and food dwindling, reducing me down to nothing, back to the basic states of energy from which I sprang.

The future belongs to the youngest generation whose members have not lived in a state between the old world and the new. They will figure out how the whole equality thing will play out.

I will continue to fade away, wandering the woods in my caveman mode, pretending I'm the king of the forest, peeing against trees and boulders to mark my manly territory while looking for submissive females who no longer exist.

My time has come and gone. I am a relic of a past that may never have existed but at least I let myself be led to believe it did.

What is virility if you can't use it? What are good looks and muscle strength if no females are looking at us strutting peacocks?

I no longer exist (if I ever existed). I am a shell of the man I might have been, lost in a world of thoughts that have no place in the new world order.

I am severing my ties to my colleagues, associates and friends because what they have to show me shows me nothing I can use for myself.

My time on this planet is limited. I want to devote that time to myself and let the rest of the world sort out all the problems that never really existed in the first place.

I am tired of living as if this world is mine because it is not mine. It is yours to do with as you please and always has been.

I'm curling back up into my shell and pretending I live in the world where warriors, cowboys and the James Bonds of the world were men who knew what they wanted and took it.

I am tired. The world goes on without me, my contribution less than an iota of an iota of difference.

This and other blogs, books, poems, etc., I've written, gave me the feeling I was part of something bigger than myself. All along, the world progressed faster and faster ahead of me until I can no longer pretend I am part of it.

I am the fossil I have bemoaned. I am the old fogey stuck in the past I always knew I was, my thoughts locked in at about age 10, listening to easy-listening music made from tunes of the '30s, '40s and '50s.

I am part of the walking dead, stuck in a kind of living purgatory, forever lost in the gee-whiz developments of new technology that pass by like UFOs.

I am tired. I cannot prop myself up any longer. I do not want to cope with or hawk changes that have no meaning to me anymore.

I am an old dog who's run out of the desire to learn new tricks.

You can bury my fossilised remains in the backyard. Maybe an archaeologist will pretend to make heads or tails of what my life was like. I sure can't.