They call you a survivor when you manage not to die for an extended period of time. And at a certain point, that's the only thing they tell you.
"Well, he's a survivor, that guy. You can't say he's not a survivor."
"They took everything away from him, but goddammit if he didn't survive."
"He's got no internal organs of his own, no legs, and he's bald, but he's a survivor!"
This is not a dazzling achievement in and of itself. Pretty much everyone you meet on the street is a survivor. And if you meet someone who is not, something has gone south.
Being called a survivor is a notch above, "Well, he exists. He's made of physical matter. He's held onto the same social security number for all this time. They can't take that away from him."
They will take it away, all of it. And they can have it. Not because I feel crummy, but because the universe asks us to accept just one thing: Don't survive. Dash through endless summer fields, see that movie twice, fall in love with a girl who can't remember you name, eat your pizza with a fork... But don't put any stake in anything lasting forever.
It's true that one day the works of Shakespeare will no longer exist. One day, they will never play Hotel California again.
Collect 'em all, of course. But you can't them with you. You can't even take you with you. Your favorite jeans will return to the dust from whence they sprouted. You will have a final haircut. Best you can hope for is to say something mysterious on your deathbed.
"You'll never find my treasure, assholes"; "I remember Marty"; "I have to admit I never actually liked tomato soup"; "Please insert another twenty-five cents for five more minutes"... Something along those line. Problem is, you gotta have your wits about you as you're about to disappear into the infinite forever.
I may just shout, "Line!" and expire. Or perhaps just make a pained expression and spit.
Aw, who am I kidding? Life is good, and we're immortal until we're not. Those are some of my Milky Way Blues. Won't you join me for the ride? There will be jokes, bleating, goof-offs, movie talk, questionable reportage, lies, rock criticism, and recipes for canapés-for-one.
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