How often does one just, out-of-the-blue, think about Alan Thicke? Especially when he’s not on the radio, doing those commercials. Well, Yesterday, I thought about Alan Thicke. And, a day later, the news reported that he had died. Now, how weird is that?
Pulling out of the impossible slowly. Third day of extreme fatigue. I knew when the snow started, and I picked up that shovel, that I would be putting my CFS – and my heart – to the test. If ever I might be in danger of having a heart attack, it would be this time around. I had not yet slept away the drag put on my body by the last batch of wine, and so, my cells were already gasping for oxygen, even before the first snowflake fell. And, sure enough, my heart has been going out of its head, thumping erratically, and all that. I try to get as much sleep as possible – but nothing will ever help, really, until the consequent CFS relapse has run its course. Which will be in a day or two.
How thankful I am that I am not only punished by a serious illness, but I also get an old psychopath downstairs punishing me as well – for my dog, or whatever. He sneaks up at 1:30am, or 3:am, or whenever I am quiet and writing or sleeping, or resting, etc., and BANG!!!!!!! And some fucking how, this means that I am nuts. Because so many Americans are fucked up, this means I am nuts. So – finding sleep is a real challenge.
I did check out that mobile home, but that’s another story, for later. In fact, it doesn’t look like even that – even pathetic that – shall be happening. Which is probably for the best, because I’d rather have money in my pocket, because where I need to be is OUT OF HERE and back to Australia. I need to pull a Bernie with the Labour Party.
So – here I am, my heart thumping away in pain, and me sometimes sitting on the edge like it’s a ledge, wondering if my life might actually end with a heart attack.
I write that post about coincidences, entitled, “Coinkidink!,” inspired by randomness. In it, I say that I had created that word, a long time ago. Well, when I was writing that post, I thought about Alan Thick. Why?
Because an LJ friend once told me that ALAN THICKE had created the word, “coinkidink”. This is not true. You’ll just have to believe me, or pout.
I’m sitting, ready for a heart attack, thinking about Alan Thicke.
It’s either him or me.
And then Alan Thicke dies - of a heart attack, out of the blue.
Thank you god, for that little pat on the back, at Alan Thicke’s expense.
Alan Thicke knows.
I know, this sounds perturbing. Maybe even disturbing. What is this – YET ANOTHER vapid conspiracy theory from a man(101) already admittedly mad? From a man who indeed suffered from some pretty significant dementia today, in fact? More confabulation, just like the reams and rehms of Fake News and conspiracy theories passing through our eardrums from NPR? Well, let me tell you this.
Let me remind you. We are frozen in meaning. In the Origami Universe.
Alan Thicke had his life, completely separate from mine. There was no interaction between us, ever. Well, we may have been similar in a way. At some time in my life, I was geared to run a career like his – writing songs, and starring on TV, and selling insurance. I think he was a fine character. But there are no boundary issues here.
However, in the paradoxical oh-oh-sphere, there is a link. Coinkileaks.
Just as the particle which is not a wave also is, so the stretched similarities between Thicke and I – even those similarities in the shapes of our brains, or the doings of our mornings, or our simultaneous extra-stellar influenzae – or in our mere human beingness – there was a connection, which we commonly refer to as, “chance.”
What were the chances? None at all.
But, as if he felt the weight of all the years of lugging around his ownership of my word, “coinkidink,” Alan Thicke sensed me thinking, realized he was wrong, and took one for the greater good – me. My heart tripped, and his heart flipped. Just some slight cosmic dysynchrony. One of us had to pay for it.
I shall carry forth the shining banner of this word, as he has before me.
Because ain’t nobody really ever owns nothing, my friends. It is all a figment of the imagination.
This world is all a figment of the imagination.
Give it up. Surrender to the chaos. You're in the thicke of it.
We are all coldly separate atoms unbeknownst to wonder – yet still, sometimes, acting as superconductors faster than the speed of light – just because, out of infinity, we always have some similarity, we always share something, we are always entangled. Despite being encased in this damned ceramic. “It’s all a part of it.” – Bob Marley.
Resign yourself to awe, because you only live this ONCE,
And so, FOREVER...
Synchronicity is all we can hope for.
"The only thing to count on are coincidences, nothing more."