Monday, September 28, 2015

Burn it down, start over

I don’t like the term “awareness” as it applies to cancer. At this point we’re all plenty aware of cancer. Unless you’re hidden away in a remote Amazon village or you’re a Unabomber-like recluse, you’re aware of cancer. Hell, if you are in a remote Amazon village, there’s probably some plant you can brew into a tea to cure cancer. Regardless, you might not like it, but you’re aware of cancer, you understand the premise. No, the term “awareness” is a euphemism, really it means that you’re in support of trying to find a cure or new treatments or early detection. That’s another thing by the way; I mean, I realize there’s such a thing as linguistic nuance; the English language has the word "quinquennial", which can mean something that occurs once every five years or something that lasts for five years. Yet there's no word to describe the visceral level of distain I have for people who do something “in support for cancer”. It makes it seem like you’re in favor of cancer, and therefore, quite the asshole.
But I digress. It’s the euphemism of “awareness” that I makes me cringe. If you want to talk about early detection and finding a cure, you should say that, to do otherwise is disingenuous. Cancer can go fuck itself. In a way, that’s kind of what it does. Reproduces at a crazy rate.
I guess what annoys me is the ambiguity of the term. It’s like cancer itself, might be fatal, might not. It all depends. It might last years and then suddenly go berserk like a Lohan or a Jenner. It might roll downhill like a tripped midget, slowly at first and the gaining momentum and becoming more and more disorienting. I don’t want to go out like that. When I was younger I had this idea that rather than a slow decline, if I got a bad diagnosis, I’d strap on some Semtex and go skydiving near the Canadian National Tower. I don’t know if I believe in that idea anymore. I don’t want the slow decline into confusion and helplessness, but I’m thinking there’s a better use of my time. Maybe I’d go and dose the beer keg at a KKK rally with mescaline and Iowaka. Maybe I’d set off on a quest to rape Donald Trump. I don’t know, but it should be something productive. If or when I should get a terminal diagnosis or face the looming future of degenerative capacity, I’d want my time to mean something.

That why I dislike the term “awareness”. It has no clarity, no meaning. It’s trying way too hard to be some new age, zen bullshit rallying cry for people who don’t know what they want but want it now. 


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