I'm JM Fisher, Writer & Host Of The Weekly Cynic Podcast.

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Death And Immortality...


I was not a kid of exuberant daring, clambering the heights of century old trees or imitating the radical 8-bit virtual feats of Skate Or Die!

I was of timid steps, evading cracks and counting my breath to appease the maniacal ravings of my mind’s obsessive compulsiveness…

“You Missed A Crack! You Skipped A Breath! Your Parents Will Die A Cruel And Mangled Death!”

When I did experience the occasional surge of rambunctiousness, it always resulted in skin shorn, bloodied knees that Grandma would have to remedy with her glass vial of iodine…

“Oh, hush.” She would scold, as that cotton swab, saturated in its rusty antiseptic solution, scorched my wounds.

I was never scolded for being an archetype of brash, teenage invincibility. That smug varsity jacket suffused with hormonal urges and the adrenaline screams of a punishing high school football practice…

It was only in my twenties that I flaunted a delusional sense of immortality. 

Enthralled with alcohol and navel gazing nihilism, I performed innumerable Top Gear-ish stunts that ultimately culminated in a grand Spec-Tac-Ular! of property rearrangement, traumatized friends, police officers and the obliteration of my beautifully red 1986 BMW 325es…

But, my thirties became regimented, Corporate drudgery.

Now, in my early forties, there is…mortality.

This is not a self-pitying realization due to some sort of dismal, domesticated, suburban life. Only that death seems more…credible.

Bro, you’re old! Of course you’re thinkin’ ‘bout death!


I have these primordial memories, like entire albums of impossibly vivid Polaroids, taken of Catholic mourning: Me, as a small child, being held over an open casket, staring at  well-dressed corpses of plastic, mannequin-like faces…my cousins and I romping through grave yards at the burial of yet another great-great-great-great-something. Because of that early immersion, I’ve always been able to acknowledge death exists. I don’t quiver at the specter of the robed skeleton and his scythe. Death can happen anytime or anywhere.

But, of late, that idea of mortality having credibility is because death continues to intrude upon my life and consciousness.

A week ago, my last remaining Grandparent died.

Over the last two years, my wife has lost both of her Grandparent’s.

Within the last two years, three of my wife’s colleagues have departed this physical realm we call planet Earth.

A friend recently recounted the agonizing, cancerous demise of his brother. A brother of protuberant, grapefruit sized stomach tumors.

Recently, a cousin and I detailed the seemingly innumerable deaths of high school friends and acquaintances; an index of misfits and jocks reduced to tombstones from suicides and heroin overdoses.

A subscription to the local newspaper allows me access to the sorrowful columns of the obituaries, these daily encapsulation of lives here and gone, all of them stark reminders of our collective fate…

Oh, and of course, my mind and ears become attuned to every random remark about death.

Maybe it’s the universe letting you know that your time is near, bro…

Thanks, man… 

Jake! There are immigrants dying at the border! The marginalized and oppressed desperately trying to survive, you selfish, narcissistic, privileged suprematist!

Yes, this is true. I’m quite grateful for this fortuitous episode in my reincarnation cycle. And, I endeavor, during this episode—which, as a universal sovereign soul, will be my last in this human guise—to help my fellow universal sovereign souls trapped within these physical, human bonds, to understand how our philosophies, institutions and hierarchies control and contribute to human misery such as the border crisis.

One day, Jake, no one will have to worry about mortality, death or the validity of the human soul, because we will transcend these limitations to be forever happily immortal!

Yup, forever immortal in the singularity of the Twittersphere…

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Meditation: A Follow Up To EP29 Of The Weekly Cynic Podcast