spaceship gone, alien baby gets to party

My mother dies with grace and haste, surprising everyone who thought they knew her. We'd quarreled, as families do, and she became the second parent of mine who I rejected on the way to becoming the zombie I am. I got to my parents' bedsides just before they died, but hardly in any way to say "Sorry I am such an asshole, but I have better things to do," for which I am terribly sorry to admit neither would have felt much pride. They weren't wired to understand that art is a hook you keep swallowing and keep hunting, regardless of the menu the world insists on putting in front of you. I have always known what I wanted, and my parents never had a clue about what they wanted except to say it wasn't what they had; like lobsters they kept looking for the next comfy cranny; like a shark I cannot stop swimming, eating even my family and friends if it means I can keep my dreams alive. There will be a way of marking me as this kind of animal in the future, just as the scientists have announced they've found the Beta male gene, the DNA that makes men willing to sit in one place and grow a brood as their exit strategy. I am a mutant, I am afraid to say, unwilling to accept responsibility or care for property, and hopelessly addicted to the next idea that flirts with my imagination. I want to obey every impulse to create, every instinct to cheat death by saying, "Look at what I made," so I can keep making my own little world, so I can keep living the life I choose.

Thanks for the condolences and concerns about my sudden marooning in the present. I suppose my mother was like a spaceship crashed by the lake or on top of the hill, and represented some sort of escape or rewinding of my history, but to tell the truth I've never itched to go back, and if obliteration and heartbreak lie ahead as well as adventure and creativity, well, that's the price I'm willing to pay, even if it means I have to steal from the people who love me most.

Again, thanks for the condolences, but I don't speak that language: Tell me what you're up to, what you're doing, where you're going, and what it means to you if you don't get there. These are the stories I need to hear.