"How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here forever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself."
I am so annoyed at death right now. It's kicking my ass. I don't mean it's literally coming after me personally, it just feels like it might be involved in a conspiracy to drive me crazy. In short, I am sick of people dying. It is completely unfair, and there is no chance of an appeal. I think death should be more like the death penalty.
So, I've decided I'm going to say a lot of mean things about death in this post. Because, death can stop everything except the written word. Okay, if a bunch of technicians over at blogspot.com kick it, then maybe. But probably not because the machines are going to take over soon and they'll need something to read.
Here's the thing about death. In most cases, it is completely unwelcome uninvited party guest who throws the mood of the party off-kilter, leaves everyone with bad memories and tends to mess everything in the house up. Death is also inappropriate, but unfortunately there's really no appropriate way to deal with it. I am helpless and silent around death - not because I am worried about being polite - just because I can't seem to say anything that would change its mind, make it rethink things, call back its actions.
Crunching conundrums, blasting boredom, eliciting criticism, languishing while laughing, blaming poetry (and/or the lack of) for all of my choices, leaving it to the stars or the people better equipped to handle it, cackling at catastrophe and saying sayanora to sourpusses and sore losers