The comedy routine was pre-recorded, the comedian long dead. The jokes were funny and so I laughed. It was odd, though… because I knew he was dead. He didn’t, though. He was on tape. It made me wonder: Could he have known? He was doing his thing, working his craft, but he was now dead. We are all “Doing our things” and we will all be dead eventually. What do we know of that? It’s there a window to peek through and see This eventuality? It is far too easy to do so from this vantage point in the present looking back. But otherwise impossible.
I got an email today. Subject line: Reverse tinnitus. I knew they were offering a cure but all I could imagine was having an affliction that caused ringing in other people’s ears. It drove me to re-read the email… because what if I do have reverse tinnitus? People never seem to hear me and they look at me funny when I talk.
My furnace wants me to be a better person. It is after ten and the house grows cold with my prior consent. I have asked it to sleep when I should sleep… but I am not asleep… I am broken and propped up to be warmed by the tv. I am cold. Can you defend me? …can you blame me? Either way it’s too late and I should be dreaming.
I think we have our motifs on death backwards… at least in one regards: the light we see when the end is on us. Last night I stared at the crack of light that poured through the door frame from the hallway into my room. I squeezed my eyes shut and it reappeared behind my eye-lids as a black bar: its perfect echo, reveled in negative. Could it be that those who have come near to their own demise are not bringing back tales of seeing the light of heaven, are instead misguided and weren’t o heading towards “The Light” but were instead drifting towards the blackness? Have we been desiring the wrong sort of afterlife?
Ink (flows, stains). 