Tag: death

Murder wasn’t far away

The best thing about the murder was the blood flowing around her head like a halo over the pavement. She had the face of an angel smiling and it was a beautiful corpse.

At the moment of dying she saw how loved she had been and the futility of her disappointments. She was unable to embrace the truth of it as she plummeted towards the pavement. There simply wasn’t time. She was going to crash and that was all she had left. It was too late for regret as she watched, in slow motion, the concrete getting closer. 

The reflections in her blood showed the faces circling. The people who watched weren’t shocked by the murder, but  by the body laying there, in public. It didn’t belong on their street but somewhere else, unseen or on another street, mentioned in a paper and gossiped about.

What would you think in those seconds if you knew you were about to die? As the seconds stretched and time slowed giving you time to reflect on your life in the blink of an eye. 

For the Greater Good

black birds on tomb stonesWhy do we save lives? Why do we care?

We care because it makes us feel good or we empathise, it could be us failing to breath in a hospital bed. Dying of malaria or the coronavirus or cancer. It could someone we love, our family or friend. Because it would be inhumane not to care, right?

Why do we care so much about the countless lives at risk of disease or famine in Africa or the Middle East on the one hand and take lives in war when it suits us. It’s for the greater good but is it? Who are we to decide who lives or dies?

The worlds population is increasing at an exponential rate. Soon there won’t be any wild spaces left because there won’t be enough room. Who suffers? Not just the plants and animals but we do. Imagine living in a world were there are no trees. No wild animals. It could be the future. Who can tell? But saving lives matters. Right! As long as it’s human lives. Why not let people die? Why do we have to cure every decease. Isn’t providing a future world with wild and green spaces, clean oceans, with diverse animal species and clean air, a world worth living in, also for the greater good?

Imagine a child in a future school looking at pictures of lions and zebras and elephants and elks or trees. All extinct. That’s not the greater good. That sucks. But we are getting there fast. According to an article in National Geographic by Christine Dell’Amore, published in 2013, there were 20000 species near extinction at that time and that was seven years ago. And it’s only getting worse. Those extinction rebellion protestors may look like fools gluing themselves to the ground and blocking traffic but aren’t we the fools for ignoring them?

Species become extinct mostly due to loss of habitat. Basically because of us. So why are we so desperate to save every human life from famine, war or disease? It could be said that disease is natures way of striking a balance. Why not let nature take care of the planet for a change.

It’s our human nature to fight each other, but now we have nukes so no-one wants to risk it so we haven’t had a world-war for seventy five years now and the last major pandemic before the coronavirus was in 1919. Yet we are happy to risk the lives of our youth by sending them to fight in other wars for political or economic gain. They serve their country and die for the greater good, apparently. Wouldn’t it be valid to let people die for the greater good of the planet. For the future of our children and theirs.

Pollution levels across they globe are the lowest they have been for years. Nature is fighting back. But only because we are in lockdown and nature has some breathing space. So why not save the planet by letting people die.

Why save human lives at the expense of all others. What makes us so important? What about the greater good.

In Time

Wounded wandering sleepless on a polished floor slipping unto two deaths, the one you hope for and the one you avoid. Hoping to end in a sleepy fog, mind swimming in tar, down into the shining black death instead of lingering decrepitude. Owning all beyond the time you awake but not owning over the lake of dream sleep.

I am but a dream of the great notion. When it wakes up I will just be a memory to it because when you are gone nothing more exists.

Falling with a tired head unable to do the list of shit you had planned. A hand arises in darkness and slaps your unready face shocking awake screaming cursing cunts and fucking off your attacker.

Mountain dew is slipping in the mildew of the morning approaching finally the mist creeps away from the mountain slope it blankets revealing tortured landscapes orange and russet cubes and bridges roads people scurrying along vultures soaring preying on death as it like deaths lover the vulture, the scavenger the pig dining on whatever it can get away with.

The man throws in a line wondering how it will turn out. Waiting for a bite not really, waiting for death more like it. I can’t see the love people have for the pedestrian. It is something to find joy in the small things and I do. Mostly in men and their creations and the absence of men completely.

What do I present to the world more than my imagination, I am afraid of death so I create. It is why we crave a progeny because we are afraid of death, it’s why men cheat, its why we write, it’s why we build and plant trees and spend our twilight years planting and growing in a small vain hope of leaving something behind because we are afraid of death. Plant a tree. It’ll be here for years after I’m gone. Build a house same reason, Have an affair because we want to hang on the the past to avoid the future. Like a regret, an anchor, a grudge. Stopping us from moving on into the future, holding into the past.

Death in Winter

better cemetary

The freezing winter river wind makes suffering for the slums in the shadows grief directed by the trauma affected fades as cruel ice melts from lynching bended branches dripping on the willow banks.

Mad starving mothers nurse corpses glare with hollow dark sockets at spastic mares from the winter mountain ice foraging for grasses there.

The beasts remind the harrowed minds of the divine while sick spirits drip on angel’s wings blanketing an amused muse. The dead eyes glower at the angels power as corpses cower.

The amused muse lifts a skinny fist blanket in a rodent bone room studio. The covers are as warm from the fire as her behind to the blind.

Artist finds rat meat fine and ignores the peeling walls as mad mothers die outside they make love in warm fickle angel’s wings.

The blind artist and the muse amuse, themselves while out in the cold the foraging mares stare at frozen cadavers crusting there.