Obituaries: Vivisection

[Sepia]

It's all about death you know, the days we count untill we are lost in oscurity. Ask a child what is old, ask a college student what is old and ask your father, ask your mother. Where do we grow into the silence and obscurity of oldhood? Even those with the most grand and eternal plans do not know at what station they will get off at. They try to ask for a connection but they are unsure about the words for they haven't spoken them earlier and never heard them, like nervousness in class, the young madamoiselle so hot that you had to take it but when she looks at you with her stern eyes and your jailbait cock swells, you are unsure on how to pronounce it and you drop into chaos and take a chance and in secret you'd wish she would give you a spanking, nothing more, just her breasts rubbing towards your back and your thighs creating friction against hers and nothing more and you think about the students of old who had to take a physical beating and as your cock shrivels of impotence, envy fills your heart.

Did you listen for the truth? Did you hear your heart beat in synchronicity with your lover as they began the vivisection or was it all dead
The streets cry our names, so many names that everyone hears their own, the language of the angels is found in the dirt, seven feet down twixt the older men and roses once with beads of salty water and we are misunderstanding as we walk through the corridors of our life and try to find where to knock but we get lost in the freezer and we die. The next day we are staff food for the restaurant on the first floor.

This is how it works, this is where death takes us and this where life leads us and we're here, stuck between the shit, the dirt, the goo and the filth. I no longer hope for a messiah or an anti messiah, I'm just in the know that you and I will dwindle away because it's what we do, it is the lead we follow, the clue we're seeing so clear infront of us and every friend we have now will dwindle away as we move or they move and in the beginning we're at their cottage but after a year or so the phones die too and something has passed. That is all. It is an observation, nothing more. This is how we will fade away for we do not deserve a savior, we do not need a savior for we have each other and that is all we can hope to understand.

The hate is dying in my stomach. I don't have time anymore for hate and I miss it, I miss the edge it gave me. I miss it when I want to batter skulls or go on a rumbling rampage brandishing japanese ceramics through a restaurant populated with the people I will spend my time in hell with. It is dying but it will not die, I don't think it can, I don't think I can let it rest for I will need it again and until then I cherish the memories we've had together, hate and me.

[Shit]

The great question I would ask my great grandfather: "When we die, do we lose the world, or do we inherit it?"