Consumed by the mystery of life, I face the intrigue of death. This existence of ours seems to be based on little more than mundane intrigues. Death remains the fundamental mystery, the one and only common denominator for us all. Rich, poor; up, down; in, out; on, off. Life is counting the days, without paying too much attention to the count.
We are immersed in the count, in the cunt, swimming among the sperm, handling the keys of protection, recreation and survival in a semi-conscious communal jerk. Is there a jerky way of dealing face to face with the mystery of death? Now you see me / now you don’t. See you later. The appointment was at five. I know I am three hours late, but I got entangled. Can we reschedule? OK. My people (the life people), will talk to your people (the death people). Or better yet, tell your people they can talk to my people any time soon. OK? Maybe not. The jerky way doesn’t have enough gas to take you around the bend. My grandfather, in his nineties, dozing after lunch, used to say: I’m not dead yet. I’m on and off. My eyes are closed but I’m listening to you yap away. Please continue. I’ll let you know when I go. Bye.
Paiting: Imaginaria 2 from Imaginaria