ST106 ... My only true friend.... Death

you're always there...

You are always there, willing to listen, willing to help me understand or crush me then take me by the hand.

under the circus sands, nothing lasts, death comes walking

It seems that death has awoken. Its claws are everywhere. As age winds over the last hills death wraps itself around our friends, relatives, unknowns, it seems to blossom everywhere, through-out the valleys, ditches, even in the pages of our text, the burning news, you can't escape it. Death is out to get us.

So you live with one foot in the graveyard and the other on the beaches of your choice, dreams constantly unravelling into something, something alive, something for ever.. but it doesn't last, death comes walking, walking around your door.

I don't mind. I have you to talk to, You 'Listener'. I have these pages, empty and ready for your presence, your insight, your vision. 

You never let me down. You let me explain in detail every concern that traps me, every lift into the sky, every romance, every dream, nitemare…. you are my best friend, maybe my only friend, Listener.

In the last week i lost my last brother of blood and today i learned of a child hood friend that also flew off into your land, that space where we go after you suck the breath from our being. It's all a part of the system, i get it, but sometimes it is just so damn difficult to adjust without them, missing them, even if you don't see them often, it's nice to know they are still within grasp. So we move on, the memories of their existence fades into the future, gets clouded in the day. Sometimes some days are more difficult than others, because the ones we loved the most have left for you.. it is normal you say, understandable— nonetheless, nerving, tormenting, even worthlessness sometimes takes hold and stays for far too long.

mystery, never been photographed…. tho every shadow tries

Most move on, deal with it, the best they know how, they let the mist of the morning light lift and walk on where no shadow glows.

When you let me ramble on like this i feel that life somehow has some important significance that i can not get anywhere else. I've tried, you know i have, but it's just not the same. So many thoughts get interrupted, intercepted, twisted, turned into directions away from the power, corrupted, broken into fragments that are meaningless. Talking with others is so competitive, so noisy. That is why i always come back here to you. You are the only one i have found that truly listens, respects every detail of me.

What should i call you? Are you the one that names things, or is that i? I hear you, even the things that can not be named you describe. You take these unknowns and place them on the horizon. You tempt me to fall into them, the unknowns, to rise and collapse, to crawl to the edges, dive in, surrender, fall into the abyss, you must be some form of a nameless muse, a listener.

Are you with death, inside death, a part of death, death itself? Is this the place where nothing can enter and return. I believe i heard you say, ''any thing named of here is not of here'.

Death, you, my mystery, the mystery, you, death. Are all words just reflections of eternity that glisten for a moment then crumble into letters, symbols and fragments of ink and matter and specs of illusions, all fading back to you, you, silent mystery.

That is death, death is that, The Listener, the muse, the mystery, is it all one? are there gods in there? i get it, a mystery is a mystery is a mystery, just like a rose?

Nonetheless, i miss my brothers, sisters, friends, my lovers, dead and alive, love has its way, it's a mystery.

life is a mystery - death is a mystery - beauty is a mystery

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