The feet to the rhythm of a fading beat. Vibrations fallen on deaf ears, muscles flexed postmortem on the ground. A gaunt affect grows into the plump face, which sullies its charisma – which strips away its personage. The soul leaves the body, the person leaves the body, and meaning leaves the body. And the body becomes a burden, treated the same only by gravity; everything has changed. The corpse earns a tomb, and a finite privacy. The dirt’s seeds will take root into a rusted cavity. They’ll invade the corpse and show it complete depravity. Depraved of the self, the corpse grows a fertile wealth. Sown into the ground, then, are infinite mementos defining what it once meant to live a true life.
If the corpse is the ground, then it is tread upon commonly. If the ground is the Earth, it is moved around by gravity. It is rooted in the galaxy. The body is lost to the void of the world, the mind and spirit are off to gain some pith of the ether. The mind-spirit crash back from whence they came like a trampolined comet, approaching mach 10 and splintering into fractals caught by clouds and abated by atmospheric vapors. Breaching the stratosphere in a million parts of the whole, growing ever more vague in identity…reaching Saturn’s belt, and pushing past the horizon of the unknown.
Faith and imagination tether the pieces of our parted selves to what is fathomable: existence where there should be nonexistence. The limits of the freedom of parted souls, however splattered against the tapestry of the empyrean, are determined by what we idealize for them.
I am barely confident in the following statement:
We are happy they have found a perfect absence.
Because I miss myself. I let myself die when I etch into the paper. My lead runs short in supply. My lead runs short and I die. My soul is the dye of a page yet undefined by significance. Let my person be the root of a tree who produces the paper for which my writing is printed upon thousands of times. My soul could live rooted with my body. My soul could be cut down and leave my body. Who knows? But bury me in a forest. Bury me in a forest. No one will imagine me away.