A single matter of life and death

life brought

by the rush of blood of two

egg meets seed,


from there on –

meeting adjourned –

is life

bringing to life

the turtling

day by day

one way


experience of death.


Consciousness would be the giving to death a face.


Politics doing

grave-yard provision

grave-yard setting

grave-yard management.


Popularity, based on fashionable headstone mineralisation

but with everyone knowing true beauty to lie in the 6 feet lying beneath all of that.


Which also means every discovery taking us, each time, about another six feet further into something than before


ever more precise digging tools

ever more floorless hoist technologies

ever more permanent writing materials.


Where doubt and guilt are about second-guessing 6,

whether or not 7 or more

or 5 or fewer

would have been a better death-depth for the rest eternal

after all.


And the religious debate hole and epitaph symmetries.


And the philosophers kill time by wanting to know how possible it is to accept life as the experience of death whilst sametime affirming death as the death of experience

and the most encouraged amongst them take up the question with chaotic glee and say:

if no other experience than life itself

then no other experience of death than life itself

no other life than this dead-end dead-ended experience of life itself

all experience dead-ends in itself

which, surely, is fatal enough to constitute a definition


with the addendum that:

life as the experience of death is probably more about preparation

for an eventual meeting

since life is already, and death is on the way

the way-ward differentiator

so more about preparation than an undifferentiated state of an ever-dying same –

and does this not indeed look a lot like the patient waiting for something to happen of everyday life, after all?


(Death is what differentiates life.)


And the scientists getting along best of all, tracking and tracing everything in its deadest form, its most buried state, inert, building and refining a corpse of knowledge more and more suited to the prolongation of death, with arrogant apathy demonstrating just how far out six feet can walk, cataloguing how widely and untidily death can subsist, at all the temperatures in all the darkest and smallest places.


And each of them with their own expectations

their own exceptions

their own thoughts on the death of life


Politics full of killers who only differ on deciding the most appropriate way to let the people die


With the popular always giving death a lively quality


The navigators heading to uncover the graveyard of time, histories of the dead and buried, new routes to the roots of burial site historical experience

for there are collective forms of death which likewise lose consciousness in cadaverous form, mummified form, collections buried away in their very own archives of decay


whole cultures have to be buried,

their subterranean arrangement setting and resetting present graveyards

and future graveyards, too


once declared full

the graveyard itself gets buried


The religious, in turn, believe that death is the same as life but without any more death


The philosophers become failed poets


all poets are failed philosophers

about learning “how to die”

though every time

in the teachings they leave behind

always end up teaching more than they ever meant to


And the scientists are all about death by delaying the death of experience

a special sort of slip into the fatalism of the world

never quite managing to match up the experience of death with that which gets deferred again and again by the pursuit of its knowledge: death itself

experience (of death) is their key word

leaving something out



the scientific touch murders with every incidence

life without death

is life without life

the deadliest of all


too much of the scientific

a sociology repeated unquestioned

would eventually leave life and death experientially undifferentiated


(of all the different nightmares of nothingness,

immortality is both the longest

and thus the most disturbing)


but no one will ever have their own way forever

but everyone will keep making it their own way for all time to come


But above all, there are the people who are all-in-all some of all of these

and some of none of them

who mourn despite themselves

and who mourn because of themselves


but above all, they mourn the death of those whose experience of death never reached the age of wisdom

the death of those whose experience of death never aged beyond its first experiences

those who fell below lonelier, poorer selves than others given the chance of a matured death, a knowing death


young death gives the experience of death an uneven darkness,

gives death a very sombre scale of differentiation


but the cultivated death

on the other hand

pickled alive in the positively bacterial

marinated awake in timely putrescence

the least mournable of all

the one thing that should be celebrated

a death that knows death by the time of its death

whose terminal experiences have had the occasion to look back and look back over and see and acknowledge the triumph of the decay

the glory of the finished and the temporarily postponed death of the unfinished

and watch everything, whether in memory or through wisened expectation, die all over again

one more time

as if only finally now staring fully, squarely into the eyes of the face of death


the moon of experience, finished, ready, ultimate

to eclipse the light

life and death together, at last


under one and the same breath


this is Death that must be celebrated

since it is Life able to be celebrated,

the closest ever gotten to a proper meeting.

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