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2004-04-14 - 1:35 p.m. It is almost eight in the morning and I, June, have yet to see my bed. We are at odds, I think, for I have not seen it in a few days. I find Amarante's "Perfect Stranger" in my search for refuge. For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come. - William Shakespeare in Hamlet. Wagner is appropriate. The sun is rising, but as I read, I feel my death as strongly as I feel my life, and the time constraint sends me to a panic. The piece flows in a technical, almost satirical manner. It is as though the narrator is already dead, hollowed out inside, and therefore not just unafraid, but completely nonchalant about dying. "I look inside this natural tempest that life fears for durability, reliability, and reassurance. Being centuries old it is capable of providing durability and stability where life varies, is chaotic, and lasts little time. I find peace in the disposition that through death everything could be the same forever. A soul bound routine expressing everything you ever were and might have become. How comforting to think of the relaxation and revelation death can provide." I find it beyond me that something so thought-provoking could be born of the Walmart prompt. This is indeed a beginning for a rich stream of consciousness, and if time allows, I would strongly suggest a more reflective rewrite. Also, the piece could use a little editing in terms of grammar and spelling, and the aforementioned development, as it seems to end rather abruptly. Other than that, A Perfect Stranger is a very refreshing piece, to be had with a double espresso on an early Monday morning. ERATO ERATO ERATO ERATO ERATO ERATO ERAT Death is no fearsome mystery. He is well known to thee and me. He hath no secrets he can keep to trouble any good man's sleep. Turn not thy face from Death away. Care not he takes our breath away. Fear him not, he's not thy master, rushing at thee faster, faster. Not thy master but servant to the Maker of thee, what or Who created Death, created thee --and is the only mystery. -- The Book Of Counted Sorrows When the world is lost to me, I become lost to myself. It is during those times that death introduces itself as the appearance of neutrality. The only being never to sit on the sideline, but in the middle of the field whether it distracts the game or not. Also, it is those times that I nestle my pessimistic face into the lineaments of death's succorable neck, held snug within the clouded arms of infinity. I look inside this natural tempest that life fears for durability,reliability, and reassurance. Being centuries old it is capable of providing durability and stability where life varys, is chaotic, and lasts little time. I find peace in the disposition that through death everything could be the same forever. A soul bound routine expressing everything you ever were and might have become. How comforting to think of the relaxation and revelation death can provide. Death is a knowledge profitable being from forever. All knowing;all seeing. Death is my jesus. A being who is never late, never crucial or harsh, never punishing, and never abandoning leaving me to believe that it's hands are as gentle as the mothers caress at entry into breath;therefore, I am not frightened. In fact I long to meld into death as a lover longs to caress her long lost mate. I follow death all around; It is in the papers, on the news, and through the eyes of humanity. To be comforted by death is often my spark to live. My obssession - my own self-proof that beyond death I will have safety. Death does not harm, but provides safety to shelter for the already extinct by walking us hand in hand to that unchanging place our souls can be revivified. It is the perfect stranger and I sometimes wonder if people really fear death itself or falling in love with it... In part, fear of it may be due to fear of the change that comes with or after death, but maintaining my theory, there is this extraordinary part of every human being especially this day in age fascinated by death. They no longer fear death as they once did but embrace it. They embrace the darkness therefore embracing death itself. People do not fear the black god; in fact, I do not believe they ever have. I believe they only fear things associated with death such as the pain they might go through or their families might go through. It is such things as this that insert fear into the cognition of humanity. Change is nothing, but a sparking annoyance.
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