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The Funeral
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Early Writings Past away. Out of existence. Wierd to say I once was one of them. Wierd to say I read another obituary, but now I see my own, I feel the posts that hold me snap, suddenly I plunge into a universe I have created, my homeland-earth.
The creases in my body are drawn out, my imprefects limit my creative abilities. Suddenly my sorrow enters puberty, and comes out a reflection of my will. Seduction to the final frontier is not necessary. Death is the finishing of a test, to see if we can discover the real power of humanity. Is it how much we can conquer on this puny sphere? or is the answer sitting wtih us, controlling our every reflex? our every...thought...?
Prolonging our funeral?
