You Can’t Escape Death And The Dead (And Nor Should You Want To)

I was sitting alone, not long before I turned in for the night. And all that I was surrounded by just struck me. The realities of it all. The sobering realities.

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Yes, the inescapable sobering realities. But you still have to sleep. The day still ends. One way or another, the day still ends.

You Can’t Escape Death And The Dead (And Nor Should You Want To)

I’m playing music by a dead musician. Tom Petty.

It was given to me by a now-dead friend. I still think of you, GT.

I’m playing it on a dead technology. Minidisc.

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I’m in a room lined with books. They’re all dead tree relics.

My reading light is old and has an incandescent bulb. A dying technology.

I’m writing these notes with a pencil on a sheet of paper. Who uses pencils and paper now? Dying technology.

I had a pencil and paper to hand because I’d been drawing cartoons. But they’re a dying format.

I’m pressing on a book of photos. No-one prints photos now. Another dying format.

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I’ve been taking paracetamol because my shoulder hurts. Deadening the pain.

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As I sit here, there isn’t a smart phone, tablet, laptop or PC in sight. They’re not dead. They’re the killers.

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It’s midnight now. But I guess that’s not the dead centre of the night. Hey ho.

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It is stupid to imagine you can escape death, in any or all of its guises.

And as you can’t be truly brave without knowing fear, so you can’t appreciate life unless you’re properly aware of death.

And it’s easy to think that’s all trite, obvious. But we can easily go to our own deaths failing to notice our own noses.