we were all just people in the beginning

everything posted is mine

[death-the-salesman]

‘And what are you?’ The world asked the myth, confused. The myth replied, ‘A boy of course.’ ‘You do not look like a boy.’ ‘I am what’s left when the boy is gone. You are what remembers me. We were all just people in the beginning’

Poetry in Reply. // h.p.

[forepop]

“‘And what are you?’ The world asked the myth, confused. The myth replied, ‘A boy of course.’ ‘You do not look like a boy.’ ‘I am what’s left when the boy is gone. You are what remembers me. We are all just people in the beginning’”

— Poetry in Reply. // h.p. (via death-the-salesman)

[forepop]

“‘And what are you?’ The world asked the myth, confused. The myth replied, ‘A boy of course.’ ‘You do not look like a boy.’ ‘I am what’s left when the boy is gone. You are what remembers me. We are all just people in the beginning’”

— Poetry in Reply. // h.p. (via death-the-salesman)

[death-the-salesman]

I have taken a Shags place on the rocks and now it is perched a couple yards away drying itself in the sun- shaking outstretched wings at the world like it is trying to scare something away. Head back, feathers flinging water droplets like glittering silver sparks.

- a brief impression of Lockmara // H.P.

[death-the-salesman]

Here is the sound of waves lapping, the feel of salt sting your cheeks

The streatch of blue sky-

On and on and on above you

- a brief impression of Lockmara // H.P.

[death-the-salesman]

Here are the cicadas-

as they were in Greece that summer when you were a child.

Hear how they always sound the way summer feels.

Something about their endless vibration in the air - the sound of a true summers day.

- a brief impression of Lockmara // H.P.

[death-the-salesman]

Here fat honey bees are tumbling over themselves to return to the hive

Extatic and determined in their work

The hum of their music a fundamental part of the song of summertime

- a brief impression of Lockmara // H.P.

[death-the-salesman]

composition on a museum wall // h.p

[death-the-salesman]

I fell into the art

This black hole at its centre

It was calling me closer

Asking me to not only look.

But to test. To touch.

I fell into its darkness

Into its heart.

I saw it from the other side.

I saw it inside out and with all its colours inverted.

I saw the world from where I had fallen.

It looked flat and open and perfectly frozen.

From the outside it was a work of art.

— the work of art // h.p.

[death-the-salesman]

Something is trying to kill me

Something I cannot name has been hunting me in circles that keep repeating

Something that I have known my whole life is now a stranger in this room and it wants to do me harm

I knew it’s name before. I called it here and sort its company

Later they will tell me it wasn’t real.

That it never was. That I made it all up. That I was dreaming.

Just a bad dream.

Like when you were a kid and monsters lived under your bed

When you knew where to look for them and in that. Knew where they wouldn’t be.

It’s not so clear now and I don’t know where to look to not see them anymore.

Perhaps I should be under the bed. Where it’s familiar at least.

Where I know the monsters names and there is a mutual understanding between us.

We both live here so let’s get on.

Isn’t that what we’ve been trying to do all along.

// h.p.

[death-the-salesman]

Processing is a Process™️. (Plan B journal, 2017)

1. Listen / to / me / now. / perhaps / this / is just / the way / things / are. / it hurts / and you / can hate / it / but maybe /there’s really / nothing to be / done. You can only / try so hard / as / hard as you can. / you can only work for so long before it / eats / the life out of you.

2. Listen / to / me / now. / perhaps / this / is just / the way / things / are. / it hurts / and you / can hate / it / but maybe / there’s really / nothing to be / done. You can only / try so hard. / as / hard. / you can only work for so long before it / eats / the life / and love from you.

3. Listen / to / me please. This is important. / Perhaps / this / is just who you are with. How / things / are. / It hurts. it hurts. It hurts. And you / can hate / it / but maybe it would be better to change. / Nothing to be / done. You can only look after yourself now. / You can only work / for so long before it stops being work and becomes a kind of self-harm.

4. Listen / to / me. / perhaps / this is how / things / are meant to be. You / can hate / it but it won’t change. / nothing to be / said on that. / you can only work / at something you hate for so long before it kills you.

5. Listen, listen listen listen listen, perhaps there are things that you can hate for only so long. Nothing to be done about it. You can only work as hard as possible.

Move on.

[death-the-salesman]

This is how you say the long goodbye

You know that it is coming. And you have to make peace with that.

Fire helps.

Burn the brash and scraps you find. Smoke thick as cream and heavy on the ground. It will cleanse the air in its wake. It will prepare the land.

Make the necessary preparations in case you need to intervene.

It is a hard and painful weight to carry but some things must be done at times like these. It is the responsibility of those left behind to make this as easy as it can be. For it is unlikely to be easy for anyone.

Know that this is what time will do. That this is how the balance is kept. That what remains is infallible.

Know that knowing this will not make it simple to allow.

There is no way to avoid its eventual arrival. And the time you have is not a given. So make sure you are sincere. Say all you need to say.

Be prepared for the final moments to not be pretty, kind or comfortable to see. Let it wash around you, let it take you in, let it be as it is. Witness is a sacred thing to be

Know that it may, in some strange way, be a relief when it does finally come.

Know that just being there, in whatever way you are, will mean more than what you do.

Know that, from this moment you will rise. Lacking a part of you and heavier for it.

But know that life will always carry on and for as long as you are, you must be a part of it. For those who no longer can.

— This is how you say the long goodbye // h.p.

[death-the-salesman]

“I am, once again, as I so often seem to be, terribly sad and tired from it all.”

— endless days turn to hopeless nights

[death-the-salesman]

It was a cursed gift. But a gift nonetheless.

[death-the-salesman]

You are standing there looking at me and you know all my secrets.

You are leaving, always leaving. Everybody is always leaving.

This time I will be the one to leave.

[death-the-salesman]

She asked me if I was sad,

I said no.

I said sometimes.

I said; it's more like it never goes away and never changes so I stopped distinguishing it with its own terminology.

It just is, and so I keep on going, Through it. Inside it. Despite it.

— "How are you feeling today?" // h.p.

[death-the-salesman]

"On a calm, clear night I took myself down to the sea. I walked out into the dark water. And when I was called back for fear of drowning I simply smiled and told them that I was going home.

I was returning to the stars I came from. And when I went, all I left was a ripple in the universe. "

– Everything is stardust, my dear. // h.p.