i think it fucks so severely that pretty much the earliest written text we have is the epic of gilgamesh. we have been so so sick in the head about grief and death and life beyond mortality for the entire time. we have been cruel and wild and stupid and loving and humbled over and over again. a thousand's thousand people related to the epic in different ways when it was first written and now, thousands of years later, we're still doing it. christ. fuck me. my friend is dead and the world is ashes in my mouth, and i can hear bunch of strangers from the edge of recorded history saying yes, in this you are like the mightiest of kings and the lowest of beggars. there is nothing to be done but to live.
Let the gate of sorrow be barred, let its door be sealed with tar and pitch. For my sake, interrupt the dancing no more, for he and for me, be happy and carefree.











