Thoughts and Feelings for Death's Undoings

 When I hear of death, I don't always feel the remorseful showering of a tingling feeling at the idea of the coming fate, and leave it hovering in me because of who the person was or who others claim they were. I don't know them if at all then not at all, I don't know who the person could have been. They could have been good or bad, spiteful and deceitful or honest and lazy. I don't know what they've done for others, and commonalty doesn't say much for others.

 But I'm touched by the idea in my mind, and the thoughts coming from it. The fact is there was a loss of life. Experience and an experience link, connection, essence taking in and giving off, of life. A person, mind, behavior, and own unique collection of millions of moments from which they, a person with a face, have experienced. And experienced with others, in a connection, who have their own long story of emotion and senses to claim and be claimed by, from which they've been formed by, chewed by, given by, and sometimes swallowed by. I'm touched by this, that has surfaced in my mind. And suddenness is an especially cruel thing, but hearing how they've walked off past sunset with a palm in death's grip, I can't help but imagine it. What could have been through their mind, as I said suddenness is horribly unkind, perhaps what would be going through my mind, but a picture of a scene, seen behind the lids on a projected mental screen. And watching it, truly imagining it, my feeling delves into their mind in which feeling overwhelmes my mind. The emotional charge and thought, that as they watched themselves come closer to death, despite their character, despite good and bad and the flaws they and we al have, a similar charge of mental process and emotional connection to the thoughts we have and connection to the essences which combine to be life surfaced in their head. But a far greater one, one we'll all have, and so many images, reflections, and thoughts that must have overwhelmed them in emotion and realization immenselely, positively or negatively, and in this momentous moment despite their good or bad they are overhwelmed, affected, and changed by the face of ultimate death and a showcase of their life witnessed looking at his face. And become pure and completely true by the connections, feelings, emotions, perspectives, and thoughts of a last moment, changed in thought, perspective, and connection, and a final judgement of retrospective, and the touch of this relieves them of any grief or anger that would stem from the thoughts of coming infiniteness and the leaving of such a brilliant, complex, singular, beautiful, and godly thing. Life; then leaves them. Their sense of self, self, mind, conscious, dicipates somewhere and dies.

                                                                                       WHAT?

 This is what is to make one cry, the severing of a connection to, and loss of beautiful life.

 The image of the Native looking man who sold me a Collective Dreams shirt, whom I later found out to be the keyboardist of the dazzling local band, and whom I also later found out to have died that night. In a car crash, by himself heading home in a twilight of experience and night, probably pondering on thoughts of how the band is doing and what will be tomorrow, as he slumbers off behind the wheel, careening off the safety of four wheels and two lanes, crashing into a gaurd rail as death and sleep, peace, and blood seeps. And just before, his thoughts and moments peaked.

 Then I think of the drummer of Collective Dreams who I had just seen that night also and watched him play in energy with my interested gaze, and his horrible thoughts of sadness and remorse that must have been, in the loss of what must have been a good friend, that had to of been a bitter pain like vinegar against the skin to have sent him in a quick addiction for which the band could not play in his absence and rehabilitation.

 So many deaths I don't know of, some dead and not forgotten because they've not been know, so many deaths of dear friends and good kids, so many deaths of everyone who lives. And I can't know them, but I can imagine them in my head, and chances are it's happened and someone is dead.