An aroma, more than a flavour

My dad died in his kitchen
Collapsed in a heap in
The corner near the kettle
Vomit on the cupboards and floor

Outside a patch of driveway was
Dug up to prepare for
Inlay of nearby bricks
His mattock carelessly dropped
To one side

The paramedics and cops
Think he felt a twinge
A bit ill
While digging
Went inside to relax
Grab glass of water
Too late

But not me

On the table
Next to his armchair
When we cleaned up the next day
After the coroner took him away
Before our mum could see
We found a
Single chocolate biscuit
His evening with cuppa treat
He was making a cup of tea
Died doing something he loved

when cogito fails (x-post)

what am I this I
which I
this me that I see that is seen
that is the me you see as you
as I see you
which I
who am I
what am I
why am I
where am I
who is this me an abstract inexact abstraction
from the self that is perceived as me
or as you
if it’s you whose perception is required
for existence of this persistent form
that is the I that I believe to be me
if me is real as I
as you
but real is relative
how relative to relate to the self
to my self
to your self
your reality different to mine
you see me as you
I see you as you and me as me
but this me this self
is ill formed sense of being
belonging to what or where is anybody’s guess
but not mine
I choose not to choose
not to guess or require
suggestion of reality
being that which I would be
or you believe me to be
is enough for some
but for me I don’t know
this me I don’t really know
but exist within this frame of perception
this me that is I
that is the you that you see
is this really the me that I see
are we one
this you in your eyes
this me in my mind
who are we
this I me you conglomeration of perceived beings
forming the self
this self
my self
which defies definition or serious inquisition
as to purpose
without purpose I am adrift
in this sea of self
selflessly see that around me as unreality
questioning all that is perceived
this self then questions it’s perception of self
am I
is me
does my self equate with being
if perception is to exist
and perception is questioned
where I this self
my self
this I that is the I that I see
that is me
the you that you perceive
or do you
do I
is this self perceived
or self deceived
by that which we trust in
to deliver us from void into being
into meaning
in existence we trust
but by perception do we measure
the immeasurable
with fallible translation
of sensation
by the mind
the infallible most foolable tool
able to do so much with so little
must all of it be real
or just that reality which agrees with self perception
of meaning
of being
of that I which is me
that is dissipating
instigating
anticipating
the destruction of the self
this entropic being
going the way of all things thermodynamic
breaking down
returning to null state
apathetically allowed not encouraged
as much as this me appears to do
with excess and stress
I digress from me
follow paths outside the borders of my self
this self
whose existence I begin to question
to doubt
without doubt I do not exist
if unable to question that which is around
do I exist at all or drift
in void and null
but if I exist to question
can I exist without question
of my own existence
but losing track of that
certainty fallacy of modern thought
can I still exist at all
but what is existence
but awareness of self
and what is awareness
if not the need to question
to doubt
but doubting that which is perceived
if I am but perception
am I in fact I
is this me
a me at all
am I at all
or am I not
and if I am not
are you
in that you perceive me
or do I perceive you perceiving me
who is deceived
if you are deceived
or if I am deceived
in that you are not of outside
but within me in my perception
this self deception of being
then reliance on your perception
to give me being
lacks substance
insubstantial this construct that is I
that is this I
that is me
is not to be
all that is believed

differences

(note: written some time ago, just reminded of it recently)

If I were older
I would tell you of the divinity of your beauty
And you would think me eccentric
Above and beyond the lust
That gives motive to compliment
You would accept my words
The kiss I place on your hand
The cheekiness of my flirting

If I were younger
My clumsiness would leave me tongue-tied
Or prone to outbursts that you may find cute
That you could call youthful infatuation
Or something equally dismissible

But I am as I am
The age that I am
The man that I am
And I want you
Oh, I can stand back and give you honest appreciation
Of your face
Your voice
Your mind
But you would believe what you would
Believe that at the age that I am
At the stage that I am
That there’d be an underlying motive
To compliment
To flirting
That I am at that awkward age
Beyond youth
But not yet distinguished enough
To evade suspicion
And hell, you’d probably be right
Sometimes
But I’m too old to disseminate
And too young to pretend
I don’t want to fuck
So make up your own mind
For what is attraction after all
But one body’s recognition
Of want for another

And yeah, we can just be friends
I’d like that
But what the hell
You are attractive
And I am interested
So if you want to
Let me know
And if you don’t
Well
We’ll talk about the latest book we’ve read
Or movie we’ve seen
Or wine we’ve tasted
And pretend there are no differences between the sexes

Vale Mr Gemmell

And when Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer.

David Gemmell is an author who has made me cry, laugh, and rejoice like few can. An avid fan I had until the last week read all but three of his books. Epic tales of flawed heroes, courage, and human endeavour in the face of trials and tribulations few of us will with luck realise.

And within which are found values I can only hope I have the strength to at least emulate in some manner.

Never violate a woman, nor harm a child. Do not lie, cheat or steal. These things are for lesser men. Protect the weak against the evil strong. And never allow thoughts of gain to lead you into the pursuit of evil.

The last three books that I had as yet not read were the trilogy based on the tale of Troy, on which he was working at the time of his death in 2006. The third in the trilogy, aptly titled Fall of Kings, ably completed by his wife Stella.

The last books he ever wrote. The last of his novels still waiting for me to read.

Tonight I finished Fall of Kings.

And wept.

just my way of thinking

A friend once suggested to me that it’s easier to be beautiful in the dark.

I disagree.

It’s easier to be beautiful in the light.

In the dark you can’t hide behind your appearance.