So what is the opposite of this death thing? A dream?
The lights on. Arising. Awakening. Understanding a pack of lies then knowing they’re lies.
That kind of awakening.
Lights on to the bird’s chirp. The humming engines and the tire treads on pavement.
A dog chewing a bone stuffed with peanut butter.
Tiny drops of mist falling on the risen forehead, drops of the round trip – from cloud in sky to changing river to monster sea to forehead and back again.
Awake in the dream.
Nothing wanting but awake.
All recordings go – the stage lighting, the characters, the hitting of marks and lines, dialogues gone haywire to the delight of a phony audience.
Giddy improvisation for the butts in seats. CGI for producer, produced and product.
All senses recording. Proof of undeath.
That’s life. That’s what people say. As the birds chirp and forget. As the cars go by to places they’ll never know. Drivers within forgetting every little precious moment.