do not ressurect

The opening of the star is a pitch black at the beginning and the end of the alchemization process. There's no other star in mind. I've done this twice at this point. A forced recall with a lack of hindsight. It's not a cycle. It's not a curse. It's just death again. That's the point.

There's nothing spiritual about death from my experience. It's not a fabrication nor an illusion, but an isolated event amongst infinite existence. Don't fall for its commonality. This time I witnessed an old woman in her studio apartment begging her God to send her more than thirty dollars in the mail. She was crying on her knees. That's all she has to feed herself this month. As I contemplated giving her money her spine stretched and bent all the way back until the crown of her head touched the floor.

"There's nothing charming about growing old" my own voice said. The scene changed, it always changes.

They aren't my life flashing before my eyes, they're retrospectives without purpose. A dark tunnel of mumbling. It's neither dark or bright. It doesn't touch surrealism. I think of so many things I should have done or have yet to do like there's a chance to do so. I think about my grandmother everytime I do this. Last time I felt the fear, this time what the mind becomes. It doesn't flicker nor sing, it bites at itself until it can't. There's nothing blurry about death.