Pockets In Our Skin

April 5, 2012 § Leave a comment

No one seems to want to die alone. But of course we all do die alone, as dying is something, by its nature, prima facie, maybe a priori, you must do alone. And this isn’t just about assuming a sort of solipsism; there is something more isolated about experiencing death, even dying in the arms of your lover, than say going to the fair with your lover. Yes, you technically experience both of these alone in the sense that we can each only experience ourselves. But there is a togetherness in going to the fair, a sum somehow, that doesn’t translate to dying.

Maybe it’s because you can’t talk about it afterwards. The debrief is such a pillar of happy relationships. The ability to work out outside of ourselves the past, to process, to comprehend the odd thing that happened at the party or the good sex or the national crisis. If I were god or the first particle that set our present winds to gust and our atoms to swarm, I would have made death a two part ordeal – death and then death. A special gene perhaps, a physiological phenomenon. Maybe not even all of you would come back. Maybe only your brain and your face. But a bit of you would wake back up, if only for a few moments, just so you could say, “Wow. How about that dying?” And maybe have a scotch and maybe a laugh about it. And maybe one more hug.

If I were god I also would have given humans pockets in their skin, for storing things when we didn’t want to wear clothes.

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