From EYE SKIN by J.D.Brayton

There’s a spark of life in everything, son, a spoon a stone a shingle and a pencil. There’s a backstory we learn even by our own death. Especially then. First: past a certain stage death stops pain and fear because there are no other credible options to the surety, the certainty, the final moment where a transmutation occurs. I find that comforting. I wish you would understand this. You are my corporal projection, part and parcel, foot and hand, tooth and follicle. Give this foolishness up. Come to me forever. Be as we all know in our hearts we are and ever Shall be. You aren’t my mother. She would have invoked Christ. My daddy too. You are a voice of nothing but capitulation. You will lose nothing, son. You will cease the folly, the ultimate lie. The ego you needed to exist in your strongest most prescient dream will dispel, be shown to be simple particles and carbon. Millions of years has this been so. You no longer feel pain. This, in itself, is a gift. Come with me. Or don’t. My patience is inexhaustible. Ever have I stood everywhere, anywhere, in the last beam of yellow light.
I can’t simply give it over. I can’t…I can’t…I can’t.

Prudence rocks2Prudence rocks2

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