She,
a wayward rock comes flying
through the vault of heaven crashing
into you.
You
... [+]
Death.
The process and length of the decay of flesh, any flesh, depends. Little things. Big things. Many things. But generally once the rot has set in, this process is irreversible. You see, organisms don’t usually begin to decay until some sort of death has occurred.
Death.
An organism dies. Then, it begins to decay. This is the way it goes. This is the process. Eventually it will be both reabsorbed back into the earth and consumed by other, still living creatures. Food for the hungry, dutiful decomposers. This is a clever system, this constant cycling of living things and dead things. Forever and ever, until forever is no more and there is nothing.
What of the mind? The flesh is living. But what of the prison of flesh that holds the mind in place? Holding it securely. How do we measure the cycles of life and death of such things, when the driving forces of all of the flesh on earth are invisible to the naked eye? To all of the instruments and machines that those very minds have invented.
Death?
Imagine that the mind is a living, breathing thing. Think of that funny abstract which allows you to read these very words, that grants you the ability to think about them and how they make you feel. What does that look like? Think of this thing.
Now think of it dying. Think of it dying, slowly. Painfully slowly, with tiny little pieces of it being reduced into something necrotic. It can smell the decay closing in. It begins to give off the scent of the corpses of the past, before it is even fully gone. It can taste the putrid apathy creeping in. Imagine the flesh of a body that is just that. Flesh and bone and blood, empty and void of anything because every single ounce of life is seeping out.
Drip. Drip. Dripping out.
It begins to lumber around aimlessly. Defecating and fornicating and consuming.
Death.
Should you contact the doctor, the necromancer, the priest or the executioner?
The process and length of the decay of flesh, any flesh, depends. Little things. Big things. Many things. But generally once the rot has set in, this process is irreversible. You see, organisms don’t usually begin to decay until some sort of death has occurred.
Death.
An organism dies. Then, it begins to decay. This is the way it goes. This is the process. Eventually it will be both reabsorbed back into the earth and consumed by other, still living creatures. Food for the hungry, dutiful decomposers. This is a clever system, this constant cycling of living things and dead things. Forever and ever, until forever is no more and there is nothing.
What of the mind? The flesh is living. But what of the prison of flesh that holds the mind in place? Holding it securely. How do we measure the cycles of life and death of such things, when the driving forces of all of the flesh on earth are invisible to the naked eye? To all of the instruments and machines that those very minds have invented.
Death?
Imagine that the mind is a living, breathing thing. Think of that funny abstract which allows you to read these very words, that grants you the ability to think about them and how they make you feel. What does that look like? Think of this thing.
Now think of it dying. Think of it dying, slowly. Painfully slowly, with tiny little pieces of it being reduced into something necrotic. It can smell the decay closing in. It begins to give off the scent of the corpses of the past, before it is even fully gone. It can taste the putrid apathy creeping in. Imagine the flesh of a body that is just that. Flesh and bone and blood, empty and void of anything because every single ounce of life is seeping out.
Drip. Drip. Dripping out.
It begins to lumber around aimlessly. Defecating and fornicating and consuming.
Death.
Should you contact the doctor, the necromancer, the priest or the executioner?