the hour of our death

I am thinking pretty dark thoughts as I sit here amidst the piercing darkness tapping away at a reluctant keyboard, my fingers are automated, my gaze unmoving, my breathing uninterrupted save for the hint of hindrance as i draw every breath, it is probably safe to say, that I am trying to kill time, precious minutes of my life by typing down thoughts that are non existent, thoughts that have persisted in my head until the moment when I decide to elucidate them through the power of technology.

Its an unGodly hour in Carlton, I am certain that Melbourne has yet to sleep, so the few souls whose thoughts still wonder while their eyes are wide awake share this moment with me. I don't know why I can't sleep but I know I will pay for it dearly!

For now, it is just me and the world.

The silence of the night reminds me of my grandmothers death, how she shed tears before she succumbed to that eternal sleep, I cursed when I heard this, why after all she has been through, after all her faith in God, the prayers every single night as she lay in that bed for fifteen years, why did she have to go like that, why could she not have gone in her sleep, peaceful and silent. The feeling of helplessness that overcame all of us in that precious hour emphasises yet again the sad truth about death, that it takes as it may.

Ariès, Philippe was right in The Hour of Our Death, which says that death lurks at the edge of our consciousness, ready to destroy us and demolish whatever meaning we attribute to our lives.