(no subject)
the gift of death - sometimes you can taste the autumn...an indifferent clasp of the hand, the look of an eye that won't look you in the eye, the corpse-like feel of those cool lips. these penultimate moments, second-to-last formalities, signal something of an end. and yet in this end, perhaps, a gift...the only gift that can be given, something of a death. the purses, the dinners, the movies - the paid for trinkets that attempted to enforce a bond - though more than likely marked a separation - were no gifts...they were debts; whether returned by gratitude, a hug, a kiss, a "gift" reciprocated - merely debt economies. but perhaps here, in this autumn, one can give unreciprocated, unreciprocated since such a gift has no donor - insofar as there is one to be indebted to. we give the gift of death - perhaps a provisional one - but one that nonetheless ends - provisionally - this violent exchange. may we then rejoice in winter.