September 10th

 

I remembered the

long shadows racing across

the shingle shoreline

faded photographs

the certainty of old age

disenchanted hearts

April 17th

When I die I want

my body to feed the earth

trees born inside me

I was thinking today, how cremation seems such a waste. I’d like to be buried so what nutrients I contained be returned to the earth, seeds germinating in what was the shell of my body. Obviously only when I’m dead, I’d be quite frightened if I was buried alive.

I think a combination of reading Murakami, the rainy cold change in the weather and listening to Mogwai in the car has contributed to these thoughts. But it’s not negative in the slightest, not an obsession with death, just an observation. Tomorrow I might think about Houmous or South London. Could be anything.