Creatures of the Night
Fangs. Garlic. Wooden stakes. Long black capes and pale skin. The visual iconography of the vampire alone has been sufficient to cement them into the public consciousness, arguably more than any other supernatural or horrific creature. But, beyond a disturbing visual, the longevity and vibrancy of the vampire legend can be attributed to a single aspect of the legend: their being ‘undead’.
On Dead and Living Beings
Some will say there exists some relationship between being alive or a dead being, between death or the living being, but the two are distinct. Instead I will talk about how the two are entwined: death and living.
Nothing is Enough
In Buddhism, there are no definites. No definitions and no real lines, or labels explaining where you’re going and how to get there. Even the line between life and death is a blurry one. Buddhism is, in the most positive way, a religion about nothingness, and nothingness, as I have learned, is bliss.
Dance On My Grave
While death is not something that, strictly speaking, I look forward to, there are admittedly some reasons why I wouldn’t totally object to its occurrence. First of all, no more traffic. There are few things I hate more than travelling at less than 10 miles an hour in an automobile, and given the increase in the amount of cars on the road, I can’t see this problem becoming any less frustrating. As an aside, this alone is enough to convince me that biomedical gerontology is a complete waste of time. A thousand years of red lights? Fuck that.
In Praise of Culture
I could do one of those obligatory pieces on how death is just the beginning and that from destruction we get the very creation that brought about everything, but what I hope you get from reading this is that life should be taken in any manner but obligatory.
While I Have The Time
The number of calls I made to my best friend in British Columbia this summer almost made me broke. Long-distance is expensive and I don’t have a good phone plan. Here’s the thing though:
A Life of Love
The trips to the hospital had become routine. His family constantly surrounded the man lying in the bed four floors overhead. And it was a large family at that; he and his wife had produced five lovely children who had blessed him with thirteen grandchildren, and one great-grandson to date. His favourite nurse had once told him that she judged a man by his family, therefore he was one of the most beautiful men she had ever met.
Caninocide: Dog Murder in Denmark?
Several news outlets reported in recent weeks that some lawmakers in Denmark were considering a mass slaughter of certain breeds of dogs. The Pit-Bull terrier, as usual, is facing the guillotine.
Name in Stone
The southwest portion of Calgary, Alberta is defined by what looks to be a large wildlife area around the Glenmore Reservoir. The enormous size of this area nearly brings a stop to the urban sprawl, cleaving the city before the north portion circles down to collect the long column of suburbs that is the south.
DEATH for the sake of
Editor in the alley between the fax and printer, Ed for short. Once, a trusted friend and mentor. Now, standing with authority. Judging the writers who build the paper.
Last week, an editorial faux pas. The paper, riddled with inadequacy, devastated by the scrutiny of its readers.
“What do you have to say in your defense?” asked Ed.
Alive
John Broker was a farmer. I am writing a short story about death, and these are all the words I’ve got.
John Broker was a farmer.
I sit here wondering what kind of farmer John Broker was. Livestock? Crops? Was he a good man? Yes, he was a good man. Well, he certainly felt he was. The people of the village respected him. His wife loved him. His son, however, did not.
L’Autrichienne
Et voilà!
Madame la Guillotine fait son travail
Pinched blue lips and upturned eyes
La veuve Capet shakes October with
The even chimes of midi quart
Beholder I
“Do you know why you’re afraid? You’re afraid of losing the knowledge you gained in life…
The Regret of Death
My grandmother was diagnosed with late stage breast cancer over a year ago. For some reason, the late night phone call still came as a surprise. She’d been taken to the hospital, unable to move or speak through the haze of the morphine drip. I don’t know what her last words were, or what she felt as she passed. When my grandmother died, I was 8000 miles away and two years removed from the last time I had seen her.
On Noggles
Have you ever had one of those moments? You know what I’m talking about, when the car comes around the corner just a little too fast, when the campfire burns just a little too hot. When you start to smell propane. When you’re swimming and you can’t seem to hold your breath long enough to get to shore. When you’re lying on the sidewalk and your bike is lying in the middle of some poor bastard’s fender.
The Miracle of Death
Ain’t death grand? Seriously. Isn’t it?
Hold the knee-jerk reaction you’re undoubtedly having at this moment and think about it with me. Why are we, ‘the living,’ so quick to label death as a dark and terrible thing to be feared and avoided at all costs?
Death for Furniture: A Very Short Dialogue
CAT WOMAN: Hey!
WAITING WOMAN: I’ve been here for 15 minutes.
CAT WOMAN: Shit, sorry. My cat brought a live bird into my basement. It was flying into the windows and I spent the last half hour trying to deal with it.
WAITING WOMAN: What did you do?
CAT WOMAN: Chased it down with a fly swatter.
WAITING WOMAN: Are you serious?
The Manor House
I saw myself in gloomy halls,
sitting by the gloomy walls,
hoping for a day’s repress,
from this ancient loneliness.
Ghosts cried out from rooms’ unseen,
and memories remained un-clean.
On the Quest for Immortality
I built myself a coffin,
somewhere in my mind,
though being trapped for all eternity,
will only add to my condition…
Let’s Talk About Death, Baby
Zinta Avens Auzins and Joseph Craddock set out to explore the idea of death by interviewing each other.
Musing On Death
Sometimes I fear death and dying. Sometimes I ponder what will happen to me when the stone overturns. Sometimes I want to talk about death and then realize no one really likes talking about death. I mean, who talks about death? Don’t we all avoid it? Parents say, “Oh please,” and friends tell you to wear colour. Some say go to church. But beneath all the “cover,” there’s a shroud forming above as time goes by…and yes, it’s unmistakable.
Death as Spectacle
When I was twelve years old, the first person that really meant anything to me died of lung cancer. He had been ill for two months prior to his death, barely living on the IV drip that slowly passed through the plastic tubing and into his veins. He was my grandfather, Maxie Mask, and he died at age 65.
Why Fear Death?
Epicurus once said, “Death is nothing to us, since when we are, death has not come, and when death has come, we are not.” There are words such as these that float around in the midst of our existence, yet human beings are insanely preoccupied with death. They are preoccupied with the concept of it, how it happens, and what happens after they die. These are questions that are, for the most part, unanswerable.
