Meat-2 veg-Potatoes

Unclasping my hands,

I realise I am praying reverently to Guyamos Sonora.

Yesterday my affiliation with Radiohead was revealed;

Their melancholy is perhaps at the heart of all of us?

Perhaps our mortality is dialectically referred to in their music?

Not unlike Diego Reviera crying with his wife’s 2 dimensional crushed body in his hands, while she paints her shattered still born child.

Lupe later looks wisely at Frida with the mono-brow and savagely shortened hair,

And tells her her paintings strike a chord within us all;

Frida shares the torture of loss, love and physical pain;

We are not alone after all.

Her third eye consoles.

Not ‘the one eyed shrews that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom’ of Allen Ginsberg;

Although, our pain might cause us to do such a thing?

While reading about death practices in Japan

I was asked how I deal with death.

The second time in 24 hours.

My only answer, in articulately expressed, is

Death is spiritual;

A bridge from this cosmos to the next.

Like Pontifix

Whether one can say this or the next is better means nothing to me,

All I know is that I am guided by an ancestral voice,

And I too, in time, will become that voice for others.

The horrors of facing the self have been denied thus far,

Maybe in moments of the self Mortality will become like Moloch?

The shadow that kidnaps.

But for now, I fear not death, but pain

And it is for this reason Radiohead and Frido Kahlo

Are mine for the taking.