a short recollection

one use of social media that remains behind the limelight, in a mechanical hush-hush, is that of the conveyor of death news. overtaking the job of the elusive postmaster from the golden era of paper mail, this avenue, rather, this route of social media is a bold spin-off. uncalled for, perhaps, but in careful existence; brash alertness and dreadful alarm, matter-of-fact and dispassionate.

the rabble-rousing, ruminating siren went off before my eyes, Tuesday night, with the circuitous rollicking of elegies, outcries, outpourings, down-pourings, remembrances, confessions and hysteria. Christopher, my chum from college, is dead. his blood cells were awry, imposing and misbehaving to a point where they needed help from brother cells, and in spite of a temporary fix, the hullabaloo never went away. this led to severe physical constraints, mellowing of humor, a daily worry, indecent consumption of ATP and glucose, perhaps even bodily nitrogenous substances leading to a severe internal atrophy where the boy became, merely, a conflation of chaotic biological processes capped with the essence of a personhood. but the liveliness was unfazed, the spirit of cheerfulness untouched and the population of smile preserved. when physiology and pathology collide in devilish throes of chance, the foundation of routine disrupts. the needle of the spinning top, keeping alive the breaths and pulse of a nurtured existence, slip and slide, against the effect of lawless gyroscopics, and come to a halt. the cartons and crates of the human machine fold, in and of itself, into a tidy molecule, to be later stowed away on the sleeve of a memory. and that is the end of human x; now a statistic, a collage of photographs, a foliage of thoughts, but above all, back to being a part of Nature's maniacal carbon treadmill.

you may call this train of thought inappropriate, belittling or even inconsiderate. you may emphasize the point that x is now in a 'better' place and you could possibly be right. i cannot, however, make that visceral separation or, rather, transposition to a heaven or a hell that does not exist in my closet. to maintain a serene sense of tangibility, then, x gets recycled in Nature's machinery and continues to exist in my planet as carbon sub-structures; perhaps as nutrients for bacteria, plants or crustaceans that cradle up the food web in conspicuous bellies or as fuel for volcanoes. who knows? i do not. but this non-other worldly existence brings about in me a sense of closure, while minimizing a feeling of ungraspable loss, division and piercing numbness. when i think of x, i look at a lump of clay and find in there a peaceable home for an ex-presence, with nanometer arms and whiffling aromas percussing around its amorphous boundaries. perhaps the idea is semi-humanoid, this envisioning of a person in the middle of an organic soup. but the broader scope lies in explaining the origin and demise of human animals within the spectrum of a touchable, liveable, adventure-loving Nature. this brings me comfort, composure and an impetus to carry-on.