We immortalize the flesh and blood in granite and stone, and then we lose the most important parts of them; our memories. The only part of them that lives on after they die. And most of us don’t even notice that we’re doing it. The memories just slip away without anyone fighting to keep them, without anyone giving a damn or trying to keep them alive.
Too busy with work and school and looking for someone to slam your genitals against. Too busy shuffling through life, day and in and day out, in spite of every single day being exactly the same as the one before.
I notice. I notice how much every day is so maddeningly the same as the one before, because there’s no distinction in my days anymore. It’s all just one thing. One long cycle of moments that are the same, over and over and over again, endlessly repeating, until death finally visits us, and it becomes our turn to be immortalized and forgotten.
Just a little taste of the current novel, taken -- out of context, of course -- from the third chapter. I stumbled upon it while backtracking and trying to confirm some dialogue tonight, and I just liked this bit so much I had to post it.
Which is not to say I'm patting myself on the back.
Oh, who am I kidding, yes I am.
2 comments:
The perceptions of other people and DNA are the only part of us that we know survive death and it is a fact I never grow tired of hearing riffed in a good novel.
Thanks for the comment, David, though Lord knows we're a long way away from knowing if this could ever be considered a "good novel."
Cheers,
Todd
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