Without A Name

Averse to labels
we plumb the unexpected
essence of this thing--
even without a name,
absent signifier,
we exist together in comfort

At night in sweet embrace,
draped in fabric and
lacking form from outside,
knowledge of our bodies our own,
we do nothing but smile;
lithe creatures lingering, in scene
most consider phantasm.

Spectacle(s)

It seems odd to find spectacles in a graveyard. After all, what is it that the dead really can see? Or, as importantly, what would they want to see now that they are dead? Alas, nothing. But this all is part of the spectacle of body preservation. To embalm, bury and even entomb there are specific procedures, money, and a great deal of time required. There is, perhaps, no greater example of the spectacle than Lafayette Cemetery in New Orleans where this photograph was taken. Here opulence is not hidden. Featuring above-ground monuments and mausoleums (in the style of Parisian cemeteries), some are indeed simple, but by and large you are in awe at towering stone structures and tombs that make you want to uncover the mysterious lives the enshrined once lived. While all of the spectacle seems useless coming from someone who does not believe in an afterlife, who sees death not as an ascent but instead a decomposition, it is nonetheless beautiful in part because it seems so futile. While I may see no spiritual value in the cemetery, rays of sunshine in the late afternoon dance over the stones and cast shadows I have never imagined before. The beauty lies in this absurdity.

As I pass by the spectacles on my way out, I know that they have no purpose, but it is precisely because they will sit there waiting, until taken or disrupted by weather, that they are illuminating. They are not for the dead. The dead cannot see any longer; their eyes have decomposed. They are but skeletons now, frames of their former glories and shortcomings. Instead, this human possession is there for the living, spectacles to preserve the spectacle of faith, reminding me of the lengths to which families go to provide a comfortable eternal life.

Sunsets

Something about sunsets always gets me,
but what exactly it is seems obscured,
as if it was shrouded by a dense fog.

Perhaps it is the fact that every colour is never the same.
One day you have vivid pinks,
the next you have bold oranges and reds.
Or in the case of the other night,
a deeply unsettling purple coloured smoke from factories.

Perhaps it is because they represent a certain finality,
the end of a day,
the passing of time.
Whereas sunrises are invigorating,
sunsets bring about a rumination.
You think not of what you will do,
but what you have done.
It's as if you are untying the knot you made for yourself in the day,
working backward to deconstruct what has gotten jumbled.

Or perhaps it is that sunsets are just so wondrous
because they are always unexpected,
mirroring the life with leave with a certain
aesthetic beauty our own experiences almost certainly do not have.
Part of the beauty is the colour, but equally as important
is the arrangement of these colours, the whole image,
the canvas.

Whatever the case may be,
I have witnessed two of the most beautiful sunsets
in quite some time,
leaving me deep in thought and looking
forward to the end of another day.