Thursday, June 17, 2010

Death is never very meaningful. You always feel you come away from it a little wiser but in truth its just the opposite. Its one of those things extremely simple to look at, but its consequences and this simplicity are so drastically different, and so very at odds with each other - no connection whatsoever, at least at first or even second glance - it leaves you a little empty because without even meaning to, you've spent a lot behind making some sense out of it. And its the same no matter what the death - whether its that of a baby crow or an animal you have brought in, thinking you could save it, or a human being. Although I'm glad the latter I've had very little first hand experience in seeing. The former is still as jarring every single time as ever, but rarely feels as pathetic. There's always a certain amount of dignity in every animal that dies, the dignity that comes out of, ironically, not having any human characteristics to begin with. But then again, that might just be the misanthrope in me speaking.

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