I turned 34 the other day and I had a dream and it reminded me of Memento Mori, to heed your death or to at least be aware of it's imminence and that you may not necessarily get the death you want. I had a dream....
A static loudness like a ringing in your ear, the alone sound that comes in the small of the night, those strange murmurings when I had a thought that everything you see and do, what you achieve, your friendships, the love, it all must be paid for by your death. That conversation with Oliver Watts when I first stumbled upon a memento mori tattoo whilst dining at Lucios. 'It's a form of art you know' he said. The little blue boy all painted in blue walking behind the Roman General and calling it out. Down through the ages of ages. Memento Mori!
Then I felt the hot stenching breath of my killer, someone close to me. A murderer. He whispered in my ear whilst he knifed me, close, very close, robbing me of my life, that he knew how awful it might be that this black soot, this awful black energy was the last thing I would feel in this realm; he thrived on the silent rage I felt. Cunning, he'd stabbed me where he knew I would be lame, giving him full control.
All those people that loved me; me, who was liked so much, bled out on the street where everyone could see but nobody seemed to watch.