In the midst of life in our bodies on this earth, we are in death. Under your plump crimson lips, there are teeth.
Like zombies, we the living. Like zombies, like the caterpillar that a parasitic wasp has laid its eggs in. You are still alive; you still have carpool duty.
I think about, aging, illness and death and I think about Dia de los Muertos and how much more potent it is spiritually, making a dead loved one's favorite meal and having lunch in a graveyard for hours than giving candy to cute kids wearing superhero costumes or ninjas. That's child's play. American do. We can beat this thing!
Look at this animated meat, me tapping away at this circa 2005 keyboard, surrounded by my supplements and something like hope; it's obvious I am a nest for death. Les jeux sont fait, buddy. All you can do is dance to the horn section while you've got on the dancing shoes.