The dead
 

All the dead resemble each other & not themselves. They look like wax puppets, their face locked up. One seems to want to tell them, "What have I done to you?" It seems like a definite quarrel.


--Jean Cocteau

--I am the resurrection and the life. That touches a man's inmost heart.

--It does, Mr Bloom said.

Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the six feet by two
with his toes to the daisies? No touching that. Seat of the affections.
Broken heart. A pump after all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood
every day. One fine day it gets bunged up: and there you are. Lots of
them lying around here: lungs, hearts, livers. Old rusty pumps: damn the
thing else. The resurrection and the life. Once you are dead you are dead.
That last day idea. Knocking them all up out of their graves. Come forth,
Lazarus! And he came fifth and lost the job. Get up! Last day! Then every
fellow mousing around for his liver and his lights and the rest of his
traps. Find damn all of himself that morning. Pennyweight of powder in
a skull. Twelve grammes one pennyweight. Troy measure.

~James Joyce, Ulysses

Dying is a very dull, dreary affair. And my advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it.

W. Somerset Maugham (1874 - 1965)

His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

James Joyce, The Dead

HOLY MOLY! That is a SCREAM!

looks like Groucho with a guitar and a white wig. oh yeah, and glasses. and a beard.
on second thought, it doesnt look like Groucho at all. nevermind.

'Now everything goes on in town as if no one died any more'

- Philippe Aries

Romy