Blogging will be a bit macabre the next few days: by the time you read this, I will have been to a funeral this week. My executioner shtick discomforts me today as I was indeed one of the very last to converse with the deceased.
The dead always serve us well,
Speaking to us through our imaginations,
Validating hopes and claims as the living can not.
And who can argue with them in their sober, stable orbits?
To us who live, they work like gods,
Addressable but not persuadable.
May any real gods guard the dead from misinvocation by the living until our consciences need no such crutches.