Ordinarily shocking

Will we continue to be shocked?
Decapitation, gas chambers and nuclear bombs are no longer shocking 
Novelty is needed.
As long as simply being alive is not shocking, we’ll never stop asking for more.

There is a horror movie playing, and we’re looking away.
Talking about movies, whether it’s frivolity or pretense, the very fact that skulls and decaying bodies are supposed to be scary is irritating, and shows the distance we maintain from the real decay.
The most horrifying I stumbled upon was in the margins of a newspaper, too short for my wandering mind to notice, it was captured by a deeper presence continuously scanning for hints of existence.
Here’s how it goes: Two longtime friends were enjoying a meal, when suddenly one of them chokes, the other one, horrified, gets a heart attack.
Within minutes they were both dead.
Within a number of years, dust.
What’s behind the next normal scene? Behind which tik of time is death hiding?
The luck of simply being, is constantly unnoticed.
There’s oxygen that just happens to be at reach.
There’s a moment I can’t define before it’s over, before it’s already too late.
The absurdity of death is that it’s constantly living, its terror is that it’s constantly a companion.
Every nothing between two moments is death. If one stops for a moment, lives the moment, embraces the moment, imagines what it is to be… or to not be, one might get a chilling glance of horror, the one that brings death to life, and brings “the scream” and the human condition at once. Yet somehow describing it is thrilling, gives a sense of satisfaction, makes me feel alive and, placidity in the forest nearby, for no reason makes me smile.
The stuff worth living for that I stumble upon is born out of beautiful randomness, like moments invested in good company. Then a day comes and we finally catch up with a body that started dying from the day it was born. Makes me want to dance just to go faster, makes me want to run and jump and climb, to go after the minutes, grow numb to the beat of my heart. Makes me see beauty in brief moments of existence, in small letters in the margins, speaking of two friends dying in laughter while sharing a meal. I can see them drowsy and loud, like sailors in Amsterdam, the ones Jacques Brel sings…How they embraced life, how they jived with their companions, every moment as if their last, their first, and became a celebration of life.