Now it is autumn and the falling fruit / and the long journey towards oblivion. / The apples falling like great drops of dew / to bruise themselves an exit from themselves. / And it is time to go, to bid farewell / to one’s own self, and find an exit / from the fallen self. / Have you built your ship of death, O have you? / build your ship of death, for you will need it.
Crack, boom, the thunder echoes out loudly, and the sky reverberates as it is filled with alternating bursts of light. The clouds open up and release a torrential downpour of rain. The rivers overflow, water tables rise, and he is caught, caught in the flood, sad thing. Fight, fight with the fire of your being, proud creature, but no, no, it is too late, he has died and gone back to the earth from whence he sprung, but unlike us, he lived and died full of dignity and fire in the guts. Goodbye sad creature. The death of the worm.