Dying is a Very Human Thing.

Crows are one of the few creatures that recognize
themselves in the mirror.
 
I am on the brink of myself.
I am a hungry, violent, wretched beast and
no, it’s not enough.
 
You can train a dog to recognize itself in the mirror
with association so that
it says: “Look, that’s me.”
 
I itch like a worm burrowing, chewing deep
into my skin and to my bones.
It scratches and crawls and I want it out.
Every day I use the mirror and I am
used to seeing my reflection but
I don’t see it under there.
 
How do you know if the black dog knows
what its reflection actually means?
 
Maybe I ought never to have looked.
 
I envy birds.
 
Roy Batty: replicant, synthetic human—no, not human enough—sits with
a dove on the rooftop in the rain, his pinnacle moment.
He is dying–more human than human,
 
he is more devil than the devil;
he can do the one thing which Satan himself cannot do:
 
                            He is a man;

                                          he can die.
 


The last two stanzas contain/quote/paraphrase a few words from Bladerunner (1982), and The Man Who was Thursday by G. K. Chesterton.

 

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