Malogy in Black and White

This ritual is by the performed by the living for the living, his remains notwithstanding. 

Now that he is safely dead, we can begin to tell the truth about him.  We could say that his death was instantaneous and that would assuage our horror at not only the crime, which lurks hideous enough in the background, but his condition, he who had  such high hopes and now lies so low.

But we know better than that. It always takes forever.  Crows were his executioners.

We could blame the authorities.  That's easy enough but they were only doing what they must do, what we all have to do.  There is no choice in that for anyone.  It is our job and we'd better do it.  Just wash the hands and on to the next. 

We could blame his betrayers and that sounds more convenient but where to draw the line?  If he could speak for himself, he'd certainly touch each and everyone within earshot with his tender mercy forgiving our all too evident guilt. Our lies have been told.  The bell cannot be unrung. 

His mother is here, among the bravest of weepers, needing to hear from you that he was a saint.  She knows better but she needs to hear it. That the anguish of death in vain, a crowded life in the bosom of his family abandoned to eternal loneliness, the flower of youth bruised bloody and thrown to the ground at the feet of his unstained mother.  Who wouldn't want to play that part? 

His friends and lover? Devotees?  Those death-kissers and back-stabbers, those domesticators of men have run away.  To spread the word they will eventually say.  They buried him alive so they would not see him die. 

Himself?  He only had to lie like the rest of us.  Even a small lie would have saved him, or even some modest doubt as to his prowess or reputation, something the least of us easily could have done and would have done facing that consequence.  But no, he had to climb up there for all to see.  Of course the authorities had to execute him for something.  Why not for telling the truth? 

But had he not paid the price there would be one less thing to talk about.  One less reason for anyone to remember anything at all. 

There must be a hateful other to be condemned or anything will become possible.  Cities will disintegrate to neighborhoods, then to families, individuals, every man for himself.  Even the man will finally disintegrate and fail, the self falling to pieces. 

We must kill someone for this.