A PLACE CALLED DEATH

I like to think that, dead people don’t have worries. Dead people don’t need to have faith. Dead people don’t have responsibilities. Dead people don’t worry about the fat people in the danfo buses or the smelly baskets in the boot. Dead people don’t worry about anything going wrong, they are just, dead. They are, gone. Removed. Absent from it all. I know what it feels like to be alive. We all assume that being alive is the best thing ever, we’re full of, Life! But what do we know about being dead that qualifies us to make that statement?! Why is death bad? Death is relief, death is actually quite nice. You’re done. It is emptiness, darkness, oblivion. Heaven or Hell is still for another, God knows how many years, so well for now, just, unconsciousness.

If you have never left your plate by your side for 10 minutes after eating, then you have no permission to judge people who kill themselves. I mean, what’s wrong with being lazy? What’s wrong with wanting to get things over with? What’s wrong with quitting? You didn’t ask for this life, it was given to you without your permission. One man and woman get gross and next thing you know you’re forced to come into the earth. They don’t make plans to make it all rosy for you all through, they think they have the permission to “make you”! That is unfair! So it is only fair if you don’t want no part of it.

They say life is a gift. What’s wrong with not wanting to be a gift to anyone? What’s wrong with wanting to be oblivious? To not have any responsibility or thoughts or worries or wonder what to eat or who to marry or how much is in your bank account?

Why are we so afraid of death? Why do we judge death? Why do we judge people who love death?

“Death is death. Once you’re dead, that’s it, it’s over.”

…said the man who died twice.

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