Incorrect Asethetics

Death

Laugh at me sweetly and call me an idiot. Death is something that most people fear with a passion. I find death to be quite beautiful. I cannot for the life of me think of death as disgusting. Death is a well-known curse and a secret blessing. Death with it's many confusing truths leaves us gasping for life. Death is not feared for what occurs in that moment, but what transpires after. Where do we go after death? Is there nothing or are the sanctimonious preachings of religious worshipers correct about an afterlife? That is what I love about death, the mystery of it enthralls me to the darkest corners of my cognitive mind. Can the naive, puny, and embarrassingly small human brain truly comprehend what lies in store for us after we die? Is our thinking too fearful of the truth that awaits us? Are we made with souls stored in our bodies or are we simply atoms of dead stars haphazardly thrown together in a revolting manner waiting for the ultimate explosion that will end our tiny existence. I hope for us to be made of dead stars so that I can say I am an explosive time-bomb waiting for the right time to self-destruct; I hope to be made of dead stars to be able to say that I was made from the fading light of an amazingly strong ball of energy that decided to breathe its life into me as it evaporated into a destructive emptiness that can never be satisfied. I want to be made of dead stars so that I can say I was made from one of the brightest things out there. I want to be a gathering of atoms that will soon turn to dust, but hey, that's just my thinking. The thinking of a full on weirdo.