What is it with everybody's preoccupation with death anyway? It is more unknowable than any other phenomenon, less measurable than the expanse of the universe. At least when faced with the abyss of the psyche, we have psychiatrists to help us as spelunkers. (Yet we so carelessly proclaim that waking up on a Monday is like rising from death.)
It is the end. Period. Many hope for life after it as consolation. Many imagine that somehow we (our minds, souls, consciousness) are infinite, and that this sense is enough to defeat death.
For those of fickle faith, life is all we have. In any case, it is true that what we possess is infinite. Our days are endless, each hour fertile.
Shirt, 8mm x Workshop, Bangkok
Jeans, Cheap Monday
Belt, Brave Beltworks
Boots, Dirk Bikkembergs
Bag, Fred Perry
Joy stares death in the face. Love spurns it.
Though death, of course, has its ways to remind us of its presence. The passing away of loved ones, followed by grief and mourning. Reminders of our mortality, just like the unfortunate cracking of one of my teeth (farthest molar damaged like a luckless glacier).
In any case, that is the least of my worries. We live in our stories.
Look life in the face and discover its miracles.
Render death as a harmless design element.