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As an atheist, I accept consciousness of self (and/or free) will to surrender existence via one last breath by dint of senescence or cessation by self imposed choice (especially instances where terminal illnesses promises agonizing, festering, or kickstarting physical unbearable zingers),
thus tis fitting and proper to accept said unavoidable sentence given at birth asper death although approximation surmised asper when termination of existence limned
an keen awareness of mortality, the body electric (no matter constitution trimmed to optimal health, there doth not exist means to graft eternal longevity and belie
escaping descending into maws of oblivion, thus impossible to outwit curse to die, thus necessary yet painful task to accept with stony silence grave fum foo fie especially when joie de vivre instills this once gun shy now grown chap to utter a friendly “hi”
To an anonymous passerby, this self-induced exposure
re: gestalt therapy tests comfort zone be
cuz, a rush of sheer delight arises when being amiable, civil, and exuding noah dee manned, but simply reveling in the infinitesimal linkedin union, and tis also free with an asset to impact positive repercussions toward those in near proximity – hee
haw, this euphoric after effect, when a stranger reciprocates pleasantly and doth smile and possibly even surprises her/him self blurting out a verbal greeting, a trial
most unknown pedestrians seem taken aback, when a spontaneous impetus to while away my consciousness aware that nobody escapes “stay n alive”
the recurrent refrain courtesy of the BeeGees, who set disco afire in every drive in dance hall, whence a brief dalliance from hated grim reaper truncated wish to jive until some indeterminate date of particular choosing, one would forsake the live wire coursing thru each master fully baited cell to relish (hot diggity dog) and strive
to maximize the transient personal foray, when corpse eternally resting in peace a random fluke of seminal fusion, where no renewal sans the chronological leave
essentially forks over beating, mating and throbbing heart ceases, where survivors grieve aware corporeal essence undergoes decomposition, and recycled, unless one doth believe in afterlife, which no challenge made, yet for me, thine molecular matter slipped back into mobius feedback fruit loopbecoming fodder to sustain other organic matter, yet I will never know
if thee cellular composition of yours truly will enrich soil on does scoop and/or atoms of mine indistinguishable, where madding crowd doth troop
wherein microbes (if one adept to hear vocalizations), would be analogous to indigenous tribes as victors voicing war whoop.
