A Fanfare for Dying

People love death. We are obssessed with closing our eyes and sailing into immortality. It has a buzz like no other mainly because for the most part we all have different ideas on what happens when the pulse runs out, and no sensible person can mock because nobody has returned from its dark realms to prove what is there and what isn't. Also because of this mystery we like to paint glamorous pictures of the afterlife to halt any doubts that death could be a nightmare. We need to keep being inspired by death, telling ourselves its fine, that mortal step is cool.
In fact it ought to be a topic for coffee mornings and schoolyards (Dead. Death. Dying.) because constant talk breeds familiarity and in that there is warm comfort. Funerals should be ceremonies of fun and children encouraged to take part. Whats to fear? Tomorrow is unknown but we don't fear it.
Artists love death be they poets, painters, musicians or any other creative lunk. A deathbed is a giant blank page on which to pour ballads and colour onto. Raise a tune from mourning waves, wring pretty dirges from sickly bed clothes. Death sells big time, arenas of teenage dolls fall in love to it. Its hip to be mental or morbid, and five minute idols fan ever increasing flames.
The reaper is everywhere: in our drinks, diets, tee shirts, fridge magnets, tattoos, album covers. A very cool, dominant icon of death watching over us before a visit.