I was only a kid when I first Saw my grandma dying

I hated it and I loved her

My first rebellion against God comes at that moment

Why? Why God do we die?

Have you ever lost someone?

Have you felt the rage and anger of losing someone you love?

I lost so much that I no longer carry anything with me except books

Guess what when Alexander the Great dies he left all his kingdom to others what’s the point?

Like Thoreau says “Sell your cloths and keep your thoughts”

Our thoughts are own, everything else perishes

I look forward to death with heideggerian courage

I want no heaven or after life I just don’t care

My death will be a mystery

There will be no funeral for me but a rebellion

There will be no grave for me but hate towards the trouble of being born

Like Johnny cash I say “ain’t no grave that can hold my body down”