I'm not sure if I rage against everything looking so dense and moribund or embrace it, and I wonder if it matters or if it's even coherent to think of it on those terms.
Death means something that it didn't before. It's personal and has very real footprints; there is none of the abstract about it. It ends up a little analog to sex in it's own way, universal and somewhat inevitable, but carrying the taboos and finality; gaining build up and traction in its mystery and its significance. After all of this it can only bear a certain decompression of anti-climax.
Both of these natural and simple parts of life wear no ethical connotation except in interpretation. All I know is they both bring us together with some tremendous, loud impact and in doing so only bring remembrances of our very separateness. In a way our absences and our unions share bandwidth. They end up identical in the hard manner in which they remind us of our existence.
That's the bitch, isn't it? Our buoyancy and our burden woven into cogito, ergo sum. I keep finding that this thinking that we claim to have separating us from animals is more of what separates us from ourselves. I don't think we're separate from any other species, genus or domain but in our silly self awareness.
Long story short: forget yourself.