The realization that to some pet, you're merely a fallible god, but one who can often offer little but death in an alien place, filled with the scent of sick, dying, and/or terrified other animals. Why am I here? Did I do something wrong? And your face is the last one they see. Run through that a thousand times per year and, unless you have monastic levels of detachment, you might end up feeling as if you were little more than the keen whistling edge of a scythe which never quite dried.

I'm not sure what a poet is doing on a tech forum, but glad to have you here. I'm gonna go be sad and reflect on life now.

This was beautifully written. Thank you.

Now this is beautifully sad

> keen whistling edge of a scythe which never quite dried

Forgive me if I steal this quote.

> Fuck me that is dark.

I mean we all die eventually. It’s just a matter of when and how much joy and suffering will we encounter on the way. If you look at it as an optimization problem, dying early can be the better scenario.

Frankly there are fates worse than death. To suffer for years before dying is just messed up. I hope that when I go it will be relatively quick. I can only hope it will be relatively painless but I think I will only be able to get that in a hospital setting.

You can be saved from fates worst than death. You're not forced to be saved from fates worse than death.

But you can be.

Faith is a failing concept in the West when people 'give up' to a predicted outcome.