Hey, how’s it going? Have you survived another week? Have you got some small wins? Have you avoided the existential dread? Have you decided to laugh at the absurdity of it all? Yeah, that’s my tactic, people. Just laugh at it.

Look, I don’t know what you’re doing here. Maybe you got lost. Maybe you’re avoiding work. Maybe you’re just some algorithm-fed ghost haunting the internet, desperate for something real.

Well, congrats—you found my corner of the digital dumpster fire. This isn’t some polished, SEO-optimized, life-hack factory. This is just me, yelling into the void about the things that keep me up at night—money, death, bad decisions, and the crushing weight of existence.

I’m not here to fix your life. I’m not even sure I can fix mine. But if you want raw, unfiltered rambling about taxes, mental health, and the absurdity of pretending we’ve got it all figured out? Stick around. Or don’t. I’m not your boss.

Let’s get weird. Or at least uncomfortably honest.

They say there are two inevitabilities in life: Death & Taxes. I’d say, based my observance of global tax systems and the ability of large corporations to be very, shall we say ‘efficient’ in legally avoiding taxes, there is only one inevitability: Death. With recent personal bereavements and the fact that we’re all getting older, I thought I’d embrace the ultimate & inevitable and read “The Denial of Death” by Ernest Becker.

Now I’m not afraid of death. I am worried about a painful, protracted illness leading to death, but not the actual death part of it. I was listening to a podcast recently (Modern Wisdom, maybe?) and there was an anecdote about someone’s father dying and the father screamed as he died. A great man, by all accounts. He did the right thing, paid his taxes, was nice to people, but still died screaming. The life lesson was that no matter what you do in this life, you can still die screaming. So there’s that to look forward to. There used to be a lot of “They died in their sleep” anecdotes, in newspapers or overheard conversations when I was younger, but I think that is all done with now. Yes, that’s why you come here: the cheery insights. It’s a pleasure to share.

I sort of conquered the fear of death with two relatively close-together general anaesthetics. For those who have been fortunate to avoid a general anaesthetic, you remember nothing. You just awaken having had what feels like the best night sleep ever, and no feelings or memories of the big chemically induced sleep part. If death is just nothing, the big switch off, then it’s ok. I’m at peace with it. The lights go out and it’s game over. Your participation in this part of the process is minimal at best. It just happens and you’ll be none the wiser. Your cosmic light just got stiched off.

If there is something beyond this existence, well, you’ll deal with it when you get there. No amount of prayers or good intentions is likely to prepare you for what lies beyond. We just don’t know. Yes, it’s sad you’re gone, but you know nothing after the darkness (unless there is some continuance of existence) and everyone will slowly move on and you’re forgotten about. And that is how it should be, you don’t want to be someone’s psychic baggage weighing them down daily. Plus that’s all ego stuff, anyway. To be remembered, to have a legacy, to have made an impact…just get over yourself already!

In Becker’s book, Becker argues that people pursue “heroic” projects (careers, fame, parenthood, ideologies) to symbolically transcend death. These projects provide the illusion that we are more than mere biological creatures destined to decay. Becker further argues that cultures act as “immortality systems,” offering narratives (e.g., religion, nationalism, legacy-building) that allow individuals to feel part of something eternal. This buffers the terror of acknowledging our finitude. Becker observes that humans are torn between their “animal” nature (physical, mortal bodies) and their “symbolic” selves (minds capable of abstract thought and aspirations). This duality creates inner conflict, as we struggle to reconcile our bodily limitations with our desire for transcendence.

The crux of the book, for my limited interpetation, was that us humans build so much, get involved in so many things just to attempt to mentally avoid the inevitable. And when you stop and think about it, that is pretty terrifying if you do not deal with it. I found it so uplifting because if all this is true, then you definitely should do all those crazy things you want to do because some day you will not be able to do it. Dowhatyalike, huh? Because what else is there? Yes, become aware of the impending end, make peace with it, and do your thing anyway. Just be aware. It is inevitable. Taxes, yeah do what you can to legally avoid those. I think that should been an appendix in Becker’s book: “Yeah, we’ve dealt with the avoidance of death, now let me show you how to avoid taxes like Starbucks, Amazon and most major Tech players in the global tech fuedal system.” Sweet! No taxes.

We are brief fires in the infinite dark, just sparks that leap from the void, dance for a trembling moment, then vanish. Death is the silent tide that licks at every shore, patient and undefeated. No fortress of stone, no symphony of thought, no love that burns like a sun can hold it back forever. True, indeed.

We build our lives on the edge of an abyss, stacking hours like fragile bones, whispering to ourselves that we are more than this dust, more than the wind’s passing sigh. Yet the truth hums beneath all things: the leaf must fall, the star must gutter out, the hand that clasps yours today will one day be stillness and memory.

But here is the paradox, the cruel, beautiful joke of existence: it is death that makes the flame precious. Would we cherish the rose if it never wilted? Would we love so fiercely if love were not a defiance, a fleeting rebellion against the dark? Our mortality is the wound that lets in the light. Every act of courage, every stroke of art, every whispered “I love you” is a spell cast against oblivion.

We are the universe knowing itself, if only for a breath. And when the final night comes, it will not be the end of the song, only the moment the note joins the silence from which all music rises.

So burn, then. Burn brightly. The dark awaits us all, but first, oh, first, there is the light.

Dowhatyalike, huh? Because it’s later than you think…

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Alright, look—if you made it this far, you’re either deeply invested in my nonsense or you’ve got nothing better to do. Either way, I appreciate you. If you want more of this kind of thing—the rants, the overthinking, the occasional glimmer of insight—do yourself a favour and hit subscribe. Don’t make me beg. It’s pathetic. Just hand over your email address, click the button, and let’s keep this dysfunctional relationship going. Until next time, try not to spiral. Or do. I’m not your therapist.

Andy

(P.S. If you don’t subscribe, I’ll assume you’re a bot. Or worse—a well-adjusted person.)