clearly, we are dead the white noise painting our eardrums creates no pictures the light show in front of us doesn’t ask our eyes any more questions no obit is written no grave dug ashes are strewn across a lake of fire, but they are not really ours only remnants of some genesis we never saw--it gave us a flash of light that lasted a few billion years letting us groan and grow yawn and yearn for forever and more of that which never really was clearly we are dead