There is an infinite number of little scrawny creatures crawling on the face of this earth.
What makes you think you are so damn special?

This planet is flat. I don't give a flying fuck what you say, what theorists conclude or scientists argue.
Would there be less drama because some part of us, whether consciously or not would be able to see things in the same light?

Would you accept this truth wholesale? Nothing more than a mess of matter. A composition of maternal and paternal ideals. A biological mistake. The definition of a joke by a "higher power", a puppeteer - a child having a field day! Bid your well wishes to tradition, greet your mate, technology. You and me in this digital age. It's no surprise, we've run of places for burials a long time ago anyway. This virtual space is our new cemetery - remembrance of the dead.
When you take that last breath, your Facebook does not get deleted. Your blog remains. And your last tweet still visible. Your phone company does not stop billing. You die, but you live on. In ways you never intended to. We don't create accounts on these social networking sites for the glamour of one's death, but to publicize one's lives.

And I, like you, am just another victim of this phenomena.