I have a morbid fascination with death, one that has been fueled by a lot of things lately.

I found out a few days ago that the mother of one of my co-workers was stabbed to death in her Norwalk home a couple of weeks ago. This is a tragic event, to say the least. But it gets more complicated because the murder was in retaliation for some unflattering comments concerning shock rock group Marilyn Manson.

What apparently happened (I say apparently because I haven’t talked to my co-worker friend since the murder occurred) is that the co-worker said some unflattering things about Marilyn Manson on the local news.

One of the people watching the news that evening became upset about the comments made against his favorite group. He hunted up the address of my co-worker friend, broke into his house and stabbed his mother to death.

This event says a lot about the current state of our society. Violence has become so unsensational and desensitized that most people no longer even blink when they hear about murders on the news. Death no longer stirs our souls, even if it comes through violence.

I am particularly frightened at the murderer’s outlash because of my occupation as a music critic. I can’t help but to think it could have been my fiance, my son or myself who was the victim.

Nobody agrees on what music is good. It is a matter of personal opinion. Is that opinion worth murdering for? Absolutely not.

Who cares if I don’t like Marilyn Manson? Nobody. Unfortunately, I’m in a position where my views on music are communicated to the entire campus. But my readers always have the choice of turning the page. The murderer could have just as easily turned off the television set or changed channels. But he chose to listen and he became irate over what he heard.

The murderer made a conscious decision to kill someone over a meaningless opinion. The murderer took an innocent life. The mother did not make the comments. Even if she had, she should not have been afraid of being murdered for expressing her opinion. Yet she was, and it is truly sickening.

I’ve been nervous lately to give bad reviews of anything. This has partly been due to the massive amount of hate mail (not to mention an hour of hateful radio dedicated to me) concerning my bad review of Offspring’s concert.

What if one of those people had decided that review was worth killing me over? What if Corey Moss took offense to me bashing his main man, Vanilla Ice, and decided to blow my brains out all over the Daily office?

I never used to mind the thought of death. I used to be fascinated with mass murderers (one of my secret dreams was to take a submachine gun into a shopping mall before Christmas and open fire) and the consequences of their actions.

Now, I am constantly paranoid that my life will end too soon and I won’t have the opportunity to see my son grow into a man. I worry my son won’t live to see his first birthday. I worry my fiance will die before I do. But I realize death is inevitable.

I learned that a long time ago in high school. My best friend died in a car accident his senior year on the way back from picking up a pack of cigarettes at the local convenience store.

I can still remember seeing him that morning. I can hear his voice asking me if I would hold on to a pack of smokes for him (his parents didn’t know he had picked up the habit) if he went to the store and bought one. That was the last time I ever saw him.

I never got over his death; I still think about it every day. I imagine what would have happened if I wouldn’t have told him I’d hold on to his cigarettes if he bought them. I wonder what type of person he would have turned out to be (we’ve all done a lot of changing since high school, haven’t we?). I even named my son after him, to keep his memory alive in my mind.

But since that fateful day, I have developed a fear of automobiles. Every time I step into a car, I have a vague feeling I won’t be getting out of it alive.

All it takes is one small mistake and I would be dead. I could be driving along and get hit by a speeding car running a red light. I could be struck head-on by a car crossing over the middle line. There are a thousand possibilities and every time I get into my car, I think of them all.

Every time I smoke a cigarette, I know I’ve just taken one more step towards death. I can visualize myself in a coffin, totally pale with my eyes gummed shut and my mouth full of cotton. Every time I walk across campus, I remind myself there is probably at least one unstable person at this university thinking about running around with a gun and shooting people.

I’ve come to the conclusion that life has become meaningless. But it doesn’t have to be. Every single one of us can insure that our legacy is left behind by doing what is right.

We just have to do our best and keep on trucking along, because that is what life is all about. It is not about holding your breath, waiting for the end to come.

Death always comes too soon. Learn how to embrace life while it is there and take advantage of every opportunity. You’ll be a better person for it.

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Ben Jones is a sophomore in English from Des Moines.