I
don't like funerals.
Always
thought of it as something too ritualized. It's never felt like the
proper way to send someone off into whatever version of the afterlife
has been set aside for them. I don't know if something goes on after
this life. I don't know much about the Heavens and Hells or whether
we become energy or animals or higher mathematics. It seems to me
that most of the people who theorize where you go after you die are
suffering from a lack of first hand information, and once you acquire
the proper data, it gets harder to pass it on to anybody who can make
it useful. Really it's just a bunch of pretentious folks repeating
the theories of other pretentious folks who were probably proven
wrong in the end.
I
shine my shoes
pick
out a tie that's not too bright or joyous or paisley
not
black
never
understood black for funerals or mourning
Wakes
I
get, sort of,
it's
a nice thought that people want to wish you a farewell and I think
it's important for folks to get a chance to say goodbye. I'm a fan
of nostalgia so a good cry and a reminiscence of the good old days is
always cathartic. It's the standing about, the mindless chit chat,
the distant relatives who appear out of obligation, the drinking of
weak coffee. These I don't understand.
Some
thrice removed/Uncle/Cousin/Stranger trying to sell life insurance to
the next of kin or sniffing around for hidden wealth and an honorable
mention in the final draft of the Will. This is not a black and
white movie.
I
fill my flask
seal
it
place
it in my jacket pocket.
Maybe
I prefer memorials.
It
makes a more free form kind of sense. Saying goodbye in a round
robin of storytelling, filling each other in on the missing pieces.
More Dean Martin Roast then Ken Burns documentary. A bunch of people
sitting in a bar/cafe'/whatever... talking about a life lived rather than
spent. Mourning is not the same as remembering.
I
shake hands
light
a candle
kneel
and bow and pray
unsure
of what any of this means for me
the
living
the
departed
I
hate these things
I ended up doing a severe edit
I don't like funerals.
Always
thought of them as
improper
rituals
I
don't know
the
Heavens and Hells
or
whether we become
energy
or
animals
or
higher mathematics.
I shine my shoes
pick out a tie that's not too
bright or joyous or paisley
not black
never understood black for
funerals or mourning
it's important to say goodbye.
I'm a fan of nostalgia
a good cry
a reminiscence
is always cathartic
I don't understand
the standing
the chit chat,
the drinking of weak coffee.
Some thrice removed
Uncle
Cousin
Stranger
trying to sell life insurance
sniffing around for hidden wealth
and an
honorable mention in the final
draft of the Will.
This is not a black and white
film.
I fill my flask
seal it
place it in my jacket pocket.
memorials.
make more sense.
More Dean Martin Roast than
Ken Burns documentary.
sitting in a
bar
cafe
whatever
talking about a life
lived
rather than spent.
Mourning is not the same as
remembering.
I shake hands
light a candle
kneel and pray
unsure of what any of this means
for me
the living
the departed
I hate these things
No comments:
Post a Comment