closings (a thing I wrote)

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