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Wednesday, June 1, 2016

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


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