Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Places Where I Want to Die
Sometimes, and I mean sometimes
I ponder places where I could breath a final breath.
No deep, piercing mental meditation
but a brief pondering of different places to lay to rest.
Somewhere desolate, possibly peaceful defiantly serene
a forest scene where I would smell the pine.
Who would want their body discovered by a group of tourists?
Polaroid snapshots explode from their windows
as flies waver around your flesh, some sticking to my cheek.
A long time ago I thought a car accident might be a way to go,
all over in a moment relaxed driving down the beltway and smash.
In a moment it is gone like a whisper, a spirit ripped from you
a gnarly explosion of metal and plastic parts.
But the people around you seeing the blood splattered on their window.
Sounds a little uncouth if you ask me.
There were times when I thought death could come in a terminal sickness,
laying on a bed in a hospus caused by some sort of benign cancer or a fatal tumor.
A long orderly process of mourning for your own death.
Hours of reflection, hours of preparation but most time wasted on minute details.
Assuring family and friends of how you are not scared,
when the lights go out you shake in fear of your own mortality
Knowing this might be the last time you have your eyes open.
No room left for tears the strength to barely have a desire to carry on.
Lying in a sterile room, opening your eyes in an artificial environment
sounds too mechanical.
Where is the honor? Going down in a blaze of glory?
What about the youth mantra ‘I want to die before I get old’?
I told myself I did not.
I have lists, precarious lists of things I want to do, people I want to see,
places I want to be, experience to treasure.
But there are times when I ponder questions about my untimely parting.
I avoid a neurotic obsession but I do frequent tombstones
to pick out my favorite. Listen to the calm soothing wind of a graveyard
quite an experience to walk along the road examining people who do not know.
I listen to talk radio shows about death, the experience. A question of life
after all this thinking but for all the preparation death seems so complex.
A taboo in culture, but a subject so written on it seems cliché
even to offer a new concept or angle on such a broad subject is difficult.
My favorite part in the newspapers are the obituaries
My fingertips smear the black ink over my hands.
I like how they put perspective on everyone’s life in a few sentences,
a brief summary about life ending with death.
It lacks a certain suspense because at the end you know what is coming.
The police blotters always lack a certain flare for detail.
Death seems like a statistic some sort of number to base a chart around.
I see death as a parting of familiarity, some sort of homecoming but a going away
I try to rationalize my fears. There are many reasons I have not to worry,
but it bothers me day to day.
A doctor told me I had an obsessions with death, my own he coined it.
A morbid fascination with my own last days, I tell myself to live in the moment
to forget the mindless uncontrollable details.
I blame myself for not being more occupied, there are too many moments
too many precious spaces of time left open for me.
I cannot build some illusion of busyness to prevent my mind for focusing on a topic
it is a form of entertainment a sort of sick entertainment.
I have a book full of instructions. The Egyptians had a real pomp and circumstance.
I do not need a cannon to shoot my remains but it would be quite shocking.
To picture the funeral services ending in a mortar of my being
raining down into the crowd, a sort of calmness afterwards.
I decided it is too early to really put much thought into this, then a friend passed
and it made me worry. I started shaking and stuttering in front of a friend
And I was sad. I slept in a lot and kept this hobby going,
death isn’t a good hobby to really have. There is not much to collect, no groups to join.
Not really into the whole serial killers thing so my interest did not follow a norm
I tried forming a group but it was kind of awkward to try to get others to join.
Death doesn’t scream out to many when you put it onto a flyer at a store,
well I did get some replies but they were kind of in their own universe.
The media uses death for emotional effect to solidy a coment or headline.
Bloggers use a body to punctuate a story, to flare it up.
The stoic media broadcaster reports death with a straight face
like he was personally affected, but the human interest story always brings a chuckle.
Our culture of course gets criticized for numerous imperfections,
but in death we have so many options.
Back to the point I had I found this great place in the middle of town,
I could see my body laying in that grass. It feels good against my skin
and I had a nice dream there about my funeral it was cheerful yet respectful
Calling everyone telling them I think I found the place I want to lay
now I just have to decide how. Not that it is my decision
but I would like to have input.
I ponder places where I could breath a final breath.
No deep, piercing mental meditation
but a brief pondering of different places to lay to rest.
Somewhere desolate, possibly peaceful defiantly serene
a forest scene where I would smell the pine.
Who would want their body discovered by a group of tourists?
Polaroid snapshots explode from their windows
as flies waver around your flesh, some sticking to my cheek.
A long time ago I thought a car accident might be a way to go,
all over in a moment relaxed driving down the beltway and smash.
In a moment it is gone like a whisper, a spirit ripped from you
a gnarly explosion of metal and plastic parts.
But the people around you seeing the blood splattered on their window.
Sounds a little uncouth if you ask me.
There were times when I thought death could come in a terminal sickness,
laying on a bed in a hospus caused by some sort of benign cancer or a fatal tumor.
A long orderly process of mourning for your own death.
Hours of reflection, hours of preparation but most time wasted on minute details.
Assuring family and friends of how you are not scared,
when the lights go out you shake in fear of your own mortality
Knowing this might be the last time you have your eyes open.
No room left for tears the strength to barely have a desire to carry on.
Lying in a sterile room, opening your eyes in an artificial environment
sounds too mechanical.
Where is the honor? Going down in a blaze of glory?
What about the youth mantra ‘I want to die before I get old’?
I told myself I did not.
I have lists, precarious lists of things I want to do, people I want to see,
places I want to be, experience to treasure.
But there are times when I ponder questions about my untimely parting.
I avoid a neurotic obsession but I do frequent tombstones
to pick out my favorite. Listen to the calm soothing wind of a graveyard
quite an experience to walk along the road examining people who do not know.
I listen to talk radio shows about death, the experience. A question of life
after all this thinking but for all the preparation death seems so complex.
A taboo in culture, but a subject so written on it seems cliché
even to offer a new concept or angle on such a broad subject is difficult.
My favorite part in the newspapers are the obituaries
My fingertips smear the black ink over my hands.
I like how they put perspective on everyone’s life in a few sentences,
a brief summary about life ending with death.
It lacks a certain suspense because at the end you know what is coming.
The police blotters always lack a certain flare for detail.
Death seems like a statistic some sort of number to base a chart around.
I see death as a parting of familiarity, some sort of homecoming but a going away
I try to rationalize my fears. There are many reasons I have not to worry,
but it bothers me day to day.
A doctor told me I had an obsessions with death, my own he coined it.
A morbid fascination with my own last days, I tell myself to live in the moment
to forget the mindless uncontrollable details.
I blame myself for not being more occupied, there are too many moments
too many precious spaces of time left open for me.
I cannot build some illusion of busyness to prevent my mind for focusing on a topic
it is a form of entertainment a sort of sick entertainment.
I have a book full of instructions. The Egyptians had a real pomp and circumstance.
I do not need a cannon to shoot my remains but it would be quite shocking.
To picture the funeral services ending in a mortar of my being
raining down into the crowd, a sort of calmness afterwards.
I decided it is too early to really put much thought into this, then a friend passed
and it made me worry. I started shaking and stuttering in front of a friend
And I was sad. I slept in a lot and kept this hobby going,
death isn’t a good hobby to really have. There is not much to collect, no groups to join.
Not really into the whole serial killers thing so my interest did not follow a norm
I tried forming a group but it was kind of awkward to try to get others to join.
Death doesn’t scream out to many when you put it onto a flyer at a store,
well I did get some replies but they were kind of in their own universe.
The media uses death for emotional effect to solidy a coment or headline.
Bloggers use a body to punctuate a story, to flare it up.
The stoic media broadcaster reports death with a straight face
like he was personally affected, but the human interest story always brings a chuckle.
Our culture of course gets criticized for numerous imperfections,
but in death we have so many options.
Back to the point I had I found this great place in the middle of town,
I could see my body laying in that grass. It feels good against my skin
and I had a nice dream there about my funeral it was cheerful yet respectful
Calling everyone telling them I think I found the place I want to lay
now I just have to decide how. Not that it is my decision
but I would like to have input.
