Well I certainly didn’t expect that gung ho push to “break on through to the other side” (used in a strictly literary sense of the term) on a permanent basis. The sad truth of the matter is that I’ll be fighting my brain up until the final day where we, body and mind, both agree we’re just too damned bored to keep moving. Maybe it’ll happen one day when I get a takeout order that isn’t quite correct. Perhaps I’ll overhear something in line at Panda Express and my brain will start boiling like a tea pot, leaving smoke pouring out of my ears and a large “X” over each of my eyes (I will also give full credit for “TILT” or “OUT OF ORDER”). My ultimate scenario for suicide is to leap from a tall building while chopping my head off, front to back, with a chainsaw. That would be an evil occasion.
That’s an interesting topic, death. There’s a natural drive to survive, which despite rhyming, is actually kind of a big deal. We’re wired to not be dead, even though it’s clearly the ultimate biological function for the meat boxes that our creepy ghosts steer around the goofy, STD-filled obstacle course called life. It’s gonna happen at some point, whether you like it or not, and I wish for you (and myself as well) that when it comes, it causes as much amusement as possible to the people around you. There’s a certain stigma attached to the involuntary act of becorpsing as being “unfair” or “total bullshit, my man” but why not have a little fun with it? Punch the ticket. Accept the died.
Now don’t corpsepaint me into a cobwebbed corner, I’m not some emotionally unstable chucklefuck who is positively DYING to cut his wrists and furiously stuff them with children’s tylenol. It’s just being realistic about an awkward topic and trying to smile in the face THE TERRIFYING DARKNESS OF ETERNAL NONEXISTENCE and I probably could have put that in much friendlier terms. I just think that, once you learn to stop turning up your nose and accept pushing up daisies, it’s easier to go get shit done without crapping blood every single time you accidentally eat a can of food a single day over its “BEST BY” date.
True, I do have a sense of humor that leaves damn near everything on the table so it might be a bit easier for me to accept some of the more gruesome cemetary apllication theater. But hey, If I die one day by slipping on a banana peel and falling face-first under an oncoming steamroller, I’d like to think you would honor my memory by laughing so hard you puke all over your shirt and exposed genitals? I would be there right next to you doing the same, if my brains weren’t gravel crepes.
Happy Halloween almost!