 |
When I die I want to be cremated, because the idea of rotting in a box nestled alongside other dead people rotting in boxes is kind of gross. Then I want my ashes to be thrown into a pestle and mortar and ground as fine as possible. After the funeral -- which someone will probably insist on having -- I want there to be a wild and wicked wake, with plenty of drinking and dancing, some drag acts in impersonation of me, and above all, a sumptuous feast of all that's good to eat. I want the cooks to use my ashes in the food, just a pinch here and a sprinkle there -- who knows, maybe they're a good thickener, or maybe they've got a smoky kind of taste that would work on top of a mackerel terrine or something -- and I would like everybody to munch and guzzle like beasts until I'm swilling and sloshing around everybody's digestive system, floating out into the breeze on the tiniest of after-dinner belches and finally ending up in the u-bend and then the s-bend and then rushing through the mad chutes of the fast-flowing sewage channels and then back into the sea or into the drinking water or wherever, and so on and so on and so on forever. I don't think that everybody present at the wake ought to be notified as to the secret ingredient in their food, because -- depending on individual scruples and the manner of my death and stuff -- perhaps some of them wouldn't be chowing down in quite the same way if they knew. But I'd like to live on in the bowels of my loved ones for a short while and then flow on away into the great wet earth. I believe in the simple things in life like food and pooping and the sea, so it all seems to make profound sense to me.
|
|
|
|
|
