Learning To Love You More

ASSIGNMENTS:

REPORTS:


When I die I hope it's not in public. The last thing I want are all these strange hysterical people clamoring about over my dying body while they poke and prod. It's really embarrassing. If the Gods had any mercy they'd send Hermes down with a letter and give me an hour or so to leave town. Then I would find myself a secluded thicket or Holly bush and crawl beneath it and die in peace and with dignity. Death shouldn't be embarrassing but in our culture, it is. When it happens we panic and then try and politely sweep it under the rug as if it wasn't really happening, and then we tell lies to our children. My only hope is that when the time comes, there are people who love me or at least understand me so that when they look in my wallet and they find this letter, they will carry out my wish to be placed on a bed of flowers deep in the woods. Around me, a cast iron fence laced with chicken wire to keep vermin out. Flowering vines should be planted around the fence for privacy because I would like to be laid out naked with a bottle of Cote Rotie and a cork screw. (In case I should decide to come back.) The idea being that the birds will get the most of me and take me to all those places I could never go... Like Tulsa or Truax, North Dakota. And should you have loved me or known me or have the inclination to mourn or pay respects you all get together with the rest (Or not.) and slow dance to Henri Gorecki's 3rd. This would make me happy if I were capable of such feelings.