Instructions for the disposal of my flesh.
Friday, 2008-08-22 | New Athens
His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire; A girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire.
Today on New Athens, I had the following to say about what is to be done with my body in the event of my death:
Yeah, I'd like to take this opportunity to go on the record and say that when I die suddenly and no one knows what to do, I am not to be embalmed and/or displayed.
Hand my dead ass over to the chopshop, get the usable parts on to the gravely ill, get the rest of the husk shipped out to the medical students and get whatever bits don't get used up by surgeons and surgeons-in-training directly into the crematorium post haste.
I literally can't think of any greater indignity than having your organs (up to an including eyes and teeth) harvested, your vascular and digestive systems flushed with formaldehyde and then getting your eyes, lips, anus and whatever cuts they made in your torso hastily stitched up so that people who knew you can waste an afternoon shuffling awkwardly around a dimly-lit room and trying not to stare at the mangled, gaudily spray-painted corpse that was you.
When Charon is stamping my boarding pass, I don't want to have to worry about my people walking around the in the Upper Air with that type of shit as the memory of our last meeting.
I would appreciate it if those instructions could be followed.
I would also appreciate a kick-ass reception that is, thematically and emotionally, about half-way between Halloween in the French Quarter and a futuristic gangster movie set in post-apocalyptic Neo Tokyo.