(no subject)
I wrote a will. Not a legal one. Just what I would like to happen should I die before I move onto the next phase of my life. I was thinking about it, for some reason. Who ought to have my books. What I would like to happen to my intellectual property (my real concern/interest, I want my family to know I would like certain people to have my writings).
I even wrote things I feel ought to be said, when people gather to memorialize me. I feel strangely at peace with these words. It is how I want people to think of me, when I am dead; that I have longed to go to that fair country for a long time, and I will see those who want to follow after me again, someday. What more could I want to say?
I feel, when manic, that being dead is a thing I look forward to. Dying I am less keen on, I've no interest in dying. But being dead? So many people I love are actively in that state. I sometimes wonder what will happen to me. Will I get caught up in the stratosphere, find my way into some young man's brain, for him to call his muse? Will I find the door I have never stopped looking for, all my life? Will I walk straight through those gates and at last be home?
There's a lot of work between now and death. But I don't think I am afraid. When I'm very tired, all I want is to go home. I can't, just yet, but someday... someday, that will be a happy reunion. Me, and the god who courted me, and the family he gave me.
I even wrote things I feel ought to be said, when people gather to memorialize me. I feel strangely at peace with these words. It is how I want people to think of me, when I am dead; that I have longed to go to that fair country for a long time, and I will see those who want to follow after me again, someday. What more could I want to say?
I feel, when manic, that being dead is a thing I look forward to. Dying I am less keen on, I've no interest in dying. But being dead? So many people I love are actively in that state. I sometimes wonder what will happen to me. Will I get caught up in the stratosphere, find my way into some young man's brain, for him to call his muse? Will I find the door I have never stopped looking for, all my life? Will I walk straight through those gates and at last be home?
There's a lot of work between now and death. But I don't think I am afraid. When I'm very tired, all I want is to go home. I can't, just yet, but someday... someday, that will be a happy reunion. Me, and the god who courted me, and the family he gave me.