I saw your face in a crowded place....
Let's hear it for the boys.
Coming clean: You, I, him, she, WE are flawed. And it's beautiful.
Stop the overanalyzing.
Stop the worrying.
What good is it if this is the last moment we have?
Is this how you want to be remembered?
Don't say goodbye if the possibility to say hello tomorrow may not present itself.
Nothing is certain.
Time is most uncertain.
Life, on the other hand, is certain.
Destiny's certainty is uncertainly certain.
What would you say with your last breath?
It's never too soon to contemplate the possible.
The chance to find $10 on the street tomorrow is the same as facing death.
But it's socially acceptable to converse about finding money.
And who am I to follow social standards?
Ali and I were watching Animal Planet yesterday. Jeff Corwin, to be exact. He was entering a sacred temple and removed his shoes and socks out of respect. I told her that if I wanted people to respect me by removing shoes, fine, but socks must be kept on. The smell factor is far superior to the grass stained socks.
I told her that at my funeral, nobody will be wearing shoes, just socks. My closest family and friends: toe socks, while the posers who think they know me will be at a loss. I think they should be unique socks too. Like I wear, I think we should all wear crazier socks. There would be balloons instead of flowers. It would not be in a church, I don't really know where I'd want it to be. Church's are just so depressing and I've never really felt comfortable in them. For worries of offending God or something. No, I think I'd want it by a pond. No real ceremony or religious figure for nature has it's own religion. I'd like just a big picnic, where people come and tell stories. People would play music that reminded them of me and dance in the grass....with my pets, which will be present; for they are just a much a part of me as you or him. Daffodils would be the only flowers present, but they will have yet to be picked, children will pick them and put the bloom in their hair and dance, twirl and sing. I want to be cremated but I do not want to be buried. Not even the urn. Just a name plate will do, some place for people to give respects to the Oh Great One (moi, naturally). If I die before I ever reach the west coast, I want my ashes scattered in the Pacific Ocean. There will be no reception to follow, no mini club and ham sandwiches at the house of my parents or spouse. No, far too awkward. I just want the pond. AND BUBBLES! Socks. Pond. Bubbles. Balloons. I couldn't imagine a greater celebration of life.
Cheers.
Coming clean: You, I, him, she, WE are flawed. And it's beautiful.
Stop the overanalyzing.
Stop the worrying.
What good is it if this is the last moment we have?
Is this how you want to be remembered?
Don't say goodbye if the possibility to say hello tomorrow may not present itself.
Nothing is certain.
Time is most uncertain.
Life, on the other hand, is certain.
Destiny's certainty is uncertainly certain.
What would you say with your last breath?
It's never too soon to contemplate the possible.
The chance to find $10 on the street tomorrow is the same as facing death.
But it's socially acceptable to converse about finding money.
And who am I to follow social standards?
Ali and I were watching Animal Planet yesterday. Jeff Corwin, to be exact. He was entering a sacred temple and removed his shoes and socks out of respect. I told her that if I wanted people to respect me by removing shoes, fine, but socks must be kept on. The smell factor is far superior to the grass stained socks.
I told her that at my funeral, nobody will be wearing shoes, just socks. My closest family and friends: toe socks, while the posers who think they know me will be at a loss. I think they should be unique socks too. Like I wear, I think we should all wear crazier socks. There would be balloons instead of flowers. It would not be in a church, I don't really know where I'd want it to be. Church's are just so depressing and I've never really felt comfortable in them. For worries of offending God or something. No, I think I'd want it by a pond. No real ceremony or religious figure for nature has it's own religion. I'd like just a big picnic, where people come and tell stories. People would play music that reminded them of me and dance in the grass....with my pets, which will be present; for they are just a much a part of me as you or him. Daffodils would be the only flowers present, but they will have yet to be picked, children will pick them and put the bloom in their hair and dance, twirl and sing. I want to be cremated but I do not want to be buried. Not even the urn. Just a name plate will do, some place for people to give respects to the Oh Great One (moi, naturally). If I die before I ever reach the west coast, I want my ashes scattered in the Pacific Ocean. There will be no reception to follow, no mini club and ham sandwiches at the house of my parents or spouse. No, far too awkward. I just want the pond. AND BUBBLES! Socks. Pond. Bubbles. Balloons. I couldn't imagine a greater celebration of life.
Cheers.