my subconscious mind wants pie
I just remembered one of my dreams last night. In it, I had been mistakenly declared dead -- I was off traveling and forgot to phone home, something like that. Anyway, I got declared dead, and there was a little plot with a tombstone and an urn in the ground that had ashes in it, somewhere off in the armpit of Polk County where everyone else in my family gets buried. I don't know what the ashes were OF, since I was still alive and all, but apparently peoples' desire to bury something led to this sort of service being offered. (It amused me to think that they buried a cow's remains, or something, and called it me.)
Anyway, I got mad about this, because everyone knows damn well I want to get dumped into the sea after I kick it, and most of the dream was me making a fuss about wanting to get the fake ashes and putting them in the ocean. Because - and I kept saying this straight-faced, which you know I'd do - I'd never properly paid my respects to myself. Ha.
If I die of vanity, promise me, promise me,
they bury me someplace I don't want to be,
you'll dig me up and transport me, unceremoniously,
away from the swollen city-breeze, garbage-bag trees,
whispers of disease and the acts of enormity...
Anyway, I got mad about this, because everyone knows damn well I want to get dumped into the sea after I kick it, and most of the dream was me making a fuss about wanting to get the fake ashes and putting them in the ocean. Because - and I kept saying this straight-faced, which you know I'd do - I'd never properly paid my respects to myself. Ha.
If I die of vanity, promise me, promise me,
they bury me someplace I don't want to be,
you'll dig me up and transport me, unceremoniously,
away from the swollen city-breeze, garbage-bag trees,
whispers of disease and the acts of enormity...