Upon My Death
INTRODUCTION
The essay that I am about to embark upon is going to be somewhat of a will. Some of it will be how I envision my own death, and some of it will be several of my basic final wishes. Most of it will be very grim, and most of it will be very depressing to my more sensitive readers. Consider this a warning to continue no further if one thinks one may be disturbed by such musings.
WHY I'LL DIE ALONE
I have always believed (or, at least, since I began having such morbid ruminations) that I will die alone. By my own very living nature, I am a loner, and this will follow me to my death. I believe I will die in one of three ways--accident, senescence, or suicide. My preference is simply dying of old age, which I will get to later. I believe I will die in one of three places--at work, at home, or in the middle of nowhere. My preference is in the middle of nowhere, again which I will get to later.
Let me first take the opportunity to expand on the loner comment I made above. It is important to know, before continuing, that most of my solitude is by choice. It is, for the most part, how I want to live my life, and this way of living has treated me fairly well so far. I am largely alone in the world. Outside of work, I have no real good friends that I see on a regular basis or even on an occasional basis for that matter (and, actually, as a side question, can the people that I work with be considered "friends" if I never see them outside of work?). I never socialize--I never go anywhere, and I never do anything. In general, I don't like most of what the human species has to offer for various reasons which I will not get into here. This may seem arrogant or conceited, but just take a close look around once at the idiocy of the general population. I couldn't say for certain who the last person was that I met that I actually formed a decent, personal relationship with. I'm guessing it was a couple of years ago, and she's about to leave in the next few weeks. Beyond that, I don't have a clue.
I have, for whatever reason, largely shunned my entire family in the last few years. I don't really know why. Mainly, I think, it simply comes down to (as does so much of my life) I just want to be left alone.
So, I think it is quite easy to see why I'm going to die alone. I really have no life with anybody else. I do not have a "significant other" and probably will not have one in the future. I don't have kids and won't ever have any. I'm rarely around my family, and the only acquaintances I have are the people with whom I work. Furthermore, I consider myself to be an artist, and I'm difficult to be with or to deal with. I'm prone to mood swings, fits of seclusion, acts of creative insanity, and writing at 1:30 in the morning (despite having to get up in three hours for work). And not to dwell on work, but none of the above will change because I have virtually no personal time with the ridiculous hours that I put in at my place of employment. I don't know if I've ever put in less than 50 hours per week, the average now is between 60 and 70, and the most recent week with less than 60 hours had to be several months ago.
WHICH WAY DID HE GO?
I believe I will die in one of three ways--accident, senescence, or suicide. I do a great deal of driving, both to and from work (about 50 miles round trip) and while at work (at times up to 150 miles in a day). Obviously, the more one drives, the greater one's chances of being involved in an accident...and believe me, I've been close a few times. It's amazing how little people pay attention to their driving in heavy traffic.
I drive a company vehicle while at work, but I'm on my own to and from work and for any other driving I may do. Right now I have a pickup that is 10 years old. At this point, it is somewhat becoming unsafe to drive. I've had repeated visions of me flying off a bridge after another ball joint rusts away. I've already had one upper coil spring seat rust through (and replaced). I've never heard of this happening to other vehicles, but I digress. Furthermore, right now I have at least one body mount completely missing and others "going." Maybe, with 130,000 miles on it, I should trade it in.
Of course, this is just fatal vehicular accident that I'm discussing here. There's always the chance of something stupid happening. There's always that freak coincidence or case of bad luck, like an airplane flying over and dropping an engine on my head while I'm sleeping. I have some serious issues with that.
Suicide! A topic that makes most people cringe. As I'm sure one can tell, I have no problem talking about it. It's actually quite fascinating to me. Being a strictly human activity, it's one of those things that just makes me think about our species. Without getting into a moral or ethical debate, I believe suicide should be tolerated much more than it is. What a person does with his or her life (or, in this case, death) is ultimately up to him or her. I'm a big advocate of self-expression, and if someone's self-expression involves sucking on the business end of a shotgun, so be it. Just be sure to get your whole head in front of the barrel. Now, do I think this activity should be common? No. As a Satanist, I believe that life should be maintained, but I also believe that one must do what one feels one must do. I don't need or want to be saved from myself, and I'm not causing undue physical harm to anyone else, so leave me alone.
It should be fairly easy to see from my writings that I have thought about suicide. Actually, I think about it quite a bit. It's obvious, since I'm writing this, that I haven't done it yet. I'm sure, whether or not they're willing to admit it, most people have thought about suicide at one time or another (and it makes no difference what kind of music one listens to...which I'll cover in a separate essay). I've even gone so far as to have come up with detailed ways to do it. Yes, I talk about it. Yes, I write about it. Yes, I think about it. But that doesn't mean I do it. In fact, writing is the only thing that has saved me from my fits of despair, depression, and suicidal thoughts. It is the creative insanity of writing that has kept me alive so far, but it is nice to know that I can end it all rather simply at any time I wish. Bang...
Do I want to die? Of course not. I still have a lot of work to do. I still have a lot of evil and darkness to spread and a lot of people to piss off. Am I afraid to die? No, but I want to feel like my work is done and that I accomplished my task of bringing a little darkness to this wretched planet before I do die. As an atheist, I believe that once I'm dead, I'm dead and that's it. Therefore, I have to do as much godless, sinister, and diabolical work as I can while I'm alive. (As a side note, it is possible to be both a Satanist and an atheist. Without expanding greatly, one of Satanism's basic tenets is that every man is a god unto himself and there is not a "Satan" entity per se.) It is for this reason that my ideal death will be many years from now.
It is my hope, however, that I will die peacefully with all my faculties still intact. I don't want insanity to completely take me over and render me even more useless to society. Furthermore, one of my fears is that I will become a mumbling invalid just waiting to die in a rat- and cockroach-infested county-run nursing home where I'm beaten and sodomized until all my bedsores break open and become infected. I want to be completely independent up until the very day (or night) of my death.
WHERE DID HE GO?
It is my belief that I will die in one of three places--at work, at home, or in the middle of nowhere. The idea of dying at work deeply bothers me. I put in enough days of my life there that I don't want to put in my day of death there, too. In fact, I don't want work to have anything to do with my death. This is one of my greatest fears--that I will die at work or as a direct result of work. I don't want to be involved in a fatal accident whilst working. I don't want to die at the age of 35 because of job-related stress. I don't want to be shot by anyone who gets irritated enough with me or whilst in the ghetto for a job-related activity. If work has anything to do with my death, I'm going to be really pissed those last few conscious moments before the end.
Dying at home would at least be tolerable, but I can think of a better way to go. Basically, aspects of my ideal death are very similar to that of the man in "The Old Man and His Old, Dusty Black Boots." I just simply want to wander off alone into the mountains of Montana, die, and be covered by snow, my death and body perhaps not to be discovered until years later. I would say chances are much better, however, that something more conventional will happen. I'm sure some form of "proper" funeral will be had. If I must be a reluctant recipient of such, at least let it be a huge pyre.
WHEN I DIE, BURY ME IN SMOKE
My death will be known by few and cheered by many. I do not wish to clarify that statement here, but the remainder of this essay should be considered to be a will of sorts. As I mentioned mere sentences ago, my ideal death involves me wandering off into the woods, never to be seen again. I'd say the reality of this occurring is tenuous at best and that I will have some kind of funeral. Fine. When I die (or when I'm found, whichever the case may be), I want to be burned in a huge pyre (read, for example, "Thy Pyre"). A cold winter night in the icy depths of a forest somewhere would be good. I don't want some fake, puny little propane-fueled "pyre" that is little more than a glorified cremation. I want a seriously full-blown pyre made of tree limbs with flames leaping high into the frigid air.
If I have some kind of more formalized funeral, keep all religion away from it! Read first the book I possess entitled "Funerals Without God: A Practical Guide to Non-Religious Funerals." I cursed religion in life, and I'll curse it in death. I don't want my funeral to be a big, beautiful funeral where everybody cried. Think practicality here. Think of ways to save money and keep it simple. A plain pine box is sufficient enough for the coffin in which to transport me to my pyre. I don't want any flowers. I hate flowers. If someone insists on flowers and they absolutely must be had, they must be black. I don't want to be in a suit. I never wore one in life, so torn blue jeans, my Anton Szandor LaVey T-shirt, and boots will be fine. If music can be played, I want the slowest, most doleful songs from the following bands to be heard: My Dying Bride, Anathema, Morgion, Saturnus, Skepticism, Tristania, Theatre of Tragedy, Autumn Tears, Empyrium, The 3rd and the Mortal, and Pink Floyd (particularly "Sorrow"). Any further violin-based music that I own would be acceptable.
Now that the funeral is over and my pyre has burned itself out, what to do with my stuff. I forgot to mention this before, and I don't feel like going back to change it, but my organs should be donated to science or to those needing transplants if so necessary and/or desired. After all, I'm dead, so I certainly won't be needing them. If I'm being kept alive solely by machines with no hope of recovery, pull the plug. If some traumatic event happens resulting in severe brain damage with no hope of recovering from being a complete bumbling, drooling, unaware, uncommunicative vegetable, pull the plug.
After that brief aside, I'll get back to the task at hand--what to do with my possessions. Basically, I am, with a few exceptions, leaving it up to those dealing with the aftermath of my death to ultimately decide what to do with everything. Bottom line--I won't be needing anything, so pick through everything and keep what is necessary or desired (probably very little) and throw away the rest (probably a great deal). Keep in mind when going through my possessions, however, that artists or creative persons are, in general, weird, unusual, or at least different. I will not expand any further here, but I am thinking in particular of the contents of "The Devil Box" and related items.
Here are a few exceptions or clarifications. My old computer is virtually useless at this point so get rid of it. My new one, however, should still have many years left in it, so it should probably be kept and used by somebody. Please do not keep my room, apartment, or anything else (except my web page) "just the way he had it when he died." That's just a waste of space and money. I'm pretty sure I ain't coming back, so why bother? Not only that, but my apartment is a mess. Clean this place up! Do not, however, throw any of my books away. I think throwing books away is a terrible thing. Keep and read those one might find of interest. The others should be donated to a resale shop or library.
I have amassed quite a collection of CDs over the years, most of them undesirable to non-metal persons. As I'm sure can be determined from the short list of bands above, I have very unique and somewhat eclectic tastes. I highly encourage the listening to and retention of many of them, and hopefully most of them that aren't kept can be sold because there is some very good music that should be heard. An ad may have to be placed in the newspaper or a metal mag (just don't ask too much for them). I guess, unfortunately, whatever isn't kept and can't be sold will have to be thrown away (though my thoughts on throwing away metal CDs are similar to those on throwing away books).
What I want done with my writings is probably going to be one of the more prolonged aspects of my death. First off, though I haven't kept a journal in years, I did keep them from about 4th or 5th grade until my freshman year of college. Any journals that are found should be burned (not just thrown away, but burned) without even opening them. There is some stuff in there that I don't want anybody to read, lest they think of me as even more unusual than now. A notebook can take years to decay in a dump, so burn any journals that may be found (tossing them in with my body on my pyre would be perfect). My other, more formal writings (poetry, essays, etc.) I hope can be maintained on this web page. The HTML for these pages is very simple, and all the files are on my new computer. Stuff that is written but not yet uploaded I hope can be put online. Essays and poems that look "done" (though they usually are not) should be put online. Even those that aren't done can be uploaded. It is my hope that this web page can be maintained by somebody for many years. This way, I can continue my work of spreading evil and darkness and pissing people off even after I have died without having to worry about publishing a book (which would be great but unlikely). My meager savings should be used to defray any costs related to my death (funeral, internet access for my web page, etc.). Any stocks, funds, retirement accounts, etc. can be dealt with in any way one sees fit.
And finally, in response to questions I have been asked many times but have never really answered. "What are all those little notes lying around?" or "How come you're always writing something?" Basically, there is one person besides me that has understood this activity (the same woman that I mentioned much earlier in this essay). What these notes are--varying in length from one word to a phrase to a paragraph--are short bursts of creativity, brainstorms if you will, probably mixed in with a little obsessive compulsive disorder for good measure. Sometimes these notes make their way into a poem or an essay. These are the lucky ones. The few. The proud. Most are relegated to spend their entire remaining lives on a sticky note or on a yellow piece of legal pad paper in a list with a bunch of others to be filed away forever and probably never to be seen again. They are just things that pop into my head--moments of insanity that burst through common lucidity. It's probably a chemical imbalance or something. I need to write. Johannes Kepler, a German astronomer and mathematician, did the same thing, and he, unlike me, was brilliant, but maybe it's a good sign for me.
CONCLUSION
I'm finally done. I think I thought of just about everything I could. The stack of "CDs-listened-to-whilst-writing-this-essay" is huge. One might think I'd be depressed or saddened after writing this, but I actually feel pretty good. Writing, whatever the kind, whatever the nature, and whatever the topic, is a great stress reliever for me. I only hope my readers feel the same.
Originally written:
July 5, 2001; August 4-5, 2001
Put online:
August 5, 2001
Discussion:
N/A
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