AN EPIPHANY

So for many years I have been moving around the country, even hoping to get out of the country. People will often ask me what I am running from and in return I would ask them if they had thought about what I might be running to.

So what am I running to? I'll tell you when I run into it. As for what I am running from, death. It appears as tho I have had this thought in the back of my mind. When I settle down, saying this is where I want to live the rest of my life, I am conceding to the fact that I will be dying. Where as if I continually move I at would have the thought of "at least I won't die hear". There by never having to face my mortality.

That now brings me to the planning of my funeral. This idea actually came to me several years ago. You know, when you die others will be planning your funeral the way they see best, not necessarily how you would like it to be.

As I lay in my casket I will be surrounded by ice and beer, barley wines and Belgians. The only bottle opener in the joint will be in my cold, dead hand, irremovable due to rig amortise. As people hang out and commiserate (that is if I haven't become such a hermit to no longer know any one) saying "Do you remember that time Pauly..." or "whatever becomes of great bands like Chumba Wumba?", a loop of WILD HORSES as played by the Stones, Old and In The Way, and The Sundays will play over and over. When a crescendo hits, this you will know by the opening notes of Helter Skelter, every one will smash their bottles and glasses on the floor. After that you can bury me, burn me, or float me down a river. Either way I don't care and won't know.