Sunday, April 26, 2009
I'll Eat the Core of the Earth
I made a promise to my mother. I would always be a good boy. She laughed and told me that sometimes you can't avoid it. I've always tried but sometimes I get away from myself.
When I drive the hearse I feel the bodies in the back pulling me into strange parking lots. Their fervent demands cause me to deviate from the route as we stop in all the places their foolish dead minds try to remember. I don't know why people don't cremate their loved ones. It really seems to be the most economical choice. When I die I'm going to leave instructions to my few remaining friends to have me cremated.
I don't want to leave anything behind. I don't want anyone to look at my body and wonder what might have happened if I had lived longer. I just want to accept what will happen, and I want everyone to accept what -by the time I die- has happened.
If you want to spread my ashes fine. I'll make do with the wind. I'd prefer it if you buried me though, because my carbon has always wanted to be as hard and unyielding as a diamond. I'm pretty sure my molecules can handle the heat and pressure of the earth, we've dealt fairly well with life so far. Surely one million degrees of heat and unknowable amounts of pressure can't be much harder. When I get down to the center I'm going to eat the core of the earth, then it will be a part of me, and I'll look up to the surface and watch life spin around me.