Chosen for Further Distribution … When I’m Dead

Summary

The website content reflects on the author's thoughts about posthumous distribution of their remains and the act of writing as a means to be remembered, humorously musing on the uncertainty of death and the importance of humor in facing it.

Abstract

The author of the article contemplates their preferences for what should happen to their body after death, considering options such as being sprinkled as ash, buried, or placed in an urn. They emphasize the desire to be remembered through their writing rather than the disposition of their remains. The piece also touches on the unknown nature of death and the human tendency to fear the transition from life to death. Despite the seriousness of the topic, the author encourages a light-hearted approach, suggesting that humor can be a coping mechanism. The article extends an invitation to readers to contribute their own writings on death, hinting at the interconnectedness of stories and the potential for karma to play a role in how stories influence each other.

Opinions

The author has a humorous and somewhat irreverent attitude towards the subject of death and the treatment of one's remains.
There is a belief that the transition from life to death is the most distressing part for people, marked by resistance and fear.
The author values the legacy of writing over the physical disposal of their body, indicating a preference for intellectual or artistic remembrance.
Humor is seen as an acceptable and perhaps necessary way to deal with the concept of mortality.
The article suggests that sharing stories about death can be a form of connection between people, and possibly a way to influence one's karma.

Chosen for Further Distribution … When I’m Dead

I’ve urned it.

Cheery pots and cheery thoughts. * * * Photo by Andreas Fickl on Unsplash

I’m planning to be further spread Just after I’m burnt up and dead So sprinkle my ash Forget all the cash While writing, I just want to be read

Or maybe I’ll go in the ground When from me there’s no longer a sound I’ll lay there real still While worms work their will And eventually spread me around

Or maybe I’d like to get potted Just stashed in an urn, not besotted Or drink til I’m drunk Before raising a funk And that’s just as far as I’ve plotted

Death is some serious shit, or maybe it isn’t. No one has ever reliably returned to give us loads of details.

Besides it’s mostly the transition part — from life to death — that gives us all fits. All that kicking and screaming and bitching and moaning and so forth.

But meanwhile, no one said you couldn’t joke.

So I have.

This is an open invitation for all you live wires out there to write something about death.

I’d appreciate it if you’d reference this bit of nonsense in your story, but there’s no requirement to do so. However, I’ve heard it said that “karma is a bitch” or maybe it’s “life’s a bitch and then you die”. Or maybe it’s both.