As such, I've put together some reflections and last wishes I hope might help the grieving get over my implausible demise.
1. YOU'RE NEXT.
If I can die, so can you. Therefore, don't worry, you won't be feeling anything for long. Granted, no one really knows what awaits in the great beyond. For all anybody knows this life is when we're supposed to be preparing to survive terrifying insect-like creatures who lurk in the shadows of the afterlife -- without proper survival training you won't last sixty seconds in the hereafter. But then it could also be a peaceful oblivion. Either one is equally probable, but when it comes down to your time is up, the last thing you'll be thinking about is, 'Did I leave the oven on... cuz that could start a fire.' I can guarantee you'll be thinking some variation of, "Fuck all, I really don't want to be dead."
So if anything, my death should spark terror recognizing that the deal is off and human beings are now susceptible to the natural order of things. Death is going to beat us with a sack made of redheaded stepchildren! Act accordingly.
2. NO MATTER HOW SHORT IT SEEMS, IT STILL TAKES YEARS.
People often lament the briefness of existence yet never seem able to comprehend the lengthy duration. Perhaps that's because some asshole is always comparing human life to that of something like -- oh I don't know -- a fucking rock. "See those mountains? They're millions of years old. Our stay is nothing compared to that." Yes, however, in all that time how much have they contributed to the world? I'm not saying humans have made the best decisions all along the way (i.e. war, religion, New Coke, peppermint schnapps, child porn, racism, Rush Limbaugh -- if you only focus on the bad there is no good.), but we've done more than just take up space. Contrasting human existence with that of anything geologic is like saying a rock is more important than a physicist because the rock will outlive the maker of faster than light travel.
It may be a bit solipsistic, but the perception of time is as important as its actual duration. Comparatively speaking our lives are short, but within those limits "timeless" things can occur; it all comes down to what you've done with your life.
3. LAZY ASS MOTHERFUCKER!
No two people can really be judged by the same criteria. For instance, I'm willing to bet every penny I have there are more guitar players in the world than will ever be needed by the history of music; and I further declare, staking every form of currency I have or will ever own, not all will be worthy of note.
And so what?
Some guys just want to play the guitar. Some guys want to be rockstars. Both guys are just trying to get laid. It's the standards set for the individual which really dictate the supposed value of a life and which determine the success or lack thereof.
Bob Dylan is living proof that still being around doesn't mean staying great.
4. TIME TO PARTY.
At my funeral I insist that all those who cry be ejected from the premises by catapult. If they wish to stay they must first spend seven minutes in heaven with my corpse in the casket, which should be designed to hold more than one person because let's face facts: some people will wish to be buried (alive) with me.
The wake will be BYOB. Should the funeral home object, the combination to my gun safe is 16-27-13. Arm yourselves and secure the premises. It won't be hard. Funeral staff are a very accommodating people.
I would like for there to be all types of music, but I must insist that the following songs be played:
"Got Dat Work" by Memphis Blac featuring Smokahontas Jones
"A Lapdance is So Much Better When the Stripper is Crying" by the Bloodhound Gang
"It's Raining Men" by The Weather Girls
"Obzen" by Meshuggah
"Battles" by Atlas
"No One's Gonna Love You" by Band of Horses
"Strange" by Kill Devil Hill
"Mama Told Me (Not to Come)" by Three Dog Night
Not necessarily in that order.
5. INHALANTES PESSIMA, EXHALANT OPTIMUM
Seize the day is a fictional standby. It waits on call to complete the obvious plots of thousands of books, short stories, films, songs, poems -- always at the center of any coming-of-age narrative. Carpe diem is so clichéd a six year old can rattle off the concept. Interestingly enough, said six year old will probably grasp it just as deeply as most people.
The idea is neither new nor is its expression. Yet the tale is always being told. Why? Because right now I can safely say I'm going to live forever. Ten more years that conceit might start to crumble under some scrutiny. The things I can fix about myself now will add up alongside the damage accrued over a lifetime of wild abandon (which most Carpe Diem films seem to imply is the best way to live life, making me wonder if said movies are really part of some conspiracy involving shitty vacation destinations and liquor manufacturers), and eventually my incredible ability to recuperate will be nonexistent. The eternal me fades out of focus, and an aging individual with thinner hair, more brittle bones, and a tendency to forget why he got up till he's pissing down his leg, only then recalling he meant to buy cigarettes, will take his place. I won't recognize him, no matter how familiar he seems. But that's the point. I don't want to be him. I want to be forever thanks to the mistaken perception that the seized day is one I've throttled and forced a bottle of whiskey down -- the marauding youth who consumes the world knowing there's always time to heal up, finish the incomplete, and wake up beaming. But what if I've got it wrong?
Life isn't the eternal quest to prove your choices are right. It's a long journey to get okay with the inevitable. You will be wrong. You will be broken. You will not fully recover. But that's all okay, so long as you keep on living.