Death of the Funeral

I really don't like conventional funerals. Actually, I absolutely despise conventional funerals with an enormous part of my being. I guess that's an odd thing to say since it's probably a given that most people hate funerals. They're not exactly the happiest of occasions. Although my reason for hating them isn't simply because they take place solely because of a cherished one's death, I just abhor how they're designed to make people cry. Dark, scratchy suits. The most heartfelt, tear-jerking songs imaginable. Then an impersonal, gerrymandered sermon that turns the focus from the deceased towards a deity. The loss of a loved one is already devastating enough so why make it so dreary and distant? I'd hate for such a sorry affair to serve as the closing ceremony of my life. That's why I've already planned all the ins and outs of my funerals.

I realize this seems a morbid and fairly strange thing for me to do. After all, I'm only 21 and, in theory, have a long life ahead of me. There's miles to go before I sleep, hopes and dreams to conquer, and lots and lots of babies, Rose. Still, I can't simply bank on reaching 50 before I plan these things. Life insurance and my official will can wait a little bit, but this is something I can easily declare right here and now. I don't like to think about it, but I could die any time. A slight slip of the wheel could result in a fatal car wreck, a rupture of an artery might result in an aneurism, a sudden assault from death eaters could leave me Avada Kedavra-d. Point is, life is a precious thing, and mine could end at any time, and I'll be damned if I have a gloomfest funeral to commemorate my time on this earth. Let's just hope none of those things happen before I finish this post.

A Western-style shoot out could happen at any time!

First of all, there's to be no black at my funeral. I won't have a bouncer-enforced dress code, but it's my genuine hope that anyone who shows up in a black suit or dark skirt feels awkward as hell. I want bright, happy colors: khaki pants, sun dresses, oceany blues and passionate pinks. I've always loved colors that pop, shades that catch the eye of on-lookers, hues that tantalize the optic nerve. My funeral doesn't need to be a mourn-fest; I want it to be the celebration of the life I lived. A party, if you will. And this certainly isn't going to be a gothic event, so I hope people dress the part. Oh, and please god, no veils. If I leave behind a widow, I want everyone to see her pretty face and realize how much of a baller I was to get such a fine filly.

Anyway, as this is a party, let's treat it as such with the proper refreshments. I want there to be food, and not just party snacks, I want some damn tasty treats. How about some barbecue sandwiches? Maybe a nice spinach dip. Oh, and no Taylor Wilson death party would be complete without some deviled eggs. I hope one of the beloved old ladies in my life could rustle up a mess deviled eggs. And I think we all know it's a given that there's going to be alcohol. I mean....come on, guys. Look who we're dealing with here. The booze will help everyone be a bit more open and honest, and I really need them to be. After all, if they're going to need to be a little razzled if they want to tell a good story. See, instead of some sort of preacher that pretends to know a damn thing about me, I'd like the folks that actually know me well to take to an open mic. Standing before a slideshow that chronicles the photo history of my life, they can laugh, they can cry, hell, they can declare their eternal hatred of me; let's just keep the spotlight on me. A funeral, like a birthday, is one of the few times it's acceptable to be completely self-centered.

A surprise freestyle by Kanye would also be welcome

After several hours of inebriated anecdotes, I'd like the grand finale to take place right around sunset. Everyone will go outside and pen their final earthly goodbyes on small letters and tape them to bright red balloons, releasing them all at once. I'd like to envision hundreds of these crimson soldiers racing to the brim of the sky to hand-deliver each special note; I promise I'll read every single one. See, once I die, I'm not here anymore. That's exactly why I want to be cremated, my ashes spread at sea. I hate the idea of someone "visiting" me at a graveyard, because I don't want to be imagined as a sullen corpse in the earth. I've always been of the water, and always looked upward with an innate longing. Granted, I would like a white tomb (with a sword enclosed, but that's a story for another day) as an earthly monument, but I don't want my loved ones to feel I'm bound to a single location. Once I take that last breathe, I'll finally take flight, and finally appease that longing. I'll finally find exactly what lies at the line that separates the sea from the sky.

These are my instructions if I should ever meet an untimely demise, so follow them well, because I promise to haunt the living hell out of anyone that dares leads my casket-ed ghost before a gothic parade against my wishes. Funerals should not be formal ceremonies that encourage depression and tears, they should throw a glorious event to celebrate an equally venerable life. Let's not share awkward hugs and hushed tears, but rather drink to the times we had, and the promise that we'll see each other again in another life.