August 5, 2012

hello there. I have somehow ended up in a house without internet for the week. However, if I walk five minutes along the road and sit on a bench beside it with no homes in view I can get it just fine. Which sounds good but consider this regrettable thing that it has allowed me to post now instead of considering if is a good idea for six more days.

Graveyards are profoundly depressing in the respect (RESPECT I say) that even in death you will be defined by your personal monetary value, or what your family struggles to make its value appear to be. The people with the highest social rank have the biggest, most elaborate graves, even though they are no more dead than anyone else trapped in a box and hidden there. This is the grave yard near Yale university, which means it’s full of decorated military leaders, government officials, deans and professorial types. It’s no smarter or talenteder than any other cemetary, but it sure seeks to convince me that it is with these huge grey rocks. Oh mab I wish *I* had a huge grey rock! I’m so jealously reverent!
I have visited graveyards before. I always have a good time and a positive attitude.

The rich dead even have fences to keep out the poor dead.
I entered the cemetary because I was looking for a more efficient walk toward my apartment from destinations that seemed to lie in a direct line from it but that I always needed to take etch-a-sketch-esque-a-skesque routes to get to and from. The local google map showed that I could walk directly through the yard, but there was no door at the other end (it probably got dead and is buried in there somewhere), which I did not realize until I was at the place where it ought to have been, resulting in my taking a full graveyard tour and even longer to get back where I came from than usual. I should not complain for google misleading me as there is an underpass near my home that has been blocked due to “road work” for almost two years, and I regularly witness cars drive toward it and come back 30 seconds later, because, I assume, some electric direction system or another told these motorists they could go that way, because in theory it was unblocked at one point, and I find that amusing. The time I was almost arrested for being too close to the highway at a place I could walk to from my apartment, the police driver dropped me off at a place that I could not walk to because she didn’t realize the road was blocked, and it might be ascertained that she or her car lives in town.

If I have a grave I want it to have a practical function. Something that would have value to people who are still alive and have feelings. Maybe I can have a stone conveyor grave that will help people get out of the cemetary faster.


I don’t want a grave at all, but if I had the money to make a big stupid expensive grave I would want it to be as tacky as Falco’s. Something that people could laugh at in a miserable place like this that was deliberately laughable.

But I do not wish to have a grave. Don’t make me deal with your pets, don’t give me a sandwich with white goop on it, don’t identify me with “mister” or my middle name initial letter and think you’re endearing yourself to me, don’t toss unlabeled video links at me and expect me to click them, don’t bury me when I am dead unless you murdered me and are hiding the evidence. That’s just sensible. Consider this my will if you kill me before I write one.
Although if you want to be safe, rent a boat and go out to sea and toss the body overboard. Most likely the corpse will arrive at a shore far from the murder site long after you did it.

A parking space for a deceased’s automobile. That wooden obstruction is to keep a really dumb goat from escaping.


Bird, you’re too heavy! You are knocking that stone over! SHOW SOME RESPECT, BIRD! This is hello’d ground! That means it is fully saturated with greetings and doesn’t need your empty chatter. Do you know what will happen if you disrespect a wealthy dead person from two centuries ago who had lived in comfort among a repressed population of peasants? Somebody alive now will get really self-righteous about it for some reason!

Here lies Eli Whitney, famous for every street in town being named after him. He also invented the cotton gin, which helped inebriate cotton-picking slaves so they would temporarily forget that the effort-eliminating invention didn’t actually give them a break in any way. (note to self: look that up once you have regular internet access again to see if it’s historically valid (note to ross ice shelf: please thank ross for giving me a place to store my ice))

Rinkety dinkety graves for meeply folk. These may not even be secured in the ground. I think they are propped against the wall. These are the most interesting graves to me, though, because they are in all different shades of brown. Unlike eli the whitniest, their roaming undead spectres can’t afford to pay someone to clean off their demise mark once in a while.

Nobody is named Henrietta anymore. Whenever I see the name I immediately think of anthropomorphized farm animals. I can’t imagine anybody named Henrietta that isn’t a cow or a pig. Even this has a picture of a bird on it. The person got dead recently, in 2007 but seemed to have lived a long life, since 1916 and was appreciated enough to get this generous sized granite lump and so I think can handle such treatment from me, even if she wasn’t rich enough to get a fence.

I like this place because there is no pavement and it reminds me of the video game Hexen. This is one area that might actually resemble how the grave zone initially looked and doesn’t have any crass modernism mixed in. Of course Hexen is a video game about slaughtering undead wizards and wraiths (sadly, no skeletons) and I actually shouldn’t find anything comforting about that and in any event it was made in 1995. Even by video game standards that is only the equivelant of one century. But this does make something significant occur to me.


Suppose there was an undead uprising. For all the respect their retainers demand the dead themselves show little to us in rudely screeching when they see us and detaching their heads from their bodies to spit fireballs, or worse, keeping their heads and throwing bones at us. We should not bury them intact all close to each other! And we should be suspicious of anybody who defends their right to not be dismembered.

Also note there are ALWAYS imps present. I didn’t bury no imps. Who let this happen? We really should prohibit imps from entering cemetaries. Any imp that tries should be forced to present its papers. Obviously imps don’t carry paper around and aren’t licensed to exist anyhow. That should keep them out.



3 Responses
  1. 1
    9:00 pm, August 6, 2012

    Simon Belmont sez:

    WHAT A HORRIBLE NIGHT TO HAVE A CURSE.

  2. 2
    3:16 pm, August 10, 2012

    PurpleSpace sez:

    That is a shame that going through the cemetery was not a satisfactory shortcut. However, we can think about how great a game would be where all the characters are imps! They could call it N.E.M.I.T.Z.

  3. 3
    10:33 am, August 12, 2012

    James sez:

    If I have the opportunity to dictate the procedure of my disposal I will request that I am cremated, ashes scattered, with no urn and no funeral.

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