on the american way of death

i've had death on my mind these last few days

not in a morbid sense, if that's possible

i read an extract of Jessica Mitford's article, the american way of death, reproduced in John Pilger's new collection of investigative journalism

sweet mother of god

aside from the base greed and crass status-seeking that you'd expect from elements of american society, the most disturbing part of the piece talks about what goes on behind the satin curtained reposing rooms in funeral parlours

specifically, the embalming process

i won't get in to the finer details, you can probably find the article on-line and you should buy Pilger's book anyway

suffice to say, the description of embalming sounds like a passage from Melmoth the Wanderer

i couldn't help thinking, i don't want this

not that i'm particularly attached to my body, and i sorta half look forward to (or am certainly curious about) what'll happen when i leave it

it's a project i'm working on daily

but while i'm not hung up on the sanctity of the body, be it breathing or not, there's something about the day to day of morticians that is bizarre, gruesome and unsettling in a sense reminiscent of gothic fiction

reading the article, my mind strayed (in the context of what i was reading) to friends and relatives that have passed away, which i found upsetting

reprehensively, i also meditated on elderly relatives, and what was waiting on the bodies i routinely embrace

but that's the sort of thing that'll unhinge you at three in the morning, so i got back to my own bag of bones

so, what's the plan?

based on what i read in the article, it seems embalming is not a legal requirement (anywhere), so i'll leave very clear instructions (when the time is right) that under no circumstances am i to be sent to the butchers to be drained, chopped, chipped and made up like a mannequin

(on the other hand, the embalming process absolutely guarantees you won't be buried alive, which has worried me at times and was apparently, i've read somewhere, one of the motivations to invent the process in medieval times)

as to form of burial, that's been on my mind too

rotting in the ground doesn't appeal to me

i spontaneously developed claustrophobia on a 14hr bus journey from sibenik to dubrovnik last summer, the result of shot nerves and whiskey-induced panic attacks

so coffins in general are out, psychologically speaking

so too are long bus journeys and serbian border checks

cremation, i'm not convinced of

it just seems a bit previous to condemn yourself to flames automatically

let's not be negative, there's better things that can happen after the pennies are placed

despite my crippling fear of drowning (or any kind of suffocation), i'm nonetheless drawn to the viking warrior send off, which involves more water than i'm generally comfortable with

floated out to sea on a funeral pyre, and if you're a viking in hollywood, one of your soldiers will light the pyre with a flaming arrow, fired from the shore while your comrades raise swords (or axes) and pay tribute in song before a spot of plundering in your honour

it's still flames, but there's something natural about the viking funeral, regardless of the possibility that my knowledge of it is completely askew

it seems sort of... elemental

fire, water, wind and earth (assuming that soil in some way makes up the vessel)

is earth actually an element?

or was that just a convenient plot fabrication of the god-awful Captain Planet cartoon that i watched religiously in the late 80s during the early days of misguided global-warning hysteria?

i'd google it if i'd the inclination

but all this thought of death seems now to have sapped my enthusiasm

and so this post will suffer a premature death too