La Muerte Más Loca

In truth, I want the least amount of fuss. Incineration is the fastest, least expensive, and the ashes can be scattered in all the places I love. But, obviously, that is no fun...

Ms. Lil Enigma, I see you tapping your sequin pencil on the marbled counter and "Ahem'ing," about all the wild and cost-free fantastical options. Let's make it a party, right?

So, it will in that case need to be Sci-Fi. We'll need to discuss the finer details of teleportation and time-travel. Naturally, it wouldn't be a party if Everybody-and-their-Significant-Others weren't duly invited. We'll have to raise the dead. I mean the dearly departed, that we might all be politely reunited in this moment of celebratory crisis. Some of these will need to be disinterred from graveyards in Europe and some reconstructed from ashes, such as my father, whose remains at the behest of his sister (my aunt Teresa) have been separated into multiple jars, and by his request of which were scattered (partly) on the plot of land that he adored so much and had named like a woman, Lotta. Yes, I was forced to compromise with his remains, and I know that he will be understanding that some individuals have trouble letting go of the material, forsaking the immaterial. To be sure, we will have to work on a degree of solid materialization, as he never met my husband and son and I'd like for them to shake hands at this moment and hug. Definitely, we'll be speaking in Non-Babylonian tongues, so that everyone understands everyone whatever, their native language. Scour the lands, for every last soul that I ever had contact with, especially those with "unresolved" issues.

Now is the time, right? to lay these to rest.

If we're all meeting up, for one helluva night, then cremation at this point is out of the question, and we must have a viewing. Make it good Lil Engima. Have fun. I leave you free range to make up my face however you like. It's always been a makeup free blank canvas, so just for tonight have at it and do some smokey eyeshadow, and cat's liner. Make the lips sharp with a gloss to last for each parting casket kiss. I'm ignorant on all these details, but I know there is some sealer, and if I remember vaguely, you put foundation on first to make the lipstick better adhere. Darken under the cheeks and eye sockets for drama, to ensure that romantic lovelorn, knocking on death's door look. Prop the eyes open if you have to, add whatever drops in there needed to keep them fresh and dewy.

I would like for you to personally paint the coffin, no the sarcophagus, with my hand carefully cradled in your own so that I can have the illusion of having taken part in this most important task, which while alive would be a morbid undertaking. But once, dead as such, you-and-I will truly enjoy the team effort. Well, it might be a challenge for you, but know that I will be cheering everybody on in spirit. I'd leave it up to fate, but if I can put in a little artistic direction, I'd prefer something cryptic, with coded letters, hidden images, optical illusions, a little tribal, something robotic, hot/cold gauges, ambient lighting. It will be lonely in there for awhile.

As for the wake, girl, of course I'll need a dress! Something with sculptural cleavage, like they fix up for the Miss Universe pageant, because my husband would love that; and do show some leg by all means! who says we have to be all shrouded and solemn for such an occasion? Heels please, since we're reclining. Five-or-six-inch-stilettos.

I have never understood, in my extended family, the obsession with eating at funerals. We'll forgo this incongruent custom, and instead we'll have a basic communion. Wine and a chocolate wafer. A sip and bite of each will be so luxurious and fulfilling that it will be remembered as a religious experience long after I am forgotten. Everyone will only recall spending a blissful evening recollecting under the stars, with sparkling bubbly people whose words poured like wisdom and understanding. A damn good time. People will write inspired tomes for years to come.

To further ensure that, we'll have some freebies, because everyone loves giveaways. I don't want to say booths, that would suggest a vending atmosphere. No, I'm visualizing more of a labyrinth garden setting where we accidentally traverse from balcony to grotto to water fountain; and we might be welcome for instance to take: a polaroid with loved ones, a precious energy laden pebble as memento, a stimulating scent on instant recall, and a sip of rejuvenation to last forever. You know, Life changing take aways.

I'll be damn sorry to miss it! Lil if there's no other way, low tech, please at least personally escort me around on a stiff plank with peg board and wheels so that I can pretend to see the scene. Otherwise put some juice or something into my system so I can make a standing ovation before we shut the sarcophagus and take it to the secret chambers of Chichén Itzá. Meaning at the mouth of the enchanted waters. Formerly known as Uuc Yabnal or Uc Abnal. The Uuc-variations meaning Seven, Yabnal meaning House, Abnal meaning Ruling-Line. I don't know what it is about the Mayans, but it will thrill immediate loved ones to bury me and my cats there. I am certain it would please my father and my mother-in-law and be compelling to my husband's mystical sensitivity and my son's wild adventurous spirit. They'll make summer pilgrimages, and in the meantime pour over maps thumbtacking where exactly it is rumored that the body is buried.

A chamber is not empty! There will be a glass drafting table. The one I'll get for Christmas. There'll be an exquisite full spectrum lamp, architectural. Paints, brushes, paper, pens, a constantly updated laptop--