Mateo Falcone

Today is September 11th, may we never forget. To reflect on the tragedy of life, I took a walk through a graveyard, something I have never done before. As I walked, I took a few pictures, read the headstones, and looked around for anyone who may get mad at me for being there. I only saw one other person the whole trip. She didn't bother me. The cemetery was quiet, relaxing and refreshing.

Around the point when I meandered into the "Veteran's Section" I started to feel sick with stupidity.

I often joke around with the concept of death, but this was no laughing matter. I looked all around me, at all the bright, fake, plastic flowers and thought to myself, "what is this? Some kind of garden party?". I could not stop thinking, "six feet below me is a box of wasted meat".

Perhaps I am too cynical. Ha, perhaps. But maybe I just see through the triviality of it all. Why all this pretending and ritual?
I read a headstone from 1859 that said "Gone, but not forgotten". I seriously doubt anyone remembers this person, because anyone who would is buried a few feet from him.
This really doesn't make sense to put blocks of stone over fertilizer. The body should not be buried, it should be recycled. For one reason only: the body DOES NOT matter. It's the soul, the heart, the mind. Those are the essential portions of a human being. If those don't last forever, than good riddance to the person who misused their potential.

The greatest example of this is Jesus Christ. If he really was the Messiah, and the body really mattered, he could have lived on Earth forever, instead of "going to prepare a house for you". But he didn't. Because it doesn't matter. His spirit lives on in us. His wisdom is passed down. His heart is practiced. . . sometimes.

Essentially death doesn't even matter anymore. It used to, 2000 years ago. And that's how old and stupid and primitive funerals and burying people and all that shit is.

Let me be clear: I don't think death itself is trivial. Just how you handle it afterward. And the only reason death is even slightly important is because it is consequentially irreversible. There's nothing to fear about it and never a solid, good reason to commit murder. Not even in self defense. I believe if you kill someone in self defense, it's the same as stealing to keep from starving. Excusable, justified maybe, but still not right.

There is nothing very poetic or majestic about the graves I saw today. Nothing honorable or memorable. From what I read, the most important thing any of those people did in their lifetimes was exist and die. They didn't write books or save children or do anything great.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe they did. But then their legacy would not be found in the graveyard anyway. So then it's redundant and trivial.

The most majestic thing I saw in the graveyard today was a falcon. I've never seen one before. They are incredible, vicious birds of prey. My heart skipped a beat when it flew down in front of me. I knew it was only in the graveyard to hunt the mice that lived here. The ones that dug deep underground and ate the worms in the soil. The worms and maggots that burrowed through the soft wood and velvet cushion, deep into the cold, grey flesh of that meat.

Even in a place filled with death and serenity, there is life and chaos and war.

My point of this is: DON'T BURY ME. I do not want to become another stone in a sea of stones. First, donate my organs to someone who will need them, then cremate me or sell my body to science. The point of this blog is: You should do the same. Let go of ancient empty rituals and forget about being remembered. If you can't do that through your influence, you can't do it through the ground.