The Big Sleep:

[Victor Pross]

The Big Sleep: Death can be fun and Beneficial.

By Victor Pross

"It's not that I'm afraid to die. I just don't want to be there when it happens,” declared the perpetually pessimistic Woody Allen. I think death is underrated. Death has received a lot of bad press and so it is no wonder that it is universally reviled. In the Letters from a Stoic, Seneca wrote: “You want to live—but do you know how to live? You are scared of dying—and, tell me, is the kind of life you lead really any different from being dead?”

It is a crying ignominy that the lighter side of death is never presented. I think dying doesn’t have to be the morose and cheerless event everybody insists on making it. Death can be fun. It can also be beneficial.

Stevie Smith said it all: "If there wasn't death, I think you couldn't go on.” With this more optimistic approach, let us proceed to explore how death can be fun and beneficial. Let us not think of death as the end but rather as a beginning. And let us not forget that life is temporary whereas death is everlasting. I think there is something to be said for that.

One of the first benefits that come to mind is one’s reputation. Eulogies are always sweetly sugar-coated and are purposely the complete opposite of the usual vile libel we receive in life. Everybody speaks well of the dead. There is even a hesitation to speak “ill of the dead” from one's sworn enemies. Your enemies are able to recall better aspects of your character. You never get that while living. Even when the dead are spoken of in a disapproving manner, it is usually considered poor taste. Let them rest in peace! Alive, you are an asshole. Dead, you are affectionately recalled.

The lives of the dead are retroactively subject to change so that a “difficult woman” can be reconstructed as a “misunderstood perfectionist,” and a “dumb blonde with big boobs and small brains” can be transformed into a “victim of the patriarchy,” and a “psychotic nut” can suddenly be altered into a “sensitive artist.”

Sure, death seems like an inflated price to pay for respect, but remember that until she killed herself, Marilyn Monroe was laughable—a luscious, lusty Hollywood parfait, her body parts viewed as much greater than her whole. The posthumous “unearthing” of Marilyn’s unacknowledged talent—her revision as feminist icon, as victim of a misogynistic, male dominated system—would seem to be a sign of progress.

People who commit suicide possess a wisdom that is lost to those who cling to life. It was the French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre who invented Existentialism, a philosophy that articulates life’s nauseating emptiness, this big vacant nothing that all of us fight so hard against. But suicides are the people who have given up the battle. They are tired and they want to go to sleep. And as best as I can recollect, sleep is good for us.

Suicide has the added bonus of having a cult following: the fan club of the self-destruction resulted in a Rolling Stone cover of Jim Morrison in one of his famous lizard-king poses with a caption that read, “He’s hot. He’s sexy. And he’s dead.” And let’s not forget the attention that Hendrix, Kurt and Elvis receive. They are more popular dead than alive. In fact, when the word that Elvis had died was received, one showbiz kibitzer said: “Good career move!” Elvis alive was a problem: who wants an old and fat Elvis Presley? Elvis dead was a property.

Personally, I don’t take death seriously at all. We all have to go sooner or later, so why do we get all wound up over it. Let’s have fun. I don’t want any aggravating weeping and self-serving grief at my funeral. When I shake off this mortal coil, I would prefer to have my life celebrated—not mourned. I would want to be recalled as a creative and humorous person. So in the spirit of that, let me tell you how I foresee my funeral:

First of all, I would insist in my will that the assembled are to wear Groucho Marx glasses and mustaches. This would include the individual who is to perform the eulogy. (Of course, I would want any flattering acclamation to be followed by a debate as to its truth). I would want my widow to speak fondly of my sexual prowess...now that I’m a “stiff.”

Secondly, I want my body to be left to the care of taxidermy. I understand that the modern practice of taxidermy incorporates many crafts, such as carpentry, woodworking, tanning, molding and casting. It also requires artistic talent, including the art of sculpture, painting and drawing. Those who know me well would know why this appeals to me. I can see my body being stuffed like a cute little teddy bear. I would want my corpse erected upright in a surfing pose—complete with a swimming suit and sunglasses. (I never did surf in life and I don’t think that a dead man’s last wishes should be denied).

Thirdly, I would prefer to have my wax-like carcass on permanent display at some museum. I prefer that a hand-crafted effigy to be buried in place of my actual cadaver. Most important, let's have some laughs.

Lastly, I would prefer to have Frank Zappa CDs playing at my funeral in place of that awful lame organ music so characteristic of some funerals. That shit bores me to death. In the words of Charles Frohman: "Why fear death? Death is only a beautiful adventure." I say make it a creative and humorous adventure!

If you don’t find anything humorous about death, think of it as the Big Sleep. Everybody has to die. Such is life. Anyway, who wants to live forever? Is that really how you want to be remembered?

In famous last words, Lord Byron on his death bed was reported to have said: "Now I shall go to sleep. Good night."

Edited February 27, 2007 by Victor Pross

[BAMF]

Hey, you and I are alike! I too want my funeral to be fun, not dull like most. I always thought it'd be cool to have a neon yellow coffin that people can write/draw on. OR, I'd like to be buried with my head sticking out of the ground in someone's backyard. Also, my guests shall wear gangster attire and if they get up to speak about me, they must speak only in raps.

As for my actual death...I'd rather not die "peacefully" in my sleep. Maybe jump off a building only to land on a tricycle. Or how about a heart attack whilst having sex? Maybe I slip on a banana and break my head open. Who knows?

If you can't rap, you best get to practicin', y'all.

P.S. If there was no such thing as death, then one could not live one's days as if they are their last.

"When I'm gone, don't mourn, rejoice every time you hear the sound of my voice. Just know that I'm lookin' down on you smilin' and I didn't feel a thing, so baby don't feel no pain, just smile back."

Edited February 25, 2007 by Kori

[Victor Pross]

Hey, you and I are alike! I too want my funeral to be fun, not dull like most. I always thought it'd be cool to have a neon yellow coffin that people can write/draw on. OR, I'd like to be buried with my head sticking out of the ground in someone's backyard. Also, my guests shall wear gangster attire and if they get up to speak about me, they must speak only in raps.

As for my actual death...I'd rather not die "peacefully" in my sleep. Maybe jump off a building only to land on a tricycle. Or how about a heart attack whilst having sex? Maybe I slip on a banana and break my head open. Who knows?

If you can't rap, you best get to practicin', y'all.

P.S. If there was no such thing as death, then one could not live one's days as if they are their last.

"When I'm gone, don't mourn, rejoice every time you hear the sound of my voice. Just know that I'm lookin' down on you smilin' and I didn't feel a thing, so baby don't feel no pain, just smile back."

Damn, Kori, you are killing me here. That is funny! Shit, too bad I’m so much older than you because I want to go to your funeral. It sounds like it would be a lot of fun. Shit, I wish I could attend my own funeral, but I’ll be busy that day. Surfs up! Crank that Beach boy music, baby!

[BAMF]

Killing you? Hey, maybe you'll have your dream funeral sooner than you wish.

Victor, you just might get to go to my funeral. We can't be sure who'll die first. You best prepare your rap, my friend.

I think that maybe I want that Hanson song "Mmmbop" played at my funeral. That is, after everyone is all tired out from the G'in. You can only take so much gangsta at once.

[CNA]

I like your article, honey. I also would much rather have everyone laughing and having a good time, celebrating life, achievements, the wonderful memories, and so forth rather than tears of pain. You know, in my own life in dealing with my own possible death and coming too soon, a little humor be it dark or lighthearted goes a long way. It can help take the edge off something so serious, will help lift spirits and mood, can help relieve stress. Some people may not understand it, may not even find it funny, may even be offended by it but it helped me to deal with my own issues. I can have a strange sense of humor. What I find funny may not be funny to many other people.

This brings back quite a few memories of my own dark humor to help lighten a situation but one in specific I told you about earlier. When I was in my early 20s, my health started to fail. I had been to numerous doctors, had countless tests performed and no one could tell me why my body was failing, why I was dying. A long story short, I complained to my doctor that something was wrong with my heart. I finally went in to be hooked up to an EKG machine. My heart rate was all over the place. It would have a "normal" resting beat but every so many seconds it would start to flutter. Within a few seconds, it would race up to 160, then quickly down to 120, then to 139. And then it would level out to a "normal" rate again. A few seconds would go by at this "normal" resting heart rate and it would repeat the same flutter again. After being examined and watching this machine, I made a comment, a rather dark comment which I was given strange looks. But for me personally, it helped lighten the situation up a bit and how serious it truly was. It helped draw my attention away from what was happening and got me to chuckle a bit. Sometimes when dealing with something so serious, it is good to keep your sense of humor, to try to find something humorous in it, no matter how dreary the circumstances may be.

I looked over at the machine and then turned to my doctor and said, "How much you wanna bet that the next time it does its thing it'll hit 120? Come on, let's bet on it." My doctor just looked at me. John, my then husband, said, "Why would you do that? Why would you say something like that?" I said, "You know what, this is very serious and not good at all. You gotta make light of it somehow." You know, it's okay to laugh in the face of adversity, to find something to joke about in something so serious. I was astonished at what was happening to me and at such an early age. It can be pretty damn depressing, depending on your outlook. For me, I would much rather laugh and make light of something so serious than sit and dwell on it and worry about it, stress over it, be completely miserable because of it and not enjoy the time I am here, even if it is short lived. But of course, you are going to stress about it anyway but anything to help take the edge off can be very beneficial in so many ways. I was able to keep my sense of humor in all its forms even if it was dark in what I said. It helped me to keep a positive outlook, to keep laughing, to put a silver lining on even the darkest of times in my life when I was told I was dying and there was nothing they could do for me. I would much rather laugh even over something dark than be miserable, stressed out, and not enjoy the remainder of the time that I have.

At my funeral, I also want everyone to be having a good time, laughing, reminiscing about the good times, my achievements, their achievements, their life, my life, and so forth. Schedule a big ass block party or a cruise to the Bahamas or have a costume contest or have all the men dress up as Elvis impersonators. Whatever. Anything to make it fun, take the edge off, laugh, and enjoy life !!

Edited February 25, 2007 by CNA

[PalePower]

Oh come on, funerals are great and everything, but the PRIME method of death would make one impossible (in the sense that there would be no corpse). Okay, here's the scenario - i.e., my planned Big Exit:

I am 90-something. Hell, make it 100-something - I want to live a whole century. By this time, I am a living legend. I've written more quality music than Schubert would have had he lived a thousand years. My prowess as a writer has basically discouraged any other fledgling authors and I possess, for the first time in human history, a monopoly over the literature business. I am so rich that I bought out Uganda and turned it into a big shopping mall - the people there are finally prosperous and happy, and they have statues of me next to every Starbucks (double mental energy - caffeine and motivation to achieve that kind of success that I have). I have personally stopped global warming because I one day looked up at the sky, fixed it with my smoldering glare, and said, "NO." People worldover genuflect when they say my name. Six times a day (not five like that newb Allah mandated) they must point themselves in my direction, wherever I am on the globe, prostrate themselves and recite my name over and over again until they feel sweet peace settle over their souls.

Moreover, men - young men - WANT me. Not because I'm sexy or anything - I am 100 years old and ugly as sin with bald patches all over my head, a pleated face, and I smell like pee. But I am SO. COOL. that they'll fight hell to go through the pains of sleeping with me - just to say they slept with Elizabeth Nonemaker.

We all enjoy this situation - because throughout my entire old-age-hood my sex drive has only increased. I am a roaring tornado of want, and I get to hand-pick my nighttime cohorts.

One night, I am with a particularly youthful youngin.' He just turned 18, and it's his first time. He's pretty scared. He doesn't know what to do. Plus, he's revolted. But I'm having fun and I think it's pretty amusing that he's so sad. So I decide to top it off.

Right after we get done having sex, and he's about to cry, I spontaneously combust. As he leaps horrified away from the bed, the flames consuming my crumpled, aged body and engulfing the sweaty bedsheets, I manage in my last seconds to lock eyes with him and cackle, "What, was it too HOT for ya, sonny?!" Then my face burns up.

See,

THAT'S the way to go.

~Elizabeth

[Victor Pross]

Angie baby, Kori and Elizabeth…what are you all doing to me? I love women who have a dark-side and a loopy sense of humor! I encourage others to explore their inner demon-seed child and to let him or her out for a little walk in this thread. Bring it on! :devil:

[Brant Gaede]

Oh come on, funerals are great and everything, but the PRIME method of death would make one impossible (in the sense that there would be no corpse). Okay, here's the scenario - i.e., my planned Big Exit:

I am 90-something. Hell, make it 100-something - I want to live a whole century. By this time, I am a living legend. I've written more quality music than Schubert would have had he lived a thousand years. My prowess as a writer has basically discouraged any other fledgling authors and I possess, for the first time in human history, a monopoly over the literature business. I am so rich that I bought out Uganda and turned it into a big shopping mall - the people there are finally prosperous and happy, and they have statues of me next to every Starbucks (double mental energy - caffeine and motivation to achieve that kind of success that I have). I have personally stopped global warming because I one day looked up at the sky, fixed it with my smoldering glare, and said, "NO." People worldover genuflect when they say my name. Six times a day (not five like that newb Allah mandated) they must point themselves in my direction, wherever I am on the globe, prostrate themselves and recite my name over and over again until they feel sweet peace settle over their souls.

Moreover, men - young men - WANT me. Not because I'm sexy or anything - I am 100 years old and ugly as sin with bald patches all over my head, a pleated face, and I smell like pee. But I am SO. COOL. that they'll fight hell to go through the pains of sleeping with me - just to say they slept with Elizabeth Nonemaker.

We all enjoy this situation - because throughout my entire old-age-hood my sex drive has only increased. I am a roaring tornado of want, and I get to hand-pick my nighttime cohorts.

One night, I am with a particularly youthful youngin.' He just turned 18, and it's his first time. He's pretty scared. He doesn't know what to do. Plus, he's revolted. But I'm having fun and I think it's pretty amusing that he's so sad. So I decide to top it off.

Right after we get done having sex, and he's about to cry, I spontaneously combust. As he leaps horrified away fromt he bed, the flames consuming my crumpled, aged body and engulfing the sweaty bedsheets, I manage in my last seconds to lock eyes with him and cackle, "What, was it too HOT for ya, sonny?!" Then my face burns up.

See,

THAT'S the way to go.

~Elizabeth

My dear, you are telling us about your now, not your then.

--Brant

[BAMF]

Elizabeth, my GOD...I think I peed a little. You will make for a great writer.

And LOL, Ange (but also :shocked: Oh no!). Can just imagine you and the doctor:

Angie: How much you wanna bet it'll be 120 next time?

Doctor: Why, I...this is serious business, young lady!"

Angie: Oh, come on, you know you want in on this sweet action...place your bets, dude."

Doctor: Noooo! *gaping jaw*

Angie: *turns away and mumbles* Pussy....

[Victor Pross]

Elizabeth,

You have an inventive and creative mind. I wish you would share more of your creative writings--maybe some stuff you have already written, but have not posted. Like me, you really explored your imagination in the above post. I had a lot of fun writing The Big Sleep, and it seems like you had fun writing your post.

-Victor

PS

Trivia: The Big Sleep is a Bogart movie---meaning death. I'm a fan of pop culture (new and old) and you can tell, I think, from reading my stuff.

Edited February 25, 2007 by Victor Pross

[BAMF]

I emphatically agree, Victor. Bring it out, Elizabeth (hey, that's my middle name....coincidence?...I don't think...yes, yes it is)! I like your style!

[Victor Pross]

Here’s another benefit that death has brought—and in this case it involves John Lennon’s death: It put that creep Mark David Chapman behind bars!