One Of My Last Wills

Hey, world.  This needs to be said because who knows when I might die.

I have another post regarding death and all that, and here is another one.  This one is personally tailored to fit me though!  It can get depressing but don't worry.  The bottom line is that I don't know when it's my time to go.  And I don't want to be stuck having nothing to say because I wasn't prepared!

Unless otherwise specified, I want the song Bron-Yr-Aur (not to be confused with Bron-Yr-Aur Stomp) by Led Zeppelin to be played at my funeral/memorial service.  Immediately before playing the song, I want this statement to be read to those present:

"Though I'm gone, I want this gathering to be about more than just tears and sadness.  I want you to learn something, or feel something, that can affect the way you live and think, for the better.  I'm 19 years old as I write this, but who knows how much time will have passed by the time you're hearing this.  You all knew me enough to know of my love for music, and I want to use music right now to speak to you.

One of my favorite bands, Led Zeppelin, has a song that strays far from their hard rock reputation, called Bron-Yr-Aur (pronounced Bron-Rar).  I want you to listen to this song, but first I want to explain what this song was to me.  This song is one of the only songs to ever make me tear up with joy.  When I would listen to it, I would close my eyes, and could picture myself seeing mountains and valleys from a bird's eye view, miles away but still seeing with such clarity.  I forgot about the pains and dangers of life, and this song changed my outlook on life any time I listened to it.  It gave me hope that I would use my talents to make something beautiful with my time on Earth.

Secondly, I want you to think about the beauty of this song, and think of the music that is normally expected of Led Zeppelin.  There is quite the difference, and I hope you take away the lesson that people are not always exactly what you take them for.  Taking this one step further, I hope you see and adjust your mindset accordingly to the fact that some of the best lessons come from those who don't seem very qualified to teach them.

For once, I'm having a hard time thinking of what to say.  Concluding a parting address to friends and family isn't something anyone ever becomes good at, let alone the first time they try it.  I suppose that anything I feel I ought to say here will be evidenced by the way I lived my life.  If some fool who never knew me gets up behind the podium and starts talking about me like I was holy and pure, using phrases like "His companionship will be sorely missed" or "He was a man who brought joy into the lives of friends and family", you'd better forget everything he says quickly.  I plan on living my life in such a manner that the best speech writer in the world would have a hard time bluffing his way through a eulogy, due to the fact that I lived my life beyond the trite sayings of "I'm sorry for your loss" cards.

If anyone of you happened to be on less than desirable terms with me when I passed, know that all was forgotten and that I died without animosity and solely with love.  Our squabbles never had the power to overshadow the time we had together and the memories we shared.  When you leave this place, I ask a favor of you:  Love those around you, especially the ones that are hardest to love, and never stop looking for the next person to help.  This is what changes the world.  Whether I stayed true to this or not before my passing, I know in my heart at this moment that it's what should be done, and I ask you to work extra hard to make up for my absence.  I love you all.

Evan Lane"

If you're not at my funeral, but in fact on my blog, here's a link to the song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GQKQ3-bzXV8&feature=related

This Is Just Therapy

So I dont know who out there is like me, but those of you who are, can relate to the uncanny factor music plays in your memories.  I just got a job at Bed Bath and Beyond and its a pretty good job, but the music really sucks.  I mean that it sucks in the following way: sometimes good stuff will play, like today, When I Come Around, by Green Day, or one time I heard Big Me by The Foo Fighters.  But after any one of these good songs are played, Crappy Music is sure to awaken from it's slumber, find the front door ajar, items missing from the liquor cabinet, and it's daughter pregnant...and believe you me, it is PISSED.

What does Crappy Music do?  Well I'll tell you what Crappy Music does.  Like any normal Crappy Music, Crappy Music gets out his 12 guage, loads it full of himself, and sprays buckshot Crappy Music all over the parade of Tolerable Music.  Tolerable Music knows it is no match for Crappy Music, what with him wielding that 12 guage loaded with himself (yet somehow still reaching out of the barrel, and back around to the trigger...hmmm?) and all, so he just fades into obscurity behind Colbie Callait, that one song from the 80's (And so the conversation turned....until the sun went down...and many fantasies were learned....on that day.  Yeah, that one.), Nickelback, and any other member of Crappy Music's family that looks nice on the mantle in the picture frame that is marketable music.

Now, to be fair, I should explain why I hate the music so much.  The only time I ever listened to Colbie Callait was with an ex-girlfriend, and actually kind of took a liking to her music.  You know, the kind of liking you take to bad romance music when you're in a relationship, but would never listen to if you weren't?  Yeah that stuff.  Anyhow, I have, in the past, thought of myself as a sort of hunter.  This girl and I dated for a pretty long time, and so memories with her went way deep into just about everything I looked at.  Here, I'll give you some examples.

She used to sit sometimes :(

She used to wear shoes sometimes...actually, almost all the time :(

She used to eat sometimes...on a daily basis even :(

You get my drift.  While I joke about those up there, memories of her were everywhere.  I even found a small piece of purple ribbon paper one time, tucked into the corner of my room, about a year after she put it in my room for my birthday, and instantly knew exactly where it was, every memory that occurred around that area...it was just a mess.  So one time, in a fit of glumness, I wrote a poem I entitled "The Hunter".  In it, I allegorically described my life at that time:  A hunter wanders, ever precarious, through a dense fog, and there are noises and visions all around.  Every so often, without warning, and completely impossible to predict, a nasty, evil, grungy and black wispy creature would show up.  The creature would bare its fangs, and the hunter finds himself falling through a long tunnel.  When he lands, he is in pain, bones are broken, and the creature slowly ambles towards him.  He pulls his pistol, and (with a broken hand, mind you), has to dispatch the creature.  Sometimes it was easy, and sometimes I took a few reloads.

Now, here's the deal.  Some memories are easy to kill.  A short walk to the garbage can, boom, headshot.  Or a right-click, delete.  Boom, headshot.  It's all fine and dandy when I'm the master of the environment.  But what about when I'm not?  What about when I'm stuck somewhere and a song I remember playing the first time we __________ or the last time she ___________ or that one day we went to _____________ rears its ugly head?  I can't very well pull my allegorical pistol in the workplace.  Not only would a guy with jeans, dress shoes, a tucked in button-down, and no belt standing in the corner pointing his gun-shaped hand around the room shouting "BLAM!" frighten the customers and lose me my job, but it coincidentally would achieve nothing.

Here's a kicker though.  I find that with each listening of the songs, I can almost noticeably feel less of the fangs of the memory.  Now I mean I'm no longer into this girl, maybe just sometimes into the thought of having someone, but nonetheless, the memories can sting when they're memories and no longer actuality because of your own mistakes, and that you know you've irreperably hurt someone's feelings.  But anyhow, yeah, with each day, I find it becoming more of a song, and less of an ugly creature whose fur inexplicably swirls around as if it were under water, and stands in contrast to all else in the world, black as night.  (Melodrama, I never leave home without it)

________________, I'm sorry for the mistakes I made and that I hurt you.  But you owe me an apology too.  Your music sucked, and now I'M paying for it!