which I will eventually,
I just don’t know when,
it may be around the corner,
or it may be in fifty years,
I don’t know,
I invite you all to be held
for the proper execution
of my funerary services.1
1 This is a nonbinding agreement.
FOR WHEN I DIE
1) I don’t want to ask for much, but lather my body in Gucci Guilty.
2) Call the event: “Carnaval Toda La Vida.”
a) Offer a meager translation: “Carnival All Of Life.”
i) Use a ticketing system for the funeral function but do keep original event title. Do not translate for the sake of being better understood.
(1) Aim for a classy-meets-Miami-ratchet-meets-kitsch aesthetic. Glossy paper.
3) Make me late to the funeral because I was always late and will always be late.
4) But give me an excuse to be late, say I fell out of my casket or some shit.
5) Curse words are acceptable -- and encouraged.
a) Some of my favorites included: coño, pinga, come pinga, fuck, shit, fuck this shit, fuck me, fuck me up, me cago en dios, me cago en la puta, es un hijo de puta, que hijos de puta, damn.
6) Offer a tearjerker during the eulogy. Discuss my unduly devotion to the arts (and any other devotions I may have developed along the way), but also give the people what they want and I think we know they want to laugh.
a) I also think they may want to drink piña coladas because that’s what I would’ve wanted, but more on that later.
7) Nails: a vibrant, ladybug-crimson red. A deep, deep red. Ladybugs were, after all, my top favorite insect.
8) Trim my nails because they may appear to be longer once my skin begins to dry and retract.
a) Please ensure cremation has occurred before this takes place. Contact the Neptune Society for Cremation for all the details on my pre-established cremation plan.
i) Disperse my ashes while aboard a private yacht party on the Miami coastline. SouthBeachPartyBoats.com has a yacht available with a 49-person capacity, but push for them to allow 69 guests. I likely never had the guts to go on this kind of odyssey, but I think it would’ve been great fun. For whoever may desire my ashes, place a small amount in a jar and place a label on this jar that reads, “MAGIC DUST.”
(a) Play “Oh Yeah” by Yello during the dispersal at approximately -6 dB.
(i) Accompany this act with the release of party poppers, but be sure to have guests point these towards the boat and not the sea. Minimize contamination.
1. Save a small ash jar. See bottom of the list.
2. End the ceremony with “Rhythm of the Night” by Corona. Do not serve Coronas at the function, however.
(b) Serve croqueticas from Rosy Bakery. Buy upwards of $100 worth of croquetas from them. Ham. Only ham. Toss in the whole Cuban pastry medley.
(i) Don’t buy any Argentinean pastries despite the pressing encouragement of the relatives from this side of the family.
b) More on my dead body. I am smiling: a coy, half-smile, smirk where my lips curl into mischief.
i) A light lip, just enough for it to be obvious I have any lips.
9) Dress: well. Perhaps some of my closet staples. Some bright colors interweaved with black basics (use your best judgement or consult with someone who can appropriately advise. I’ve left their numbers at the bottom of this note).
a) Serving piña coladas decorated with mini, bright parasols and one of those hyper artificial cherries is indispensable.
i) I never liked them but I think they work for the occasion.
(1) Indispensableis much more beautiful in Spanish, as is everything.
(a) To amplify the potential of the cherries, play something like “El Disco Anal” or “I Wanna Be Your Lover” at the wake, maybe even live.
(i) It would be an absolute dream to have Julio Briceño from Los Amigos Invisibles sing an acoustic version of “El Disco Anal,” the anal disco, as his voice and his face were always among my preferred avenues of ecstasy.
1. The aforementioned phrase is a euphemism.
a. But then end the function with something with soul: “Estoy Pensando En Tí” would work just fine.
b) As identified by my 2012 Florida license, donate any working and worthy organs.
i) I suffered from minor heartache in life and so I guess my heart should be in full working order.
10) My social security number: 009-12-6755 (just in case).
11) Please have my dearest loved one handle my finances unless they are a horrible person. Gauge their integrity by revising their voting records, bank account statements, and the frequency with which they claimed to have loved me.
a) Actually, I don’t care.
i) Give it all away.
12) The password to my computer, in case you’d like to publish me posthumously and let me live on as an artist who was troubled and tormented in their waking life but achieved much fame and fortune after death, think Van Gogh style: FuckMeUpandCaca--xxx-69
13) Consult with Andrew Asuncion and Daniel Almeida for tips on how to style my dead body. I hope they outlive me.
14) Take the small jar of ashes that was originally saved to the only cemetery in Santiago Maravatio, Guanajuato, Mexico. Have a local, or one of my relatives, accompany you if you are not a Spanish speaker and/or look white. Follow my parents’ old tip: no English. Also, don’t wear shorts. Only gringos wear shorts. They will know you aren’t from around and that may up your chances. Walk down the main street of the town and it’ll lead you to the gated cemetery, which you will see on your right-hand side. Continue walking down the primary pathway, through an archway of green, fruitful branches, until you reach the cement blocks also on your right. On the lower level of these stacked graves, look for the one without a plaque and maybe some fake pink flowers no longer pink, just the ashy brown of the dirt, and the trace of fingers on once wet-cement that says ANA MARIA CHAVEZ. 22-11-2004. Dig a small hole in front of this tomb, two-feet-deep, six-inches wide, or look up an adequate depth to protect me from erosion (although the Mexican spirits are on our side) and place the small jar of ashes in this hole. Cover it up and leave the land as it was. Leave me here beside her.
a) Leave incognito mode.
15) Tell my mother I loved her.