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20:13 - July 10, 2002
non-angry spider
On my way to labeling benches in the garden, I approached a man and a woman sitting on opposite sides of a park bench, a rolled up picnic blanket in between them. 'I am absolutely sick,' he was saying vehemently, 'SICK, at my fate....' and he trailed off when he saw me. 'Good day,' he mumbled.

(Incidentally, when I was writing down, in shorthand, ideas and thoughts that passed through my head today, a portion of my notebook read, verbatim: 'I am absolutely sick at my fate; the urge to put my feet on everything.'

I saw a spider. It was not an angry spider. It was a beautiful black and yellow spider with long spindly curious legs that loved to explore. I held different objects out to it while it sat on a leaf and reached out with its long legs to feel the objects, wonderingly. We played this game long enough that the sun shifted and threw a beam of light over the spider, who started and scampered off into the undergrowth.

When I die I want to be quickly cremated and then have my ashes scattered somewhere beautiful where it is illegal to scatter ashes. This sounds irreverent and self-serving even in death but I don't care. Pour me into the long tube and hollow stem of a trumpetflower. Place a bit of me over a rusting statue's closed eyes. Dribble a steady line of me over the rocks over a drop and straight into the ocean. That way, I can be breaking the law even in death, and I also get to watch, from my 'heavenly perch', the court proceedings of the person who did the illegal scatterings, whose defence will invariably be 'but I was legally obligated to follow the will of the deceased.'

 

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