A fatal request.

The origins of the word ‘fatal’ as in ‘fatality’ are tied to ‘fate.‘ From the same ancient scholars who brought us the tragedies of Oedipus Rex and the Odyssey where the characters’ lives were dictated by preordained events that would happen despite the struggles of both mortal and god alike to change things otherwise, ‘fate’ most often invokes two things: death and the struggle. Life is the struggle and death is the secret end known by all men. The knowledge is ingrained within silence pouring through the cemetery row and the secret is the unspoken, unacknowledged agreement that the now is spent living (through laughter, sweat, and sorrow) and some end lies waiting elsewhere. Death lies outside the consciousness of now, lurking on some highly-trafficked side street, the nodule forming within a lung, or the frustrations built within the heart of a misguided soul.
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With all things in life, one attempts to create, cooperate with, rebel against, and abandon certain paths of thought and action thus touching upon the markers left to us by our genes (both dormant and expressed), our ancestors (of country and familial), our convictions (both learned and adopted), our vices, our allies, and our opposition. Concluding in our ultimate fate, everything we shall ever do becomes the roadmap to how we lived, would ever live in those circumstances, and shall always have lived as was done. Let there be little to no ceremony when dealing with my remains should I be hit by bus tomorrow or murdered by a cabal of gibbons on my deathbed at the ripe old age of 216.
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I wish to be cremated and for my ashes to be spread onto a pile of shit so that I may in death unite with what I most often was figuratively associated with in life. May I be just as reviled post-mortem as was in life by those “civilized” beings and may I be a friend to the dogs, the maggots, the mushrooms, and the trees. If I am to have a marker of any sort let it be as impermanent as my bones; let it be some decrepit rock mid-crumble and if it is to have anything written upon it let there be no name but only the words “So it goes.” And so I go, departed from blood and bone into soil and root and so the world goes, onward ’til civilization crumbles  and the stars burn out so that others may take their place.
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From pieces comes the complex and from deconstruction comes resources for something new. From organs come organisms, the fossils of an ancient empire of lizards come propellant to send a descendent of primates outside the gravitational bounds of the Earth, and from the corpses and decay of man, country, and the environment come new forms and ways of life.