Corpse

Corpse: (n) a dead body, usually of a human being.

Sorting through a cavalcade of thoughts, I think I have finally arrived at a couple of notions that seem to hold true in spite of my own personal ridicule of them, and history proving that they’re ridiculous.

One such inkling is that I don’t really mind dying—I would just like to do it well and not have a bunch of people staring at my corpse.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I don’t want to come to the end and be chicken shit or do something stupid like squeal like a squirrel.

I don’t want to have a gun pointed at me, and in a fit of weakness push a nearby child forward to take my bullet.

I don’t want to suffer, but I also would like to have the honor of “last words.”

But mostly…

It’s the corpse thing.

I learned a long time ago to stop bitching about my body and just focus on my body of work.

I got dealt an interesting accumulation of haphazard DNA possibilities. So I don’t want a bunch of people staring at my fractured and now-breathless frame, making judgments.

I don’t want to look “natural.”

I don’t want some technician in a morgue taking a peek at my penis.

(I know it’s silly.)

I don’t want two doctors shaking their heads as they stare down at my blob, speaking to one another in hushed tones about how I could have extended my life if…

None of us were meant to be “a corpse.”

We were just meant to die, and once dead, as quickly as possible, to shed our skin, and somewhere, somehow, possibly become a new creature.


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Chromosomes

Chromosomes: (n) nucleic acids found in living cells, carrying genetic information in the form of genes.

My brow crinkles and I sprout a sneer every time I see the commercial about the lady who had her DNA tested and discovered she was 26% Native American. With that information she plans to direct her life toward studying the culture of the tribes, the original inhabitants of
North America.

Really??

It seems we just continue to bounce aimlessly back and forth between two walls, like a red rubber ball.

Wall #1: “I am completely at the mercy of my chromosomes and genetic code.”

Wall #2: “I can be anything I want to be and am not trapped by my DNA.”

I suppose the American solution to this quandary is to offer the tepid response, “Well, it’s a little bit of both…”

But it’s not.

Even if we have certain inclinations, mannerisms or quirks that may spring up through our birthing code, they can be addressed and even altered.

It is difficult to be the master of your own fate when you’re still subject to your father’s sperm and your mother’s egg. It is certainly impossible to envision a world where we submit to being human beings instead of cloistered in the definition of our original tissue sample.

There is a phrase written in the Good Book which proclaims that transformation of our spiritual life actually causes us to become “new creatures.”

I don’t know why this wouldn’t be popular.

I don’t know why some woman on television feels she must refer to her child as a “pappoose” now that she realizes that one-quarter of her passed through the teepee.

Something is wrong–and the reason it’s wrong is the manifestation of why everything is wrong.

Whenever you’re trying to play something both ways, just in case one way doesn’t work out, you always end up looking stupid.

Make up your mind.

Are you merely the result of your parents’ sexual encounter and goo, or do you have the power, through freedom of choice, to steer your destiny in the direction of your favorite star?

 

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