Useful

[beetiger]

postvixen posted a pointer over to srakkt's journal, wherein was described a tale of rabbit-hunting, and she posed a question about whether we'd like to be killed dispassionately, or with viciousness. I think the answer is obvious, given the choices. Who would rather feel like a waste rather than like a being of value, even in the context of an untimely death?

My mind decided to run down a different path in response to this entry though.


The thought crossed my mind that there was really very little overlap between the parts of my body that could be useful to someone medically, after my death, and the parts that would be most appealing in a culinary sense. Sure, there are a few parts that might be in demand on both sides--the liver, perhaps-but really, the best eating's in the muscle meat, not the organs. Give away my eyes, my heart, my lungs to folks who can use the refurbished wetware. The cutlets can go to my friends, a gift that I can only give you all after I am gone, marinated in wine and grilled on aromatic wood, drenched in honey. Please be sure to fuss, and eat with your fingers. Feast, and sing songs about me, and make bad jokes, and dance naked around the grillfire. Laugh and cry in equal parts. I'm tempted to build the recipes, and leave them in my will.

If by the time I'm gone, there's a way to make CNS be useful, I'd like to go that route. If I seem to be flopping around in there, giving the new recipient trouble, you can always use a ritual like the one Starhawk describes in the Pagan Book of Death and Dying to send me on my way. But if not, take half of my brain and include it in the feasting. Never mind the risk of kuru; all my gifts come to you with the sweetmeats. Use the other half to tan my skin. Sew me into leather gauntlets and enchant me to protect you always.

Burn the rest that's not otherwise useful. Seal some of the ashes in little vials, and spread some of them under an apple tree, some of them in a deep forest, some of them in the ocean. Get the LifeGem people to make part of me into a diamond saw, and cut beautiful creations in glass with it in my honor. In America, I think private cremations are illegal. But I trust in the cleverness of you all.

Just don't bury me, please. I can't stand the idea of rotting.

Comments

[serendipoz.livejournal.com]

Samuel Delany and his wife Marilyn Hacker edited a series of anthologies called _Quark_. Somewhere in them there is a 'story' detailing how to prepare a human body for dinner.

Nope, don't remember the details, but the specifics are certainly there.