While considering other's death, I think my own should be quick and fluid, straight to the point. Ya know? Life tends to make the pitch-black seems so dark, but it isn't really. Not when we spend so much time preparing, sleeping, blinking, closing our eyes when we kiss, when we hug, when we daydream. I'll embrace death when it comes. I just hope it embraces me, lets me slide right into her arms. Death is a her by the way. Gotta be. Just like God and the devil. Both women. All women. Everybody of value- women. All women. To the point again: Death does indeed wear a black cloak (for me, in my mind) but she doesn't seem so scary. She is the dancing feet of John Travolta, the smooth silk of a Degas stroke. It's funny, the American culture fearing death so much. So much, even after an experience with death, Americans still wonder and wish to know each little detail of secrecy. I generalize for my point. But I'd just prefer to be surprised, to do something good with my life before I go, taken while soaking in a bubble bath or laying in fresh cut grass. That's what I'm working on right now. I want to invent the world's fastest ice-cream dispenser. I'm so close I can taste it. Kidding. Something really good though. Something really majestic. That's a great word for the vague images in my head. Majestic. What to do? That's the question of a lifetime isn't it? That's all we really need the answers for . . . what to do. Who we want to be. We think that it will come, but it won't, not by itself. It needs a stiff push, a quiet yearning from our gut to expose itself. Who we are is composed of what we do. Something great, so I can be remembered by those who knew me as someone great. That's not too much to crave from life. And then death can come and woo me away. Then death can lift her cloak and I'll fall gracefully from the world we all know, but never really understand. That's my kind of life. That's my kind of death. Both sweet and fluid.