The Accidental Gentrifist: Mortal Coil (sans spring)

Editors’ Note: The opinions and ideas expressed in The Accidental Gentrifist are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the outlook or beliefs of anyone else in the Ist network.

Oh, mortality. Sigh.

Wait! Snap out of it: Look around you, right now. Look out the window if you have to. Take a drive down Right Now Lane.

You will die, and yet everything you see now will still be there, long after you've ceased to be.

And that, my friend, is awesome.

Do you ever think as the hearse goes by,
That you will be the next to die?

They dig a hole for you to sleep,
In the ground six feet deep

They wrap you up in a long silk shirt
Cover your box with rocks and dirt

Everything is fine for about a week,
Until the coffin starts to leak

The worms come in, the worms go out,
They come in small, they go out stout

R.I.P. Mary Josephine Elles.

(Yes, you can smoke and live till 91. ...Almost 92, actually.)

Contact the author of this article or email tips@austinist.com with further questions, comments or tips.

By Benjamin Reed in Other on January 14, 2008 9:15 AM 0 Comments

Comments [rss]

sharons

I am very interested in getting copies of these photos as my mother is the woman on the right in the middle photo. Also, who r u? As you related to MY Aunt Jo, we are related!

Thanks,

Sharon

txtoast

"Memento mori" by Billy Collins-

There is no need for me to keep a skull on my desk, to stand with one foot up on the ruins of Rome, or wear a locket with the sliver of a saint’s bone.

It is enough to realize that every common object in this sunny little room will outlive me – the carpet, radio, bookstand and rocker.

Not one of these things will attend my burial, not even this dented goose necked lamp with its steady benediction of light.

Though I could put worse things in my mind than the image of it waddling across the cemetery like an old servant, dragging the tail of its cord, the small circle of mourners parting to make room.

Benj

Hey Brown. Actually, it's my mom's mom. Thus the lack of semblance to C-Low. And it was a few weeks ago. But we weren't able to do much of a memorial at the time, so I wanted to throw something up.

But ambiguity-induced mix-ups are par for the course here on Mondays. You've read my "column"--every week it's a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut.