A Cold Cell

Today at work, my boss played a Led Zeppelin song I didn’t recognize, and stated he had it in his will to have this song played at his funeral. It was an off-the-cuff remark made while playing around on his iTunes.

We were talking about something else entirely before the remark, and quickly moved on to other topics, as we are prone to do all the time. Sometimes work is slow and we have to entertain ourselves somehow. Usually we break each other’s balls ad infinitum.

The video above is the song I want played at my funeral — a funeral that will never take place for two reasons:

  • I don’t ever plan on dying.
  • If by chance, some day, I do die, I sure as hell DON’T WANT a miserable funeral. I hate the smell of funeral homes, I hate the sound of sincere crying, and I hate funeral flowers.

Instead, I’d prefer to have my body cremated, and my ashes scattered on a busy, ghetto street in the north ward of Newark, NJ. I’m planning on having this strictly stated in a will, and I hope it won’t be too much of a burden on whomever might be responsible for my remains.

I’m not in one of my usual funks. I’m not feeling depressed. However, this terribly sad song from Coil has been on perpetual repeat whenever I get the chance to sit alone, be it driving, at home, or at work. “A Cold Cell” is dedicated to “the prisoners of conscience”, as Jhonn Balance once stated at a concert in Bangkok right as the melody began its melancholic drone. I can’t get it out of my head, and I can’t help but promote it over and over on Twitter and Facebook.

Allow this post to serve as a pre-apology as I try to get it out of my system…by posting it over and over, and over.

But yeah, if I die, and my wishes of ghetto-strewn ashes are not met, and someone decides to put my stinking corpse on display for people to weep over, having to suffer the sight of funeral flowers, please play this song for me. It would mean a lot.

Thanks.

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