Ever considered the manner in which you shall meet your end? Sure, we've all pondered our mortality every now and then but therein lies a facet so rarely addressed. It may not be the most pressing thought in one's mind come the date of inevitable expiry, but that is all the more reason to have in place your plan for that final utterance. On the spot, under pressure, you may be more focussed on the dwindling rhythms of your heart, the final ravages of that cancer that has so sadly won out in the end or even the unanticipated tractor sitting upon your chest and so who could deliver an eloquent final line at such a time? Very few. And yet we are awash in a world of famous quotes from those to have gone to their deaths with either glorious verbosity or simple poignancy. Perhaps these shining wordsmiths have been struck by an opportune spark of brilliance at that most sapping of times, when salvation from their fate would have received greater welcome. Yet, what a way to go! Heck, many of them cannot be truly substantiated but what a mark to leave upon the world. Even if that world is just the simple few to have borne witness to your departure from this coil.
We all die eventually, but it is in those final moments when we may be afforded our greatest audience. And who doesn't want to kick that bucket with a line of sheer perfection? It's an opportunity to leave a vocal monument to yourself, and by golly I intend to make the most of it! That's right, I slip into the occasional absent -minded quest for the perfect statement with which to resign myself to my fate. I'm not about to suggest that it's a constant pursuit that plagues my every waking hour, but it is a long running hobby of mine (if that is what it may be called) to ponder what I would like to say when the inevitable comes.
I realise that I am unlikely to get the chance to use any of the finalists but it's a goal to have, right? I mean, I'm talking the ultimate performance piece. You can plan it for your whole life, rehearse and rehearse (before heading to the hearse) but in that time of dying, you've only got one chance. There is no second chance should you fluff your final words. You mess it up, and you die a poor man, destroyed by the syphilis that enveloped you, and leaving only garbled sounds that may not even qualify as words. What a shameful waste that would be. More potentially galling still is the likelihood of mistimed wisdom. There you are, lying within the ever waiting deathbed (of which I have heard so much as to decide never to lie down when I'm feeling poorly, for fear of imminent decline), your race run, reminiscing and romanticising your long life beside your fourth wife, the 20-something year old one with the body, and you summon just enough strength to flush out a beautiful refrain that shall surely enrapture those who hear it. Your moment of glory assured you can go now, and so you relax....only to absent mindedly empty your bowels, and wonder aloud with your last breath as to the injustice-
"Ah fuck I've shat mys....".
And there it is, a master-class in how to ruin your legacy. You've gone and spoiled it and there is no opportunity to redress.
Obviously there is a get out clause in this tricky situation, so fraught with danger as it is. That clause is the humble epitaph. The inscription on your grave or what-have-you can also stand as a lasting testament to your irreplaceable wit. And yet I feel that is all too easy. Where's the grace under the pressure of that most irrepressible of all forces? It would take a truly outstanding degree of presence to keep it together to ease forth with such candour as you teeter on the brink in whatever fashion you may do, and that sounds just dandy is all.
Of course I am aware that I am arguing in favour of pre-planning the use of "wit", which by its very virtue should be a spontaneous piece of elegant humour. Yet when the stakes are as high as these, I trust you shall allow me my failings. Now, I'm off to scheme and plot my ultimate victory in the face of my eventual downfall.
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