"To die for a religion is easier than to live it absolutely..."
Cementerio de la Recoleta
...a final resting place for families with reputations to uphold:
marble mausoleums to hold the memory of those striving for immortality within death's folds
this is where astral ghosts gather & descend, the aristocracy of a new continent, interred in elegant crypts,
on the sculpted hill where the cemetery sits,
haunted with stray felines & the buried bloodlines of Buenos Aires high society...
...in piety & pretentious stone, in urns & on marble thrones, the dead noblesse oblige these corners with the dream of what South America could have been...
Recoleta seems to be where Argentine aristocracy ends and begins...
-argentina-
Better grapes from different soil
italians improved from imported toil
The refined statuesque values of good Catholic tastes
Classic roman columns that time itself can barely deface
Heavy stone foundations & angelic facades
Stained glass tributes to crucified Gods
these are the leavings of generations of elite
the repository for those who live above the streets...
...a field of stone crosses raised so so high...
...crypts filled with decomposing corpses framed against the sky...
__________________
Upon my death, cremate me, please. Unless it’s a colossal waste of energy or too expensive or something, in that case, do whatever's clever, chop me up into little pieces and turn me into soylent green, i don't really care... the body is just a vessel, a fragile delicate glass used to house some smoky eternal ether that passes through flesh like vibrations... You can tell a lot about a society by how it treats its dead... here en Recoleta these crypts are art, or perhaps some sort of verifiable public crucible for local immortals... i don't know, i can only marvel at all this good marble, and these incredibly elaborate stone tributes to lives long since departed. What an amazing spiritual vortex.... but this is most definitely not how I would want to be remembered...
When I die, BURN me, throw my empty carcass on a pyre and light the kindling as haunted electronica plays... burn me till there's no semblance of a skull left... once the life leaves my body think nothing of my fleshy remains: bodies are just rhythms trapped in a skeleton's chains; don't waste real estate on housing an empty shell: let my epitaph be the resonant story my strange life tells...
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