FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFH

don't mourn me on facebook. whatever happens, I don't want to be mourned on facebook with poor grammar and chav hearts. I don't want to be mourned on facebook.

which starts my mini panic attack

and I want to be in bed, but it's so far away

toclarify: I'm not going to die tonight,

toclarify: I'm not intending to die tonight, but I want it written somewhere (HERE) that I do not want to be mourned on facebook.

This probably won't be read in my lifetime. Shit, it seems like 90% of bloggers here are psycho christians who would love nothing more to try to save me, bless me etc. after I die

and I want the world to know

-I've shouted, but echoes only last for seconds, if that-

that I do not want to be mourned on facebook. I do not want a church service, hymns and prayers.

I do not want to disappear behind a dignified curtain.

Set me on fire, on a wooden stick, and let everyone see my beautiful destruction. And smell it. And smell the burning boy.

or

I will be stuffed. Naked. In a museum, a fuck-me-cool museum. Or break my bones and sell them in Evolution. Evolution's a shop in NY, I think in the SoHo area. It's fucked. They can sell me. OH. Both. Burn me. Stuff me.

both so permanent

but I know that I will get a facebook page.

I'll fake my death and see.

but I will get a facebook page devoted to little dead me.