the cemetery and the second hand store
you get used to so many things. walls around cemeterys for example, only in the city of course, since here it is all crammed, house by house, cemetery by second hand store.
would you like to be buried here? you can find good books in the store, a diplom work about gender studies, sorted in between the art books because of the cover. culture, sex, gender.
you learn to ignore, to accept it as it is. does it still serve the purpose? is this a spiritual place? the only personal thing we had at the funeral of my grandpa was my sister singing. she was the strongest person on earth at that moment. And anything else, the speak with errors of somebody i have never seen before, a ritual where i only feel distance.
But you have no choice. You don’t do it by yourself, you dont stay in the hospital until he died, you dont wait until you got the feeling that everything is gone, and if it takes days. You dont build a new bed, you buy a coffin, you dont dig the hole, you pay the helpers, you dont speak, you just listen and cry, you dont prepare him, you just come and sit, and walk and shake hands and you go away. Distance by rules and money. would you like to be buried here?
