h a l f b a k e r yIt's as much a hovercraft as a pancake is a waffle.
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Hmm. I would prefer a more low-tech ver. of this. perhaps with the writing getting smaller, the further down the headstone you read. |
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Excerpt from Ulysses by James Joyce (the main character is in a graveyard): |
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"Who passed away. Who departed this life. As if they did it of their own
accord. Got the shove, all of them. Who kicked the bucket. More interesting
if they told you what they were. So and So, wheelwright. I travelled for
cork lino. I paid five shillings in the pound. Or a woman's with her
saucepan. I cooked good Irish stew." |
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Headstones with video messages from the deceased (pre-taped, duh) are baked. Not sure about the life story bit, though. |
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Baked in real life (link) and SciFi (but I can't remember the name of the story so I'll have to get back to you on that). |
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Fishbone. Brevity is the soul of epitaphs. |
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There's a headstone, nearly obscured by long grass, on a neglected hillside part of the cemetery near my apartment. The stone simply lists the birth and death dates of two people -- a mother and son -- who died on the same day: July 4, 1906. |
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Being the type who likes to imagine the stories around the facts, I much prefer this format to the CD biography, or videography, or whatever. There is beauty and dignity in allowing a life to speak for itself. |
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On the other hand, I do see the value in building a video/audio/interactive cemetery, for the simple purpose of scaring the bejesus out of flashlight-bearing night visitors. Motion sensors catch you passing my grave, and my holographic image looms up like a wraith, complete with sound: "Why didst thou not visit me in life?" |
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Oh, that's riiight ... bejesus juice. Damn you, Michael Keaton! |
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As for the flashlight-bearing night visitors, I was thinking more along the lines of those teenagers who partake of the liquid courage of wine coolers, and end up creeping through graveyards with their designated honeys, looking for edgy places to make out. |
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Not that I've ever been one of those teenagers, myself. I really don't know anything about it. Don't let anyone from the Sierra Madre department of law enforcement, patrol division, 1983, tell you any different ... |
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No thank you... All I see is a field of sun-baked burnt-out video screens that nobody has looked at in 50 years. |
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Graveyards are eerie enough. |
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