sand pattern

How My Life Will End

When all my children have become optometrists I will move to a shack in a forest on a mountain near an ocean. In a French accent I will introduce myself to anyone as Shamus O’Riley. I will spend my days writing poems and making music. I will sing Beatles tunes to the sun, howl Doors lyrics at the moon and scream Hendrix songs to the ocean. I will be emotionally volatile, ideologically inconsistent, physically repulsive and have an unstable personality. My diet will be chosen by watching squirrels. I will refuse to fill out forms and my civic duty will consist of making loud noises near deer hunters. I will have no means of identification, no credit rating, no net worth and be ignorant of current events. The local police will investigate and pronounce me a harmless old loony. I will frequently go down the road to make love to an old woman crazier than me. I will celebrate Christmas by running through the forest naked and observe Remembrance day by reciting the names of old girlfriends. At Easter I will throw eggs at passing cars. On my birthday I will have my annual bath. I will be outwardly sullen and inwardly quite happy. When I die no one will know who I am.