Poem for my body

Last night I was thinking about death and it occurred to me that I have a very specific wish for what will be done with my body after I die, but I have not really told many people what it is. So I decided to compose a poem that I think I will have tattooed somewhere on my body (possibly my back) which explicates my wishes. This way no matter when or where I die and no matter who finds my body (as long as they can read english) it will be known what to do with my body.

Dear Sir or Madame should you find
My body cold and dead,
I hope that you will be so kind
To do as I have said.
Aboard some stout wood barge or boat,
I wish to be sent forth.
A flaming arrow as I float
Shall be my life's resort.

(What I think is) A feminist argument for not using the he/she or she/he gender nonspecific pronoun

This sort of came to me while I was working today. That will happen when you spend long hours pushing a lawn mower around. It gives you lots of time to think about all sorts of random shit.

Before I get into my argument I suppose I should point out that I am doing this merely as a thought exercise. I think the debate is actually completely irrelevant because I happen to buy into Chomsky's theory of Universal Grammar, which is a commonly accepted explanation of how languages work and evolve. The way I understand Universal Grammar it defines pronouns as part of the determiner functional category of free morphemes and therefore part of the closed class. This means that pronoun usage cannot be changed by conscious means over a short period of time. Their usage can only change evolutionarily over generational time periods. Therefore making a debate over whether we should try to change pronoun usage a moot point, if it happens it will happen evolutionarily as a reflection of changes in the culture rather than consciously as a means of bringing about that change.

So first I suppose I will outline what I think is the argument for using a gender nonspecific pronoun rather than the more traditional "he" in indeterminate instances. Our culture is male dominant. I suppose some would argue against this, but I think that if you really look at the reality of the situation that is what you will find. I think that's shameful, but true nonetheless. There is an element of the politically correct movement that wants to change pronoun usage in the English language. The way I understand it is that they feel that in order to move towards gender equality it is necessary to remove the various aspects of our culture that enable and reflect gender inequality. This would seem to make sense, and I would argue that for many truly harmful aspects of our culture that is the right course of action.

But compared to something like say wage inequality pronoun usage would seem to me to be relatively benign. However this aspect of our culture serves as a constant reminder of the male dominant history of English speaking cultures. Here I'm somewhat embarrassed to use a cliche but it really does sum up a good bit of my argument: Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. So in our language we have a built in constant reminder of the shameful heritage and current state of our culture. Is it not better to keep the relatively benign aspects of our culture that remind us of much more harmful aspects as well as elements of our history that we wish not to repeat? Seems that way to me, but than again what the hell do I know.

Get Drunk!

Baudelaire may have felt that this worked best in prose form, and maybe it does in the French, but I think at least my translation is better this way.

Get Drunk!

One should always be drunk.
That's all that matters:
it is the only question.
So as not to feel the horrid burden of Time
which breaks your back and
bows you down to the ground,
you must get drunk without ceasing.

But with what?
With wine,
with poetry,
or with virtue
as you please.

But get drunk.

And if at times,
on the steps of a palace,
or in the green grass of a ditch,
or in the dismal solitude of your room,
you are waking up,
with drunkenness diminished and disappeared, ask

of the wind,
of the wave,
of the star,
of the bird,
of the clock,
of all that which flees,
of all that which groans,
of all that which rolls,
of all that which sings,
of all that which speaks,

ask what time it is;
and the wind, the wave, the star,
the bird, the clock will reply:

"It is time to get drunk!
So as not to be the martyred slaves of Time,
get drunk;
get drunk without ceasing!
With wine, with poetry, or with virtue as you please."

from the French: Get Drunk!

Get Drunk!

One should always be drunk. That's all that matters: it is the only question. So as not to feel the horrid burden of Time which breaks your back and bows you down to the ground, you must get drunk without ceasing.
But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue as you please. But get drunk.
And if at times, on the steps of a palace, or in the green grass of a ditch, or in the dismal solitude of your room, you are waking up, with drunkenness diminished and disappeared, ask of the wind, of the wave, of the star, of the bird, of the clock, of all that which flees, of all that which groans, of all that which rolls, of all that which sings, of all that which speaks, ask what time it is; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock will reply: "It is time to get drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of Time, get drunk; get drunk without ceasing! With wine, with poetry, or with virtue as you please."

original:

Enivrez-vous

Il faut etre toujours ivre. Tout est la: c'est l'unique question. Pour ne pas sentir l'horrible fardeau du Temps qui brise vos épaules et vous penche vers la terre, il faut vous enivrer sans treve.
Mais de quoi? De vin, de poésie ou de vertu, a votre guise. Mais enivrez-vous.
Et si quelquefois, sur les marches d'un palais, sur l'herbe verte d'un fossé, dans la solitude morne de votre chambre, vous vous réveillez, l'ivresse déja diminuée ou disparue, demandez au vent, a la vague, a l'étoile, a l'oiseau, a l'horloge, a tout ce qui fuit, a tout ce qui gémit, a tout ce qui roule, a tout ce qui chante, a tout ce qui parle, demandez quelle heure il est; et le vent, la vague, l'étoile, l'oiseau, l'horloge, vous répondront: "Il est l'heure de s'enivrer! Pour n'etre pas les esclaves martyrisés du Temps, enivrez-vous; enivrez-vous sans cesse! De vin, de poésie ou de vertu, a votre guise."

-- Charles Baudelaire Petits poemes en prose