I live down the hill from an old-ass church with an old-ass graveyard. Positively ancient in our terms, which is both cute and misinformed of us. It’s such a pretty spot, and I like to wander around through it. Many of the last names are still thriving lines in this teensy town.
On a recent stroll I got to thinking … wouldn’t it be lovely/hilarious/a danged relief if tombstones told the truth about a person? But then, I wondered, what would that be? Whose version, I mean?
Big Brained Billy Brue’s headstone was born out of this particular pondering. While it’s written as a poem, I think it might actually be a song for the forthcoming musical*, Honest Tombstones.
The ALL-CAPS bullet points are Billy’s version of his life
(The parenthetical italics are something like the Greek Chorus’s perspective.)
And as it turned out, Billy Brue isn’t techincally dead. He’s not even Mostly Dead. He’s just Dead Where It Matters.
What? Beats me, y’all. This is my substack. Stuff’s weird up in here.
*NB: I don’t really know how to write music, but if I figure that out I’ll record it.
Please note all of this is nonsense.