The entirety of my music collection and all of my various musical equipment are to be split wisely amongst John Skrbina, Kyle Landstra, and Sean Ronan. My books and DVDs go to Peter Barlow. Aaron Miller may have my clothes, if he so desires them, but Pamela Satchwell gets first pick on the sweaters. Jes Palace may have whatever she finds in my jacket pockets (search them thoroughly). It is my wish that John collects all of my music off of the Fostex (I will leave it to him to decide how best to mix all of the unfinished tracks) to be put up on the internet in some form. Also to Pamela Satchwell, I leave a crushed penny, a memento of little significance to anyone but myself, a reminder of why I was given life in the first place. You will find it on my nightstand if my body is found as well. To my friends, please play my music for my parents. It is a side of me that they are aware existed, but knew too little about.
Songs to be played at my funeral:
"Song to the Siren" by Tim Buckley (the acoustic version would be nice)
"Sometimes" by My Bloody Valentine
"One Of Us Cannot Be Wrong" by Leonard Cohen
"Anywhere I Lay My Head" by Tom Waits
"I Couldn't Say It To Your Face" by Arthur Russell
My friends should feel free to perform some sort of improvised jam in my memory.
If you can afford it, turn my body into diamonds and give them to the Satchwells.
I'm sure anything else you can come up with would be most satisfactory.
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