When my last breaths are taken, I wish for my brain to be expelled from me; much like the ancient Egyptians. Swirlly thing up my nose and all, once removed I wish to have it mashed. Then, without doubt using the utmost care; spread lightly on multiple pages of a blank book. Left in the sun for an hour or so, it needs to be sprayed with a super holding hair spray; as to not let the ideas run from the pages. After letting my mind with all its thoughts hopes and dreams dry I would like the book or multiple pages shut into a book; put on a safe self and left there for a year or two.
I must insist that the book be check on a tri-monthly basis. Though do not hold open the book to long exposing the aged thoughts to the new fresh air; that would do irreversible damage to the process.
Once all the thoughts, hopes, random ideas are visible on the pages, please take the items off the shelf and sit it where any curious wanderer such as myself might pick it up and read thru it.
For once the ideas that were spread on the pages, left to dry onto them, and made to stay; my many thoughts ramblings and schemes, of course after the short aging process, will appear on the paper.
The hair spray will hold the squirming, ideas that often slipped away into darker recesses of my realm, and bring them to light. The aging will let my detached mind sort through all my thoughts, putting them in the proper categories; my stories in turn will also be in the correct order. My endless lists of hopes, dreams, ambitions, passions, and obsessions listed from the ones that held me for the longest time, to those that were only a short minute in an elevator that left, and was never to be seen again.
I'm very aware how odd my request is, for this I do not think I should apologize either, sorry I wont do it! For when my descendants wish to do something remarkable I would like them to be able to open my book of thoughts, read it, and be inspired by it.
Of my last thoughts before leaving my Earth bound shell, do not worry. They shan't appear on the mentioned pages. If they are horrible and terrifying I shall sent them leaking unnoticed thru my ears, drifting on the wind. If sweet, peaceful and full of loving goodbyes or fond memories I'll hold them in my throat till I fly out my body, dropping them in my skull. Where they will mix with my other thoughts that will linger most definitely, my brain like a sponge with take them in, and give them residence in its many corridors.
Fortunately if my thoughts aren't made to stick in the right timing of being dry on the paper; I'll never be forgotten. For who could forget the weird old lady who had her brains smeared all over the inside of a blank book?