You had to be there.

June 1, 2012 - 8 pm

John White’s 5x5x5
Marsha de la O, Alisha Shapiro, F. Albert Salinas,
Rachel Lily White, Cole Smothers and William Litwa

Sylvia White Gallery
1783 East Main Street
Ventura, CA

I’ve known I was going to die in August of 2012, since my daughter was in fourth grade. I was living in Santa Barbara in someone’s office space above his garage. My daughter and I were goofing around with the special features menu of the Final Destination DVD and there was an option to predict our date of death. When the exact time and date of my death was revealed to me, I decided not to let my daughter use the feature.

This is not the first time I’ve known when I was going to die. Back in 1991, I did a candle reading and predicted my death was going to be the following day (That’s what I get for using a black candle). That night, I wrote my farewell letter and left it on my bed. The next morning, I sat in the Food4Less parking lot and told my dad I was going to die that night. I planned on going to LA to hang out with a friend of mine. He was one of my best friends at the time—at least, I thought he was.

My dad asked, “If you know you are going to die, why are you going?”

I told him I didn’t believe in fate or destiny, and something about possibly being immortal. What can I tell you? I was young, and wrong. I died that night. I remember looking up at a planet or star in the sky and the last thought I had was, “Forgive me.”

This wasn’t the first time I cheated death. I’m hoping I did it again on June 1, 2012. John White asked me to present at his first Fridays, 5 X 5 X 5 at 8 pm. I told people my plan was to be driven to the gallery via hearse, carried in via coffin, perform, be placed back into the coffin and then driven away in the hearse. I intended the performance art/poetry piece to represent that when I am not creating, or performing poetry, I am dead. As my coffin was carried in, people were supposed to be celebrating my life, wearing bright colors and dancing. After my performance I was to step into my coffin, people were to open their umbrellas and follow me out to be placed in the hearse and wave, “Until, next time.”

That’s not how the performance turned out. While I lay dying, hands and feet duct taped, a pillowcase over my head, I realized, I had no control over the next 10 minutes of my life. Stuffed in a Dutch oven—a widow maker, carbon monoxide filled the trunk and it seemed like a good idea to take a nap. Elijah Imlay taught me that conscious breathing replenishes the subconscious. I decided to do some unconscious breathing. I didn’t have time to die. I had a show to do.

Sleeping in someone’s trunk is nothing like what you see in movies. The trunk was far more comfortable than Missy Church’s backyard lawn, but only slightly more quiet—peaceful. If you ever find yourself stuffed in a truck, hope for a Ford Crown Victoria. They have better legroom than some couches I’ve slept on.

Thank you for coming to my funeral and resurrection. Johnny Depp and I will be celebrating our births in a few days. Will the celebration of my birth be the last celebration of my life? I guess we’ll find out in September.

Yours Truthfully,

F. Albert Salinas

A.K.A

Mr. Wao (Wow!)