Just the intro is going to be about the show I’m not watching. These sons of whores who smoke crack while writing the show have a lot of dead people scenes, and, you know, almost dead but makes a miraculous recovery scenes where they wander around like dead people in one of those two Christmas shows you swear you’ll never watch again (It’s a Wonderful motherfucking Life and one of a zillion Christmas Fucking Carols). Incidentally they’ve killed off or almost killed every interesting character.
That was the intro. Suppose for a moment that neither the theists nor the atheists nor crack smoking whore children what write episodes of the show I’m not writing are right. I mean imagine a plausible afterlife and use what you know (e.g. the reward or punishment for good or ill deeds is never a foregone conclusion, mostly shit goes on without respect to your little hard on or flaccidity, respectively and metaphorically, fret not dames).
In my experience the supernatural (and by that I mean things you don’t see every day, things that act a tad differently than you expect them too) are a lot more like wildflowers on the tundra; easy to take for granted. It’s a very short season for wildflowers on the tundra; some of them even grow in places where the perma frost takes all but an eighth of an inch of topsoil. If you’ve seen wildlife photographer’s photos of those things they are heartbreakingly beautiful. If you’ve seen them in real life they are just little flowers, the background of snow crested mountains stretching past the horizon are a lot more breath-taking. I mean, sure, they are pretty, not, in my opinion, as pretty as a blood red rose in the rose garden on the western rim of Portland Oregon. I mean they are little purple and white flowers. That’s how miracles are though.
It’s easier to explain the aurora borealis and, pound for pound, the aurora borealis is pretty fucking spectacular and miraculous. Wait, no, it’s impossible to explain the aurora borealis, but it’s a lot easier to explain why it looks so miraculous. I meant it’s easier to explain the effect, how the aurora borealis happens than is to explain delicate little wildflowers springing from permafrost. I’m just saying I’ve seen things like that and that’s how they are, if you aren’t paying close enough attention or thinking and feeling they can escape your notice. If Christians were telling you about wildflowers they’d never actually seen they’d be larger than life, they’d smell like baking bread, remove wrinkles, live forever. If atheists were telling you; they’ve never seen them and they can’t grow on the tundra and so there is no such thing.
I generalize, of course, but it’s a working generalization, and just like there are a bunch of different ways to be an atheist there are a bunch of different ways to be a theist. For the purposes of this entry I don’t give a shit, fuck, or other things that people don’t give to imply apathy. Oh, tangent. Ya know how crap and shit are mostly interchangeable; I mean for the most part crap is for people who want to be rude but not in front of a kid or their mom or something? Crapfest and Craptastic cannot become shitfest or shittastic, seriously, those two belong to crap. And, though I promised I wouldn’t mention the show I’m not watching, this one guy used a phrase that belongs to shit, it doesn’t work this way(as used in show); Crazy as a craphouse rat. Yeah. No.
For the purposes of this entry I’m just saying suspend whatever it is you think of as an afterlife or lack of afterlife. Pretend for a moment that it is a given and then try to construct it. Oh, and no point in telling me about it, I’m going to try the same thing and I’m pretty sure I won’t tell you about it.
I guess I could go a step further than Alaskan wildflowers, though it’s a pretty good example. I’ve seen what people would call ghosts if I explained them objectively. No white sheets or person shaped afterimages, no chains or faces, not even a suggestion of sentience, and, honestly, I wouldn’t call them ghosts. I’ve been scarred by things that aren’t there. I’ve felt a coldness move across a room. I’ve seen cats and dogs spooked. I --- don’t really want to talk about it. Things I can’t explain, dismissing them is as blind as calling them ghosts. Or, for that matter, using the word them. It seems too messy to think of the afterlife as sometimes including freaking out one of my cats for no particular reason. That and it doesn’t really take much to spook a cat.
Also, I’m on the fence about there even being an afterlife, but it’s not a bad brain exercise to try and clear all the shit you “know” from your head and build something the way you do know things work. Think of What Dreams May Come; theologically it was sort of a stupid movie, creatively it was pretty, aurora borealis pretty, you know, over the top, but pretty. I guess that’s sort of what I like about the exercise, post death as an exercise in creativity not as a desperate attempt to find meaning in this life. It’s very possible that the meaning of life has nothing to do with the meaning of life or that it’s a meaningless question.
There are a lot of folks all entangled in the whole meaning of life and death who are so busy contemplating that part of their navel that they are stepping on fucking wildflowers. It’s not the size of the flower it’s the amount of wild in it. I think if I had to smoke crack and meet a deadline of tomorrow for my Episode of The Dead in the show I’m not watching, I’d think about momentum, I’d think about the velocity of life, the momentum built up and … I don’t know, have room service send up some more crack and maybe a few hookers.
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