Tuesday, January 1, 2013

The Afterlife, or Why Do Spiders Hate Me?

I think of the afterlife as some sort of statistical analysis program I get to question. How many gallons of honey did I drink? How many men did I fool around with but not actually fuck? How many whole apples did I eat -- not counting applesauce and apple pie, etc, but whole apples, and how many were eaten at the orchard directly upon picking when I was between the ages of eight and thirteen? How many dog kisses did I get? How many times did my sister and I fight, and of those, how many ended with one or both of us receiving new scars and/or having hunks of hair ripped out?

After the stats, I will move on to the non-statistical questions. There are Big Questions and there are little questions. Did I really eat any spiders while sleeping with my mouth open? Did spiders, in fact, have something against me and wage small spider wars that resulted in numerous bites on my thighs and butt? Why did they bite my thighs and butt? What happened to my cat Jinx, who ran away after my boyfriend threw her out of the house because his aunt was coming to visit and was allergic to cats? Did anyone ever have a secret crush on me and I never knew?

I imagine that the person or celestial computer in charge will get tired of me. A pest. As on earth, so it is in heaven. I think it would be best to bring strawberries as a little gift, just a handful, very red and ripe. Something to smooth things over. So they've got something to munch while I'm chewing over my next question.

After that, it gets fuzzy. I'm big on knowledge -- I want to know a lot of things. But after three days, I suppose the questions will be exhausted and I'll have to move on. To where? The afterlife is a big fog, like we're all caught in a cloud. Perhaps we're in quadrants, overlapping quadrants because you know some people I don't, and so on. But you can reliably assume that if you bump into someone in the fog, that you know them. It would be a good opportunity to stab someone you didn't like, but I guess we'll all be past that then. Perhaps if you bump into everyone you know and hug them and exchange a few words of good will and affection, then eventually, the fog will lift.

That's as far as I've got on this afterlife thing. After the fog, I just don't know. And the fog part is pretty sketchy. Heck, the whole three-days-of-questions thing is sketchy.

It's a safe bet that something will happen that we don't expect, and that none of us know. But even if it's nothing, a true end, that's not so bad.

Happy New Year. I'm going to try not to die this year; you do the same. In addition, I'm going to ponder exchanging more words of good will and affection with people here on earth. I cannot guarantee anything.

Coffee cake and tea awaits.



  1. One of the bigger questions I'd like to ask is, 'Of all the dumb stupid stuff I've done betwixt birth and this final calamity is, why choose this one, was it any worse than the others.

  2. I never get on here anymore - which is HORRIBLE (totally caps worthy, it really is that horrible) because I never get to see your work. Do you have a FB page for your pieces/chapbook/anything?!?

    1. Hello, Jenny! I miss you. No, I'm not on FB. I looooove Twitter, though. Any chance you're on there?

  3. No! I have a hideous little flip phone without camera or webs, archaic really. When I decide to embrace technology fully, surely I'll embrace twitter too.

    Ah, well.

    You've forced my hand. Fuck it. I'll be back to blogging.

    1. I'm waiting.


      Write what you feel like, when you feel like it. Fuck all the other rules. I'll take my JD whenever I can get here, in whatever form.

  4. They say the Akashic Records holds all this info...I have no idea how you tap into them :)