I totally believe in life after death. I dunno why. I just do. I mean, I'm not sure I hold much truck with the idea that some old bearded guy is waiting for me in the sky. For a start, I'm pretty sure God isn't a man. If he exists, he's probably something we can't even comprehend, like a three-headed chicken fetus made out of plasticine.
And if that makes God something that came out of The Trapdoor, well. He-She is just going to have to deal with that. I don't make the rules. The rules tell me that God could be anything, anything at all, and the thing that came to my mind was a creature that splurges out of a hole in the ground, based on some kid's TV show that disturbed me years ago.
Though I'm not sure why God is based on that TV show, specifically. I mean, there were plenty of other TV shows that disturbed me. Terrorhawks, for instance. But just imagining God as that drooling greasy witch-woman puppet is...yeah. That's worse than the plasticine option.
Plus, I'm pretty sure if there is a devil, HE'S the one who looks like Zelda from the Terrorhawks. Not that him being Zelda makes him a woman, either, however. I don't even know why I'm saying him, because he's probably some neither-blob, too.
Try playing that one, Al Pacino. I can just see him now, in "The Amorphous Blob's Advocate".
Doesn't quite have the same ring, does it?
Anyway- where was I? Oh yeah. In that place that needs a six page digression before I can really face it or answer it or just...I don't know. I honestly don't know. I just know that my head is full of all kinds of weird and wonderful things - people and places and loves I've never known.
Or at least, loves I've never known in this life.
And all of that stuff, all of that stuff I write about and babble about and can't stop thinking about...I just don't think it all comes from me. I've hardly lived any life at all. I don't know anything about anything. And yet all this nonsense comes out of me and spreads itself all over the page and I just think...
You came from a life I've lived before, didn't you. I know you, from some far off and half-hidden past. I feel full up with you, pressured by you, sometimes it's like a thousand voices all talking in my head, at once.
And if that's mad, well okay. But really, how much madder is it to believe in a bearded guy, in a white robe, sat on a cloud?