Thursday, October 17, 2013

The Joy of Mummification



I want my body to do things it can’t do anymore. 

I believe in the spiritual world. I believe we are universal ghosts empirically investigating the material world by incarnating into a super evolved monkey. We’re here to understand the various pains and joys of being alive. We’re basically spirits trying to experience emotions by suiting up into a flesh and blood body - and then, when we die, we go back to our original state.

I also believe that when we die, we go back and report to our homeland, a place near Sirius, 8.6 light year away from here - a.k.a.  a seriously long morning commute for a soul. But one can’t count when one wants to have fun! 

The problem is that our soul is basically who we are and it is not aging ever - it’s young and fresh and willing – and it wants to jump into that rabbit hole and catch that boy or that girl who smiled at us at the bar and see where that leads. It wants to experience crazy adventures and break things, run on the roofs and possibly fly off like superman. While the body that carries it around, it’s just a revolting pack of goo liquifying and falling apart every day that goes.

It’s like the basic plumbing is not matching the needs.
  
Ask my doctor! Each visit, she rolls her eyes, talks to me like I was a 10 year old and ask me to be more careful next time I go to Paris.  Even the analyst at the lab. He’s getting all excited when he sees me pulling down my pants now. What am I bringing to him  this time. Typhus? Cholera? Dirty illnesses nobody has heard of since the middle ages? Golly! He never saw one like this before! I must have such a colorful life!

I don’t really want to go back to Sirius. I think it’s pretty boring up there. You don’t have a body. Everything is perfect. You’re never hungry and you’re never cold. You just float around like stupid gas perfectly content. You’re eternal, man. No accident. No strange encounter or mad partner with a destructive nature. Everybody is reliable. No hangover. No spots or burning pains where they shouldn’t be. 

You know what I mean? It’s going to feel really long and lonely up there.  

I think the Egyptian agreed with me on that one. They didn’t want to go back to Sirius either. They had all the flyers and info on the afterlife thanks to their priests, and they knew the destination sucked. They were really into keeping the soul bond to that body down here on Earth, even if it meant looking like a recycled toilet paper roll with drying leather inside.

Which is how I feel sometimes, even if my doctor promised the antibiotic will help with that.



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