...killing me off like that and then having me come back as this strange, demonic, disembodied voice. Solves all number of problems, doesn't it? Structurally, that is. It's pragmatic too. Well, he's tried writing through a 'living' persona, and look where *that* got him! No, this is a much tidier arrangement. This way, I can say what I like and he can't be held responsible - after all, how can someone be held responsible for a bleeding ghost? Cute, isn't it? That's the kind of fellow we're dealing with here, you see - the kind who'd gladly cause a ruckus then run off back to his dull little life and leave a dead man to take the flak. Charming. Still, that's writers for you.
I suppose he's got to cover his back this time, hasn't he? It's like that old shaggy dog story about the Second Coming - "I'm not going back there, the last time I was *hammered* by tacks/tax" - you must have heard it. Once bitten and all that. Yes, this way there's no confusion as to who the 'real' Bob is, is there? So all those people who thought they were loving or (more probably) loathing a real person in the past when all along I was merely a persona, a figment and extension of a rather warped, cynical and unpleasant mind, surely even they can't feel the same about a *dead* persona. Can they?
But that's the problem about the cyber age, isn't it? It opens up such an alluring world of new possibilities and impossibly brighter futures into which we can all escape. But what do we do once we're there? For most bloggers, all they have to bring to the party are the trials and tribulations of the very life they're hoping to escape from. Hence the way that those same little cliques and reading circles and knitting pattern forums evolve, pretty much as they would in real life, if we could all meet up. And that's fine; it's a nice thing. But I want something more enduring. Is it *Literature*? - is it *ART*?
I was discussing this the other day with the ghost of Spinsterella, actually. Oh, she's fine - still single, obviously. She sends her love; although between you, me and the cemetary gates, these cold damp catacombs aren't doing her famously frizzy hair any favours. Still, you can't move for cadaverous indie boys down here, so I'm sure she'll find her feet. Or theirs. Anyway, we were just comparing notes on what it's like to be discarded like that - as we both have been - you know, given the old heave-ho so that our creators can go back to having a 'normal' life (whatever *that* is!) Well she was saying that it's a bit of a jolt to the old ego at first, but after a while you start to realise that it's not all that bad once you get over the shock. In fact, you're actually in rather better company, if you think about it. After all, wouldn't you rather spend eternity with - ooh, I don't know...off the top of my head... Humbert Humbert or Fanny Hill than... first names that come into my head and obviously no disrespect intended...Surly Girl or Jif Dump Alliance? (It's a tough call between Fanny and SG, obviously...in fact, scrub that...)
So we'll see whether the hate mail stops, now there's nothing left to hate but a ghoulish corpse...
L.U.V. on y'all,
Once was Bob