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Wednesday, 20 August 2008

It's not so bad, actually...

....being dead. One tends to develop a healthy fear of death from quite an early age - well, I - sorry, he -certainly did. In fact I - he - got rather obesessed by it from the age of four and would run around the garden in a fit of the screaming ab-dabs yelling, "Mummy, mummy - *I'M GOING TO DIE*!!" for hours and hours on end. Ah - *bless*! It was most distressing for our parents, I'm sure - but they were told by our GP, "well, it's bad now, but believe me, it's a lot worse if they go through it in their teens...' And this, don't forget, was *decades* before emo, so I can scarcely imagine how bad it must be now. So this is all quite therapeutic for me (him), being dead that is. Sort of laying that particular ghost to rest, as it were.

Of course it's not like a *real* death, obviously. I have - he has - the trap door of his "real" self to slide through, careering as I (he) often do(es) back into the land of the living (well, what passes for it in his case, at any rate). So I suppose there'll be the usual carping from the pedants and the literalist jobsworths out there - "oh, you're not really dead, are you? Just like you weren't really from Rothergavenny/a Glam icon/a woman [delete as preferred]..." etc. etc. But then, does anyone really care what tossers like that think? Because we're engaging as individual consciousnesses here, no bullshit - just as the blind can't lie, the dead can't tell tales. After all, I have nothing to gain from this, do I? What use is money or popularity to me? I don't exist. Besides, when did I ever suffer from either of those vastly over-rated distinctions anyway? So perhaps you should read this less as a blog and more as you would a ghost story; suspend your disbelief momentarily. And make sure the kitchen light is on and the backdoor bolted. Besides, it won't kill you, will it - a little bit of make believe?

So yes, I've digressed a little, but just as life isn't all it's cracked up to be, death is never quite as black as it's sometimes painted. And if you're looking for a tagline, a cosy soundbite to sell it to the marketing people, I suppose it would go something like "Gary Glitter playing Orpheus in a remake of The Red Shoes, directed by Orson Welles....[on ice?]" Or how about "...Ziggy Stardust starring in an episode of Rentaghost written by Milan Kundera"...?

Yeah, something like that. That'll do. But let's get the work sorted first, before we start worrying about the pitch, eh?

So, what can you expect in the future? Well, we'll have to see - the great thing about being dead is that you tend to have a fairly light schedule and a fair amount of time in which to work your way through the somewhat limited 'to do' list set before you. But I imagine there'll be the odd shit list and a few home truths (well, I have no reputation to protect any more, do I? Ooh, I can already hear a few skeletons rattling in a few cupboards already!) in among the usual frivolity and yawning chasms of endless, boundless silent blackness. There'll no doubt be the occasional rant at those with less talent who were appreciated and rewarded more than I was in my pitifully short lifetime. So, basically, it'll be business as usual really. Only with a few more *woooooo-oooooohhhhh* noises and some wind blowing though the trees sound effects, obviously.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be off - I have a disused mill to haunt for insurance purposes...



L.U.V. on y'all,

Once was Bob

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3 comments:

  1. Ooh that's weird. I can see you now. But you're dead.

    Presumably you've ditched the anti-monarchist porn that got the censors so worked up.

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  2. Chrisy almighty - it's Footman. You scared the shit out of me!!

    (You see what you have to do to get a comment nowadays folks?)

    xxx
    Once was Bob

    p.s. well done on winning the Cup btw...

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