Yesterday I set up my 29th self-published book in preparation for printing. Without wanting to sound melodramatic, if things had’ve taken a different turn on 11th January my 28th tome would’ve been my last literary offering. The one I sent off for publishing yesterday becoming my metaphorical ‘unfinished symphony’.
The dozen or so narratives written after that date, which form the 29th book’s final chapters, never seeing the light of day. Epiphanies that would’ve remained untapped, depriving my small but perfectly formed readership of around eighty pages of further observations and unreliable memories.
Three thousand plus words of whimsy, darkness and strategies to avoid hearing the shouting of the word “Clear!!”. Locutions written in my cardiac ward bed or the home-based recuperative pit in which I’ve predominantly resided during the last fortnight.
Whether the loss of these ideas would’ve caused an already dysfunctional world to run ever more unstably on it’s axis is highly unlikely. However, I’d like to think on some level the narratives I’ve lovingly crafted since the 11th January have lightened some peoples existences. Even if it was for a few short minutes.
Ever since my hospital discharge it feels like I’m viewing the world through different eyes. My vision acquiring a filter of almost constant daze. To paraphrase Steve Carell’s character in the 2015 movie The Big Short, “I feel like I’m wandering around in an Enya video.”
Sitting in this almost dream-like state I pose myself the ridiculous question of whether, like Bruce Willis’ character in the M. Night Shyamalan movie Sixth Sense, I actually did pass. This place with blurred edge visions a domain where you move after death.
Could it be, like Willis, no one can see or hear me?…… Well, apart from my parrot Joey who on a daily basis helps me write this inanity.
If I’ve moved to the afterlife I’m hoping I didn’t choose an expensive furniture removal firm to forward my possessions. After all, until I secure a job here my cash flow won’t be as liquid as when I was alive.
One plus, if I have moved on, is it appears I’ve still got access to my record collection, Leeds United memorabilia and my lucky underpants. Although I might ditch the lucky undies whose powers towards the end of my life appear to have been on extended hiatus. A notion upon which my parrot Joey also subscribes…… Actually, I’ve just realised I didn’t have a parrot – Is that a further clue I’ve succumbed to a darker fate?!
Anyhow, wherever I am, yours truly feels better than he did on 11th January 2019. I’m sleeping well and, on the days I can beat Joey to the millet spray and bird seed tray, am eating healthily.
If this is the afterlife, apart from the unfetching Homebase t-shirts which make up our uniform, it’s not such a bad place. If I had to make a comparison, I’d say it’s bit like Crossgates without the pound shops.
Some may opine the topics I’ve covered in this narrative are in poor taste; making light of death and the afterlife. To those I’d say I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, however this is my way of coping with a particularly challenging life event.
Oh, before I go…….. Does anyone want to buy a parrot?!
