and death didst come to me as in a dream and I didst sit bolt upright in bed and scream and my pajamas verily most heavily didst cream
Jiiiiiimmmmmmmyyyyyy he said floating sulphurously over the bed
am I dead I said no don’t worry he said at least not yet
so what the hell is it some kinda sick social visit
so…I don’t know… it was just getting boring he said, yawning then carefully resetting his jaw in the sling he had to wear round his skull instead of hair to keep his jaw there
what d’ya mean – eternity? I mean – you’ve got my sympathy mate, but as far as I can see that’s nothing to do with me you’re having a laugh I’ve got to get up in an hour and a half
somebody’s grumpy he said maybe you should try going to bed a weensy bit earlier at night then maybe you wouldn’t be so clippy, alright?
yeah? well I heard death could be agonising but I’d rather have that than patronising
don’t be mean, he said sadly descending to the foot of the bed where he smouldered with a strange intensity that lacked discernible heat or density which I have to admit was all pretty new to me
sorry, I said – you caught me off guard I try to be understanding but it’s hard especially when you’re so freakin’ charred does that mean hell is hot or not is there a God? Jesus Christ I hope not
actually no there isn’t he sighed carefully putting his scythe aside crooking one bony knee over the other idly picking fluff from my cover
you see – Jimmy – God is just a story you tell about angels, prophets, heaven and hell a touching way of making sense of the fundamental questions of existence to which the answer is oxygen and carbon and if I’ve rocked your world I beg your pardon
okay – so – I don’t get it Death comes to visit and you want me to forget it?
I’m an allegory, dear a gorgeous but hokey souvenir a byproduct of consciousness he said, clapping his phalanges you mortals really are such a tease you ask about God – well…take a look around there are millions of deities to be found in any place you care to look from Weston-super-Mare to Çatalhöyük I could talk you through the creation myths but there’s nothing duller than shopping lists
he gaped at me gappily seemingly quite happily with what I took to be affection and I have to admit the conversation was heading in a wholly unexpected direction
so.. how am I supposed to feel now that I know that God’s not real?
Who knows? said Death as the clock struck twelve you’ll just have to figure it out for yourself and with a hopelessly boney stamp and an inexplicable but theatrical dimming of the lamp he flashed me a look that was scary but appealing then shot straight up through the bedroom ceiling
I sat there wondering what I’d just seen I mean for someone supposedly fictional he was pretty vocal and visual
but just as I lay back on the pillow there was another booming billow of fire and smoke and the very same cloaky bloke came floating back
Whaaaat? I said sitting up in bed Was that all a joke? Were you toying with me? Don’t be silly he said tip-toeing round the bed trying to act all cool & blythe I just came back to fetch my scythe
cut to a priest
sitting in a truth booth
wiggling in a wet patch
scritchin’ and a-scratchin’
at a blessed box of matches
ready to inflame
the same damned candle
the fat and waxy handle
on his spiritual fruit machine
four Hail Marys and a pay out
eternal bliss and a way out
a kiss on the hand
may be quite continental
but the pope’s not sentimental
not like that
surprisingly hard despite the hat
his cardinal sin?
finding the time to fit it all in
but what’s with the god awful shout?
abruptly heeling & wheeling about
clean heels on hard stones
rich robes running
the congregation concentrating
being, becoming
drumming
humming along with the mains
when you’re dead, you’re dead / with one definitive snip of the thread / away you float / head first down eternity’s capacious throat / or / maybe death is just a door / maybe you die and you go somewhere else / your consciousness melts / and you get sucked into another realm / Valhalla, maybe, with Odin posing at the helm / or Nirvana / Jannah, Trāyastriṃśa / Aukumea / variations on the idea of the holy layer / domes & levels / supervised by countless angels & devils / where finally you might get rewarded / for all those good deeds you meticulously hoarded / or punished for those you forgot / and pitched headfirst to somewhere hot / where all the tormented entities / gargle lava & prod each other with horrible utilities / like long-handled toasting forks / (according to the most reliable reports)
fact is / no-one understands it / as Shakespeare rightly pointed out in Hamlet / death is an undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns / or blogs about their concerns / no pics on Flickr / Instagram or Twitter / or anything that might shed light on the guff / behind all that Life Ever After stuff / which is probably why these myths are so persistent / with so many contradictory versions co-existent
anyway / at the end of the day / it’ll probably just be like before I was born / people shopping and mowing the lawn / or things a little more obnoxious / with me, happily unconscious / circling the earth in a random atomic cook-up / just waiting for my mum & dad to hook-up