I’ve temporarily possessed a living person to write this little memoir, in case you must know. And, yeah, I know that sounds inconsistent with the tale I’m about to tell you. So what? If you were to ask me, I’d say everything in the world is inconsistent with what life is all about. Deal with it. The story begins with a great line I think I stole from someone.

I killed a soul just to watch him die. When it happened I was, oh, must have been about negative four or five years old. Hanging out waiting to be born and all. And this dude┬ácomes up to me. Old soul. He’d probably been reborn tens of thousands of times. All souls look blobby and squishy when they’re just hanging around, but he was really leathered. Didn’t seem to want to go back to the world. He looked in my eyes (souls don’t need eyes, no, you see with your whole being) and he goes “These worlds have worn me down. Lives are hard.” I was all like “Really, dude? What are you talking about? I can’t wait to get there!” He laughed at me (souls don’t have laughs, no, you really are just sighing) and went “You are such a young soul.” I was like “Yeah! I’ve never been born yet! Don’t you think it’s awesome?” Continue reading