display | more...

Start Again


"I used to think it was by accident or a cruel twist of fate. Then I realized there was a purpose and a logic to it. We're not like the living. We're dead. We need to be quickened."

Another dead man said that to me a few years back. I knew what he was talking about, but he managed to put it into more simple terms than I had gotten a handle on at that point. Others who have had death experiences, especially the radiants, those who not only saw "the light" but passed through it and came back, have a rather predictable tendency to put themselves into bad situations and dangerous circumstances. It isn't an accident. No one is plotting against us. We bring it upon ourselves. On purpose. It is sort of like those who practice self-harm. There are those who cut themselves just to see if they still bleed. Life is so light for the dead amongst you that we have to periodically check to make sure we can still suffer. And we go to extremes to be sure of this.

We have a tendency to enjoy what is essentially being chained up in a box and thrown into the ocean. Like Houdini we have a desire to prove we can escape. It is what keeps us alive. It is the quickening effect.

It makes little or no sense to the living. I belong to a bizarre minority group. Normal life bores the crap out of us. I knew another dead guy once who decided to start shooting heroin and become a junkie. The only reason he did this was to prove he could break the habit. He did. It was a living hell but he later told me it was the most exciting quickening he ever enjoyed. Not the heroin. Breaking the habit.

"I came back from the dead. There was no way that shit was going to break me."

That dead guy is now a drug counselor somewhere in Europe.

I spent two years living with a self-destructive borderline personality disordered woman who sought to bring me down into her personal hell. Now I work with people with extreme behavioral disorders.

We do this shit because it quickens us. And then we find ways to take the experience and make good on it. That is another element of the nature of the dead amongst you. We have the need to quicken ourselves. And we have a need to do what we can to help the living rise up and confront the challenges they are burdened with.

A dead woman once explained to me that we, the dead, are essentially angels with one wing. We're always trying to find the other wing. We're always trying to shake the weight of the wing we have. We're floating somewhere in between two worlds.

The process is rather awful, but at the same time invigorating. The living would consider us masochistic. It isn't an accident that I keep putting myself in harm's way. There is a purpose to it.

The coming back part is extremely exciting and pumped full of energy. All of our powers max out when we are resurrecting. We've escaped from hell and we're grinning. We're ready to embrace life again.

At least until it starts boring us again. And then we have to destroy ourselves once again. We're seeking out the quickening. We need it.

And that is part of what it is like being dead. On a theoretical level it might make some sort of sense to the living, but in my personal experience it doesn't. One of the darker dead people I've met over the years once told me, "When you fuck with the dead, you fuck with yourself. We've got the kind of mirrors you can't buy."

We derive benefit in our own way from what you put us through. We work our asses off to help the living, even those who abandoned hope a long time ago. You can't kill us. We're already dead.

And we'll prove it to you by letting you poison us and giving you every chance to try to destroy us. We rise again like the phoenix. We enjoy it. We really, really enjoy it. You have no idea how much. There isn't a word for it in your language.

Don't fuck with the dead. You might think you know what you're doing, but we know what you're doing and we want you to do it. You'll never in a million years figure out how to be as sick as we are.

You'll keep trying though, and that's okay. It is how you quicken us. Keep trying. Believe me, we want you to.


Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.