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I See Dead People! On FACEBOOK!!
May. 30th, 2014 10:24 amOne of the most disquieting things about Facebook is that dead people get to keep their accounts. I'm Friends with three dead people myself -- Lucius, Justin, and mcarp -- and from time to time, I log on to their pages to see what the news is from the afterlife.
Broke a harp string yesterday and boy, I'm getting tired of manna for breakfast, lunch, and dinner... Does anyone have any suggestions for fire-proofing insulation that's not carcinogenic like asbestos? It's really hot down here!
Alas. The afterlife must keep people too busy for regular status updates.
Other people log on to their pages. mcarp, in particular, gets lots of comments from people who remember his great wit, his to-the-point musings, his occasional rants, and his big heart in its curmudgeonly carapace. Justin lives on as a skater boy. Oddly enough, Lucius -- who made the biggest splash when he was alive and who died most recently -- seems to generate the least traction. Maybe because his published body of work provides a better watering hole? I dunno.
I'm thinking these morbid thoughts because last night, for the first time in many years, I woke up in the middle of the night with a full-fledged panic attack. And couldn't go back to sleep.
There's no real reason for me to be waking up with a panic attack. Or at least -- the reasons to wake up with a panic attack last night are no more numerous than they were the night before when I didn't wake up with a panic attack.
So, I don't know.
###
All that adrenalin leaves me skitterish and jumpy, which means I can't really think about anything substantiative. So I end up thinking about death (a) because I have major abandonment issues and (b) because I'm getting pretty close to the end of that particular conveyor belt myself.
Back when I was the Acid Queen, learned sources used to equate the ego-loss one experiences on LSD with the experience of dying. I always wondered how they could possibly know. These learned sources -- presumably -- hadn't had the experience of dying themselves. I didn't think there was anyone they could interview on the subject. (Near Death experiences don't count, as far as I'm concerned. That pulsating white light, that coven of friends and family members -- how come really annoying people never make it into that group? -- are hallucinations caused by excess carbon dioxide in the blood.)
But more and more, I get the equation. These days, I often feel as though I'm wandering through the end of the movie filled with characters whose narrative arcs will shortly diverge from my own. I know so much about them -- their struggles, their gallantry, their misplaced priorities, but once the boat moves far enough away from the shoreline, I'll never see them again.
Good thing they all have Facebook pages.
Broke a harp string yesterday and boy, I'm getting tired of manna for breakfast, lunch, and dinner... Does anyone have any suggestions for fire-proofing insulation that's not carcinogenic like asbestos? It's really hot down here!
Alas. The afterlife must keep people too busy for regular status updates.
Other people log on to their pages. mcarp, in particular, gets lots of comments from people who remember his great wit, his to-the-point musings, his occasional rants, and his big heart in its curmudgeonly carapace. Justin lives on as a skater boy. Oddly enough, Lucius -- who made the biggest splash when he was alive and who died most recently -- seems to generate the least traction. Maybe because his published body of work provides a better watering hole? I dunno.
I'm thinking these morbid thoughts because last night, for the first time in many years, I woke up in the middle of the night with a full-fledged panic attack. And couldn't go back to sleep.
There's no real reason for me to be waking up with a panic attack. Or at least -- the reasons to wake up with a panic attack last night are no more numerous than they were the night before when I didn't wake up with a panic attack.
So, I don't know.
All that adrenalin leaves me skitterish and jumpy, which means I can't really think about anything substantiative. So I end up thinking about death (a) because I have major abandonment issues and (b) because I'm getting pretty close to the end of that particular conveyor belt myself.
Back when I was the Acid Queen, learned sources used to equate the ego-loss one experiences on LSD with the experience of dying. I always wondered how they could possibly know. These learned sources -- presumably -- hadn't had the experience of dying themselves. I didn't think there was anyone they could interview on the subject. (Near Death experiences don't count, as far as I'm concerned. That pulsating white light, that coven of friends and family members -- how come really annoying people never make it into that group? -- are hallucinations caused by excess carbon dioxide in the blood.)
But more and more, I get the equation. These days, I often feel as though I'm wandering through the end of the movie filled with characters whose narrative arcs will shortly diverge from my own. I know so much about them -- their struggles, their gallantry, their misplaced priorities, but once the boat moves far enough away from the shoreline, I'll never see them again.
Good thing they all have Facebook pages.
