Letter from Death's Door

I think the funniest thing I've ever done was throw my arm out across my wife just as the car was crashing. Because, obviously, the power of my arm would save her. Would have saved her. M'arm!

Here's something they don't teach you in those driver's ed "this could happen to you" movies. After you get into a car accident, after all the unbelievable bone-rattling, loss of higher motor skills and appetite, everything around you just gets funnier. REALLY funny. I think it's something that you have to get all shook up for, but once you are, once that hatch is open then it takes real effort just to keep from seeing the joke in everything.

Like, right now for instance. I'm looking up and there are three levels of depth that I'm peering into. The first level consists of two heads, the second level of depth are the silhouettes of power lines and the tops of trees. Then, behind it all, a hazily black sky and stars. And it's just...oh my shit. Of course. That is fucking funny. That is really fucking funny. This must be the worst play ever. Look! They're already drawing the curtains!

What? You don't get it? You will.

The heads want me to keep talking, so I will. I'd like to take a moment to acknowledge that being in love with you was a pretty sweet deal and I'm glad I took the time to spraypaint that onto several street signs and abandoned billboards. You were worth it. STOP. I LOVE HEIDI.

I think the heads are getting a little worried about my constant laughter. Do not worry, heads. The laughter is joyous, it is freeing. When staring into the face of ultimate darkness, one can leave no better legacy than massive credit debt and boisterous, infectious peals of laughter. Also I felt something inside me just passively swell up and burst, leaving a warm numbly spot. If you could get to that, no rush, it's your schedule not mine, then I would appreciate it.

Ohhhhh man, check this out. I just figured out how to make these little butterflies, they're so clean and white and two-dimensional and pretty. I'm going to give them each a message and send them out to talk to people. I can't believe I've never thought to do this before. Why aren't we all communicating with butterflies made of light? It's like...like I'm making a movie but you're only gonna see it inside your head.

Hey, I'd like one of you heads to have my car. Or you can both have it, whatever. I don't know what your situation is and I don't mean to pry. It just dawned on me that I don't need my car anymore, so, you know, go on.

You can have my computer, too. Or, one of you can have the car and one of you can have the computer. Just don't fight over who gets what, because that would just be total crap and everyone is expecting that to be the ending, anyway. I don't need the computer anymore, I swear, these little flappy butterfly guys must have, like, 400 gig memories. That one flittering by your ear has my unfinished novel in it. The one doing loop-de-loops over your bald spot has the ending to it. If those two ever got together I think...I think...I think that would really be the end.

I know you said I should keep talking, but there's really no need to. The stars are getting closer and closer and the sky is filling with twinkly little butterflies all speeding off to their destinations. Don't look now, but the Big Dipper just totally materialized over your forehead. And you, other head, the North Star just popped up on the tip of your nose like a little sparkly zit. Stay calm, whatever you do, DO NOT POP THE NORTH STAR. It just...it feels like a bad idea.

You've moved me. Not spiritually but physically. I think I'm in a truck now, but I'm not sure because the starry night is draped over everything. I need to open my eyes, I need to keep talking, the heads say, but if I open my mouth then the stars will pour in and...

Actually, I wonder what that would be like.

I...

Oh.

This is not the ending everyone is expecting.