Tag Archives: afterlifepress



-Do you ever get the feeling people are looking at you?

-Sometimes, why?

-Well I think people look at me a lot.

-I mean, that’s possible I guess.  Whenever that happens to me I just assume they’re having trouble determining my gender.

-I don’t think there’s any question you’re a guy.  Do you think that’s why people look at me?

-No, you’re certainly not a guy.   I didn’t mean it like that.

-How did you mean it then?

-That’s just my perspective.

-Oh.  So you really think people think you’re a girl.

-Yeah, most of the time anyway.   Maybe I’m projecting though and I want them to think I’m a girl.

-Why would you want that?

-I assume the alternative would be that they’re looking at me because I’m grotesque or have some deformity that is imperceivable to me.  Why do you think people look at you?

-I guess I think they can read my thoughts.

-Does that concern you?

-What?  That I think people can read my thoughts or that my thoughts are being read?

-Umm… either I guess.

-Well it obviously concerns me or I wouldn’t have brought it up.  At least I know you can’t read my thoughts or you wouldn’t have asked that question, or maybe you can and you’re just humoring me.

-Is this like a phobia?

-I think it’s closer to paranoid schizophrenia actually, but my thoughts are usually pretty well-ordered, so I’m not so concerned that I’m going to have a panic attack or anything.

-How can thoughts be well-ordered?

-Just like you’d clean and organize a room, you can clean and organize your thoughts.  Everything in their right place.  Thoughts at the fore should be present and concise, thoughts behind calculated and clear,and so on down the line.  Wow.  I’m sorry, I sound like my mother.

-Does your mother think people can read her thoughts too?

-No, but she’s very religious and believes thinking something is as bad as doing it, so by keeping thoughts in order it’s easier to prevent undesirable ones.

-Very Orwellian, and no, I can’t read your thoughts.  If I could what would I be seeing?

-A brightly lit tea room; white china, wicker chairs, green grass visible through a screened in porch.

-Is that where you grew up?

-No, I lived in a beat up rancher near a rural suburb.  I’ve never been someplace like the tea room, but it’s easy to focus on.  You do know of course that you’re a pretty big guy right?  I mean I can’t imagine anyone thinking you’re female.

-So what’s in the rooms connected to the tea room?

-Just crucifixes and bibles stacked floor to ceiling.  Are you avoiding your gender doubt?

-No.  Are you avoiding telling me what’s going on a few thought layers down?

-No.  Why don’t you just look yourself.

-I just see the normal stuff; you know medieval torture devices, then a strip of sand bordering a sea of lava with magma spouts funneling into low jet black clouds; a hooded figure dumping cauldrons full of dolphin pups into the lava.  Are you the hooded figure?

-No, that’s an intern.  I’m supervising from the lighthouse at the end of the beach.

-The one with the red light?

-Did you notice any others?



He did not do well outdoors.  It wasn’t that elements or allergens had some negative effect on his biology; moreso it was the sound, or lack thereof.  Most of the time all he really wanted to hear was the low hum of central air or the high-pitched drone of a computer monitor.  He took some solace in the rumble of nearby highways, but on the occasions when there was nothing for him to find, he more often than not ended up bumping into walls and passersby as a way to assert his existence.  It was during a particularly unpleasant episode that he stumbled down a somewhat concealed stairwell and into the mouth of a waiting giant squid.