You know a funny thing happened to me the other day. I died. At first, it didn’t really disturb me. I went a little pale all right, what with the pallor mortis due to the blood stopping to flow. But considering my life juice had done me good service a full 33 years, it might very well take time off from circulating, mightn’t it?

First thing I did, I went to the gym to work out a little, shake off that spell. But lo! I had almost no energy left and my muscles felt curiously stiff. I didn’t like this at all but didn’t think too much of it at the time, waiting for a good night’s sleep to rest and restore me. On my way home people looked up and down me quizzically as if I was about to do something funny and they couldn’t at all imagine why on earth I was doing it. Damn you all! I thought to myself. You don’t look no more alive than I do, noisily collapsing into bed when I arrived at my shed.

Next morning, I didn’t feel better at all. On the contrary, getting up proved a bone-crunching effort. I looked it up in my father’s medical books and they said rigor mortis is a very normal thing to happen, especially when hydrolysis splits up all your adenosine triphosphate needed for movement. This, however, will go away 72 hours after you’ve died. For once that stiff as hell actomyosin complex is broken down again, there you go again, all relaxed and soft of muscle. So I resolved to keep a low profile at the gym for another day or two. But, as things stood, I also thought it best to pay my quack a little visit. For you never know what the symptoms mightn’t stand for. When he saw me, he got that deeply concerned look I always resented most in people. He advised me lots of funny things including lying down at a morgue and filling out that last will form. He also said I should go get me some eternal rest in the near future. Now, whoever heard of a living soul going to a morgue to help them come out of their physical blues! He don’t know shite about his profession I decided and walked right out on him, accidentally slamming my head against a medicinal rack. That was when I discovered I felt no more pain. Great state to be in I can tell you! One of the best parts of being dead actually. Total victory over pain. You get better at it even than those empty-headed Yogis, or stupid Indians slicing their breast during the sundance ritual.

The rest of the day I quietly spent at home, waiting for my pH to reach 5.5 so that I could move more freely again. In the evening my girl-friend dropped by. She was totally in the mood, you know, but I said: honey sorry, I don’t feel like doing it tonight. For just because you have an all-body boner this doesn’t mean you are good at the pumpin’ arts. That was when she left me for good.

When I woke up the next day I still felt a little stiff in my limbs but determined I was well on my way to recovery. Since it was the first of August, I had to go to the welfare office. On the subway, people started to avoid me making faces as if I was indecently proposing to their olfactory system with an offer of hydrogen sulphide, which is what makes poo and rotten eggs smell so nasty. Damn, I just ignored those smell-obsessed bigots. Didn’t they know, that my body’s cadaverine and putrescine are found in semen and urine too? And whoever heard of sperm driving away the ladies?

I must say the following days have sort of blurred into a sequence of largely unpleasant events. I clearly recall my muscles tendering up again, though, after that nasty stiff phase. But although I regained my accustomed softness, I still lacked the appetite for movements. Once I went out to get me some of those anti-aging cosmetics I had read about in an ad. When I came out of the store, a breezy sun-tanned feller approached me saying he was from a major motion picture company and they were looking for gifted people to star in their upcoming features. When he let on the title of the flick was „Zombie Symphony“ it was my turn to disgustedly turn away. The little fucker somehow managed to stuff his card into my breast, shouting after me their offer would only be good another two weeks or so. As long, that is, as my tissue did not come off of me in too nauseating a way. I cursed his soul.

Another couple days have gone by and I guess you might say I am getting better at living in that dead state. The worst thing is the insects, sarcophagidae which is blowflies and greenbottles and all those parasites. A can of Black Flag a day helps teach them manners though. Another and maybe more serious problem is the social flies. That is what I call those greedy people who show up to profit from my sad state. They style themselves heirs and executors and what not and include a fair amount of spectacled ladies and scraggy jerks from the city’s health and hygiene departments. I must say, I hate being discriminated against just because of this being dead thing. I mean dying, doesn’t it happen to people all the time, no matter what their color of skin or status in society? In fact, it tends to make them even more akin, as their skins get purple and you can’t even tell racial differences after a while. So stop treating me like I was so much dead matter, you life racists out there!

As I have developed something of a distaste for this ongoing autolysis, though, I am currently weighing my options for automummification, for which I ponder the purchase of twelve 16 oz jars of natron and a series of lavender ointments to dry and preserve my body in dignity. Also, large-scale saponification is a viable alternative. This process related to adipocere preserves your body in a soap-like, waxy state and prevents decay to an admirable degree. It’s your fatty acidic tissues that just won’t bow to putrefying agents. Requires a predominantly humid location and little or no exposure to oxygen though. Come to think of it, that accurately describes my flat. So we will see what more, if anything, comes of this being dead business. I will keep you informed! In the meantime, try and be a little more understanding when meeting dead people on the street. Even if they happen to trail some purplish grey conglomerate of putrescent matter. It is none of their fault believe me! After all, it could happen to you one of these days!

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