The Bloody Doors Off

For some inexplicable reason, my mind spun my focus to movie tropes.

One in particular.

(And trigger warning — uh, I can be abrasive.)

Visiting your deceased (insert relationship to our protagonist) at a (random) cemetery.

Where he or she. Us.

Me.

Talks to the dead.

Was that callous?

I believe that whatever resides within us — a soul, computer code fed into an ever expanding universe.

They’re not there.

You’re talking to their vessel.. Maybe they have Starlink 5G wi-fi in heaven. And those bones are a receiver.

Why does it have to be this way? Why can’t we have a conversation with our loved ones at a place you shared many happy memories. Get a table, a glass of wine.

And dish.

How cathartic it would be, sharing the joy of speaking to/with their spirit at that beachside cafe, or shopping in Yorkdale, or Yorkville Mall.

The pure joy.

This. This honours the dead.

And why only now have I come to this epiphany?

And. Am I crazy?