My afterlife should be a cinema retrospective, a group of impersonal, bitter film critics speaking dense terminology and pretentious naysaying towards the angles and attitudes of my life. They should talk about the presences and mistakes and I will use this information if I ever return, as a new man or a wide-eyed kitten or a hungry unrelenting shark. How interesting it would be, to be conscious, to apply, to know one’s own re-incarnation? Would I be a different man, kitten, shark? Would I put on a suit, would I stare at the giant legs and hands and know better, would I swim through the dense water and think of cartoons I saw when I was young?
And what of the aurora borealis — the northern lights? What a fascinating spectacle. I’ve never seen them in person, myself. Everywhere I live has too much man-made light and tall buildings grasping upwards. People tell me there isn’t any natural experience any more beautiful.
In my afterlife, I would like to see a replay of myself watching the northern lights. The critics would cite melodrama, but how fascinating — how interesting would that be. And what if I was re-incarnated as the northern lights? What if I knew who I was before? What if, in some mad power, in some dementia of passing on, some mutation of the continuity, I knew before I was Daniel Vaccerelli, and now I was light?
How strange it is to be anything at all.