Extracts From the Dead Diary of Troy Burroghs

Extract #1 of 2 Day one and two From the Dead Diary Of TB [written in St. Paul, Minnesota, January 2004; re- Edited 4/29/2006]

Being dead was not a big thing to me, at least not as big as I thought it might be, or could be, but then, then I’ve only been dead for a less than a day, maybe a few hours, let’s say, several hours. Listen up now, I had seen most everything anyways, that is, most everything a man wants to see in his life time, like: war, poverty, being rich and traveling 24-times around the world; being married four times, having five kids; having forty some jobs. You get the picture, right? Sure you do. Pardon the expression, but life, as I knew it was getting a bit boring. So it was a good time to die, as good as any I expect. Had I lived longer, I think—with my personality—I’d just got into more mischief.

All in all, I am dead as dead can be—and to be quite honest, to be down right frank, things couldn’t be much better. I now have the whole universe to explore; --that is, once I figure out all the angles, and angelic beings, and the horde of fiends and the imps hiding here and there, in this new abode of mine. And so the great discovery, the one I waited for, as humans hate to acknowledge, but mentally wait for, hoping the day never arrives: mine arrive several hours ago. On earth it was pretty much: ‘A dog eat dog place.’ Here it seems—and I’m not sure yet—I am on my own pretty much. On earth everyone had what you called ‘Advise,’ and no place to store it so they gave it away, free for the taking, or in many cases, it was shoved down one’s throat. I don’t sense any shoving out here, out in this inky-atmosphere. That is why it is ‘free,’ advise, still on that word, that troubled word, you know, they got no room to store it so they throw it at you like: ‘garbage’; generally speaking, that is the reason it’s free. [I know I am repeating myself in this diary, but in lack of not much more to say, I say it twice, ‘free garbage.’]

For the record, and I suppose every new-comers who die say the same thing (I shall find out soon), or so I suppose, I find my feet wanting to stand on something solid, but again it is something I have to get used to, like glasses, after a while you don’t even noticed you got them hanging on your nose, but they are there nonetheless. Out here in space [and now I know why they call it Space, that is all that is out here, lots of room, too much to absorb], out here in space, as I look down, down by my feet I see earth, it’s winter time in Minnesota, so it was even better to die now because in Minnesota, man-oh-man, the winters are nothing but hardship. You race from one warm place to another. I don’t feel warm or cold; actually I don’t feel anything at all. Not sure how this is going to be in the long run, not a physical body, in a somewhat physical universe. But then I’ve only been dead a few hours, I know here I go again, ok, 7 hours and 15-minutes to be exact: still getting acclimated.

I really like the fact, I don’t have to buy gas for my car, or car insurance, or pay taxes anymore, or for that matter, get on them damn buses and trains and planes, to get to my destinations; it seems I can go pretty fast without these old rusting objects now. I have found I can go faster than the speed of sound, how do I know this, I sneezed, and then I jumped as far as I could, and it took a second or two for the sound to catch me. No big scientific discover I’m sure, but it was interesting. I went from the moon to Mars in one or two seconds, about 250-million miles I think. I also think it was more by thought than by action, but I guess it’s really a mixture of both. I can see a faded configuration of myself. To be frank, I liked the sound of the ‘whiz,’ the sound when I went sailing in Space, its inky-nothingness, ending up at the Moon and then on Mars, the sound was amazing, kind of like ‘…whizzzzzzzz…’, and there I was, no special effects, just a ‘Whiz,’ sound. Matter-of-fact, when I took-in [a while ago] a breath of this black-ash sky, or sphere-air, whatever one calls it, I was on the moon, when I was simply above the clouds of earth before, which is 250,000-air miles for anyone collecting them. If I am to record my reaction, it was:

“O-boy!!”

I thought for the first few hours of my death [being a little disorientated] I was simply in a dream state of some kind, when I was alive, I often was in such a state of existence: then I shook that off as being preposterous, once I seen my mother coming slowly in the distance; —for she had died some six months ago.

“Ay—ay, hello son…!” said she, in her calm and direct way. That’s when I had to take a double take on her, ‘yup,’ I said to myself, ‘that’s my mom all right!’

“Ay—ay, Mom!” I said in a sloppy surprised look, yet very happy to see her again, then added to the dialogue, “…how fast can you travel?”

She hesitated for a moment, said, “First things first son,” and gave me a big, big hug, then said—“hm…mm, possibly I can reach Mars in a millisecond,” [I read that to mean, a clap of the eye; I gave that a slight little frown, also] for when she died I was faster than her, now she put me in place, it took me at least two seconds. Oh well, I thought, leave well enough alone (she’s had more practice), and put back on my face a caring smile.

Nevertheless, I said in awe-belief: “You don’t say, my goodness, that is fast…” I couldn’t finish my statement-question, for mom butted in by saying:

“You’ll never change—questions, questions and more questions, that’s all you did on earth, ask questions—but I love you nonetheless,” and she smiled with a deep joy to her countenance. I guess she was never one to worry about such things, she let life glide along as it may; for myself, I was always was in panic state, or at least most of my life. As if I couldn’t get to the end quick enough.

[A long pause took place, son and mother looking at each other in the great expanse of nothingness of the inky outer space.]

“Did you every go back to earth Mom?” I asked her.

“A few times to see you, and…well, you know, a mother’s job is never done, but you made it through the grieving process, I was unsure for awhile, after passing on; other than that son, no reason to go back there.”

[Again they both had a long pause, looking at one another, —happy to be together again, if only for a moment.]

As I looked at my mother, not sure how one measured time, but night was falling over a section of the earth, the side I was looking down on. It must have been but a few minutes or so I thought, but possibly a few hours for earth. Then looking about, I marveled at the asteroids and comets zooming by my head, the monstrous sounds they created, and the cold they carried with them, I could see the ice on them. And the emotions that went in my shell of a body was tranquil, calm, as if every emotion went through the process of osmosis [before it reached my adrenalin]; in and out of my invisible skin my transparent form it seeped blazing with controlled emotions, and descriptions of everything that passed me, colors, many colors, the sun’s drifting behind the moon.

“Yaw, ya, ya, so what’s on your agenda now son?” asked my mother with a tone a cleaver tone, a mothers tone if you get me: that seemed to be losing its enthusiasm for just standing about; I think she wanted to get on with this new life, she was always creative and busy: making things. I suppose my whole family was, myself and brother included creative in our own rights; my brother being the only one alive yet. All that healthy living he does: eats good, works out with weights, and all I did—being a redhead, was travel, write poetry, Army stuff, and fight battles, either in war, or in words, or in temperaments.

“Mm m m,” I murmured, “let me see: “a trip that is what is on my mind,” that is what I told my mother. She smiled at me again, knowing I lived to travel, traveled was part of my reason for living, or so it seemed; having been around the world in my earthly lifetime some 25-times (or is it 24?). Most tedious for her I suppose, but most regrettable for me if I didn’t take advantage of this opportunity, to check out more of the universe.

Said she [she: being my mother]: “I should have guessed that, you know you could grab onto a comet, and who knows where it may take you.” Not sure if that was sarcasm or not, but even in the after life, you don’t get smart with your mother.

“Or an asteroid,” I added to that statement, why not join her in her sarcasm, if you can’t beat them join them. We both laughed, it felt good.

“Did you know I met Serr’el, the angel you wrote about on earth in your book?” I was a bit taken back, when she said that, but not too much.

“I kind of made him up Mom, you know, but then I kind of did not, I mean I knew an angel was there, and tried to figure out his name, and that came to me.”

[With a stern voice] “Yes, yes I know that, but he is on the other hand, REAL, so you should say hello, that is, after your trip, if that is how you’d like it.”

I got thinking: we are who we are when we die, and whatever we are is who we are, like it not, somehow I had the thinking, I’d be thinking differently, but I’m not, the only thing different is my environment, that is to say, my mother didn’t lose her spunk.

Day Two:

It was a good meeting with my mother, and I did meet Serr’el at this point of my new journey. And now I see the sun rising on the earth, so it must be day two. I think I shall move on, blow myself like an invisible wind going through a whistle, blow myself some place, any place. And finish my diary as I live this new life.

As I look about, I can’t seem to find any fast moving rocks, or asteroids, or whatever (woops, a piece of metal just flew by, I spoke too soon ((must have been from a spacecraft from earth, you see we are even cluttering up outer space; unbelievable)). I just got to thinking: if I go too far out into outer space, than what, I might get lost; anything is possible. Matter-of-fact, I wonder if you can get lost? I should have asked my Mother that, or Serr’el. By and by I shall, but for now, I don’t really care—do I? Being lost can be fun, I think. I did it in China, and once in Spain, and, oh well, in half the countries I ventured in, I got lost. Zoommmmmmmm—asteroid.

[And like a ship sailing away, Mr. Troy Burroghs sailed and sailed away until an asteroid came by, then he was whizzed away…end of extract one, day one and two of the: ‘Dead Diary of TB’ —short for Troy Burroghs; extract one and two are the last of the Troy Burroghs stories written by the author. Part two “Death Diary” Extract #2, day three and Four to be given…]