Space Doesn't Just Encompass The

Many People Will Find This Book Disrespectful. There Is Nothing Amusing About Being Dead, They Will Say. Ah, But There Is.

Life Contains These Things: Leakage And Wickage And Discharge, Pus And Snot And Slime And Gleet. We Are Biology. We Are Reminded Of This At The Beginning And The End, At Birth And At Death. In Between We Do What We Can To Forget.

Every Crazy Fad From The 1800s Comes Back Or They Never Go Away. It’s Like Fashion, Like Everything’s Already Been Invented, And Somebody Stumbles Onto It And People Will Always, Always Be Looking For An Answer For Some Vague Illness They Can’t Get A Diagnosis For.

The Human Head Is Of The Same Approximate Size And Weight As A Roaster Chicken. I Have Never Before Had Occasion To Make The Comparison, For Never Before Today Have I Seen A Head In A Roasting Pan.

I Dont Fear Death So Much As I Fear Its Prologues: Loneliness, Decrepitude, Pain, Debilitation, Depression, Senility. After A Few Years Of Those, I Imagine Death Presents Like A Holiday At The Beach.