Anyway, if you stop tellin' people it's all sorted out afer they're dead, they might try sorting it all out while they're alive.
That's how people go on forever, you know, because somebody takes them along.
— Saying goodbye?
— Saying hello.
— You think your wife can hear you?
— No.
— Then why bother?
— Maybe I'm wrong.
— Where do we go when we`re dead?
— I don`t even know where we are when we`re alive. Let alone when we`re dead. I`m not the person to ask you know...
— We`re nowhere and everywhere at once. Because we never really die, Zaza. Our lives carry on with the memory of us, and all the things around us.
— Yeah, well, hold on there! You can`t possibly mean that dead people carry on living in... in... flowers for example?
— Yes, they do! Also in trees, rivers, in the wind... Zaza, don`t be sad anymore. Feathers will always be around here, looking at you, thinking about you.
— I knew it. Thank you, Lian-Chu.
This kinda shit happens every day. I used to complain that every day felt the same and then May 9th came, and now every day IS the same. Ugh, same wake-up scream, same machete-wielding asshole, same everything, with slight variations. One thing that never changes... is I die every single day. I die.
I think just because we die doesn't mean we don't exist anymore. Maybe we exist someplace else. And you know why I think that? When you see a boat vanish... have you ever seen a boat
vanish on the horizon? When a boat disappears in the distance, it vanishes, but does that mean it doesn't exist anymore?
Everybody leaves their mark after life, somebody becomes a monument, somebody becomes a tombstone.
— I want to tell you my secret now.
— Okay.
— ... I see people. Some of them scare me.
— In your dreams? When you're awake? Dead people, like in graves and coffins?
— No, walking around, like regular people... They can't see each other. Some of them don't know they're dead.
— They don't know they're dead?
— Beat.