Strange Angels

Okay … a more literal interpretation.

Can I do it?
No, me! Me! Not her! She always gets to do it! I never do! Now, now …go play. I’ll do it. Who do you think you are? Okay. Someone, Anyone.

Angels are strange and they don’t really care—or give a rat’s ass, as I just heard—who believes in them. And yes, they do say things like “rat’s ass”. Quite often. I don’t know if heaven is like TV although I am not doubting this—we just haven’t done much heaven.

It was one of those days larger than life that the angel haunting me invited friends to visit. Actually Freddie Mercury opened this door and let a crowd in when he died but the tale is hard to buy so I won’t go into it. They’re big on B-movie plots around here. The angels didn’t literally clean out the refrigerator but they have been the guests that overstayed their welcome and they were much better at—get this—cleaning out the bank account rather than the refrigerator. Spending all my money—like they think I’m loaded and I’m not. Bet few people know this but I felt it wise to mention. They could start traveling around to visit others and while hanging on to your cash may seem prudent, I doubt you will be able to get the better of them. I never have.

And did I cry all night? I cried often, had plenty to cry about and did an all-nighter that left me with very swollen eyes. I looked like someone else … Considering the whole experience thus far; I’ll mention it has been nothing like I thought it would be. When I wasn’t pissed, I was ecstatic with the prospects suggested by their presence—that’s angels for you.

Cars have figured very strongly in their presentation because as they say, we are so vehicular—baby you can drive my car—meaning our physical forms are the vehicles we move around in. Finding your life in orderly chaos and wondering how the hell chaos can be orderly as millions of angels converge upon you is apt to make anyone laugh and cry. I remember one day when I could not stop laughing even though I was in—retrospectively humorous pain caused by excessive laughter. I love the line “what next big sky” so much, I use it when I’m trying to get a line on what the hell comes next around here. They just laugh.

The spare change of stories, the rain of stories has descended in great and at times scary volume that has been educational even though I’ll still admit to being in a fog. And they’ve mentioned big changes coming for the past twenty years—the problem is they are such bullshitters it is impossible to say what is going to happen and what is just hoohah. How come they came? I never really got a straight answer. I asked how I got so lucky off and on for months and months and they just said, oh hush! We had to go somewhere, didn’t we? We’re old friends. You don’t remember? Gee … that’s strange … We remember you. I don’t remember them and frankly, if I had met them before, I would have recalled this.