I am often asked why I don't communicate with the dead.
There are two reasons.
First, I don't believe that the living-impaired are in a realistic position to conduct any form of interaction. Secondly, and if I am wrong about the first, I am frightened of what they might tell me.
I just don't need to hear that being dead is really horrid, and that I'll find out first-hand next Tuesday when I have a heart attack at the wheel and my car hits a tree.
There are some things it's better not to know, dammit, I have an appointment next Wednesday.
So, instead of a ouija board and messages from the deceased, I use a laptop computer to communicate with disembodied spirits who are less real than the dead, and much less scary.
One of my favourite spirits here on Bleacher is Saraswitha Sirginia. As a result of our communications over many months, I have come to know quite a lot about Sara, and she about me.
Or have I?
And has she?
The persona I have adopted for Bleacher is a gruff and grizzled but essentially kindly old chap in the UK. Sara and other spirits may accept that, or may suspect me of being a 14-year-old girl in Guernse...
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