Magic Time: Ghostlands
“In the terrible moment when he’d tried to leech the life force out of the blazing projection of Marcus Sanrio and found it to be a horribly misguided style choice (much akin to all those Blind Dates of Dr. Moreau he’d gone on in his college days, when his aberrant behaviors could be fobbed off as merely the excesses of youth), Goldie had assumed that he’d pretty much bought the farm.
And what the hell was he gonna do with a farm?… But no, seriously, he thought he’d cashed his chips, sounded the... trumpet, kicked every bucket from here to Poughkeepsie.
In short, that he was dead meat. In fact, in that one, endless, eternal second, he’d fast-forwarded through every damn Kübler-Ross stage of dying—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance—and all seven dwarves and thirty-one flavors, to boot.
But most of all, he saw his entire life. Not flashing before him like some preposterous VCR playback on crystal methamphetamine, but rather the shape of it—a multidimensional object rendering every action, intention, memory into a complete and seamless whole.MoreLess
And what the hell was he gonna do with a farm?… But no, seriously, he thought he’d cashed his chips, sounded the... trumpet, kicked every bucket from here to Poughkeepsie.
In short, that he was dead meat. In fact, in that one, endless, eternal second, he’d fast-forwarded through every damn Kübler-Ross stage of dying—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance—and all seven dwarves and thirty-one flavors, to boot.
But most of all, he saw his entire life. Not flashing before him like some preposterous VCR playback on crystal methamphetamine, but rather the shape of it—a multidimensional object rendering every action, intention, memory into a complete and seamless whole.MoreLess
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