I’ve just BBC iPlayer’d Mark Lawson Talks to... David Mitchell; one hour of semi-intellectual chat about David Mitchell’s life and work (the comedian/actor, not the author of Cloud Atlas). During their conversation they are seated on the stage of an empty theatre, with the rows of unfilled seating providing the backdrop. When the conversation ends and the credits roll David Mitchell and Mark Lawson stand up in slow motion and begin walking off stage towards the camera.
Their paths diverge slightly as if symbolically moving away from each other (discussion over, association over), and then they eerily fade from view like ghosts ascending to the true afterlife after fulfilling their undone task. The bonds that kept them secured to earth are broken and they can take their places amongst eternal reward or punishment. The theatre is empty of both audience and performer. Their hour-long discussion has beckoned the end of their presence here in the land of the living. Goodbye David Mitchell and Mark Lawson; our thoughts and prayers will be with you.
What is my unfinished business that keeps my ghost rooted inexplicably to the land of the living? Did I leave buried treasure in my secret vault that needs guarding from bandits, or have I a loved one who requires guidance through a difficult period in their life? Oh, wait a second; I’m not actually dead yet, am I? If I was a ghost I would not be able to interact so completely with this keyboard. My ethereal fingers would float into the laptop’s interior landscape and wiggle ineffectually in the digital innards. The extent of my interaction with the technology would be spookily turning it on or off at unexpected moments.
Come to think of it, the laptop has been turning itself off on occasion. Sometimes it just dies, and sometimes it displays a blue screen of death before restarting. I put it down to overheating, or some sort of software error. Now the possibility emerges that it be the result of a haunting. Am I dead, or am I dead; unaware that my daily activities have only the merest unseen effect on the external world.
If I know anything about the afterlife, and I’ve seen Beetlejuice and The Corpse Bride, so I think I do, I know that the land of the living can be a grey monotonous place, whereas the land of the dead is a riotous orgy of dance, colour and music. With that in mind, I’m not sure where I am. Yesterday was sunny; today not so much.
Logically although I have no way of knowing with one hundred percent certainty whether or not I am alive or a ghost, that does not mean that the truth lies midway between the two extremes. I think it is safe to adopt functional certainty and assume that I am actually alive. I cannot prove a negative and categorically state that I am not a ghost, but similarly I cannot prove there isn’t an invisible turnip on your shoulder. So, with that in mind don’t be afraid... boo
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