Many of us die, and pure habit keeps us going to work and paying our
bills and eating dinner. Only slowly do we realize. It may take a hundred
years of being 39 to realize. One day we're like, "Hey, I ain't gettin'
any older. Nothing is changing down at work. Something's going on here."
     Some of you, I know, are dead. I salute you! With only this gentle
reminder: go toward the light! Do your long overdue review! Plan your
next flesh excursion. Commune with vishnu, jehova, krishna, buddha, who
is your buddy, your mother father brother sister lover enemy entity!
     Many of you who are now dead can be resurrected. Resurrection is your
ace in the whole. Walk out tomorrow and don't stop until you reach the
mountains. Yes, the police will say you are crazy -- stay one step ahead
of the law! Break into a run and keep running! And don't stop until you
land face down exhausted in the front yard of some pioneer woman's cabin.
Let her exhume you.
     Be an exhuman! Exhume your soul and resign from the human race! Turn
in your badge and gun at the desk. Redeem your body for coins down at the
medical school. Shuck off your corpse and go walkin'. Now, no more death
nor taxes. Shuck off your shell and go walkabout. Shuck off that
spitshiny shitshell, baby.
     Leave the beach littered with shells. Where'd all the crabs go? There,
in the sky. Birds, planes, supermen? No, something infinitely weirder:
     Exhumans!