I'VE BEEN RECYCELED, AGAIN (to be continued)

PAGE ONE

“I’ve been recycled.  This I time I’m back as a village idiot.   Last time I was recycled I woke up in a jungle and ended up tiger shit.  That really must of pissed-off the cannibals.
What’s the point of all these rerun lives in disposal bodies?  I can understand not remembering much about past lives.  I can’t remember where I left my kids.  I want to talk to the person in charge, the drunk one pushing the repeat button.
As I pondered that thought, I heard a cantankerous, but familiar voice say, “You’re in charge.”  Well that’s an eye-opener, I thought.  “Who are you?” I asked, “and if I’m in charge, how come I don’t remember anything?”
“No one is in charge of memories. Memories just hang around awhile and evaporate.  You’re in charge of NOW.  Call me Nemesis.”
“Why are you’re talking to me?” I asked.
“Because you assumed someone else is in charge of you.  Now you know.  You’re in charge you.  Two year-olds know it.  They say it, ‘I’m the boss of me.’  You just have early Alzheimers, plus Cosmic Dementia.”
“What’s Cosmic Dementia?”
“You forget where you came from, why you’re here, where you’re going, and who to thank when the guy on the roller coaster pukes on you.”
And then I made the mistake of asking, “Will you show yourself.”  Suddenly I’m sitting on a beach.  I don’t know how I got there.  I’m watching the sunrise when out of ocean mist and walking on foaming seas comes a dude.  I figure him to be spook from another dimension.  He steps onto the shore, trips, face crashes into the sad, levitates up right, stumbles towards me and plops down cross-legged and says, “Another grand entrance, but here I am.  What can I do for you?”
To say I was shocked would be a dramatic understatement, but I got over it quickly, and said, “Holy Shit!  You’re still not used to being in a body. You OK, Nemesis?”  (to this date, I still can’t figure out how come I knew him.  When I’m back in the flesh, all cosmic understanding fades like a dream I try to remember.
We both laughed, shook hands, and I said, “You’re late as usual.”
“Dead people are never late,” said Nemesis, as he looked at his watch and tapped it.  “And don’t forget, when you are in your body, you gain a brain and lose your mind and can’t remember shit.”
“Tell me about it,” I said, “so why are we on this beach, and why are you dressed like that?”  Nemesis was wearing a white robe with a golden sash, sandals and a black cowboy hat.  “And what’s with the hat?”
“Oh! Forgot,” as he waved his hand and it disappeared.  “I was out west prepping an old cowboy friend whose gonna be a goner soon,” he said.
“Dead people have all the fun,” I said.
“You should try,” said Nemesis.
“I have, as you know.  Loved it.  But for some weird reason I’m back in the flesh, again, and again, just like you’re gonna be as soon as you quit being so persnickety about your next body.”
 “Yeah, but you don’t remember that time you were in a hurry to get back here, threw caution to the wind and ended up a turnip, how did that work out for you?”
“Bullshit!”  That never happened,” I said.