Okay, someone mentioned to me that there was a new zombie movie coming out this weekend, or had come out last weekend. So, needless to say (and in the spirit of Anne Hathaway in Princess Diaries), I said, “Shut up”!

I jumped online and began my journey into finding this film since I’ve personally made it my mission in life to seek out these strange movies and rate them accordingly. Up till now, only a few have met my expectations.

Yet, it was disconcerting to come upon a select few individuals that do not understand the concept of the zombie. They wrongly attribute death and decay to zombies, and anything outside this norm is not part of that genre. Well, ladies and gentlemen, here is a quickie in order to get you in order. Please, don’t fall prey to propaganda.

All zombies ARE zombies! The title “Zombie” refers to their inability to have rational thought. Hence, all movies where the crying, screaming blonde is running from a half crazed maniac willing to devour her and her minions is considered a Zombie movie.

There are subtle differences when it comes to zombies themselves. First, there are two major types of zombies: Undead (U) and Chemically Altered (CA). The other zombie has gone by the highway ever since Mr. Romero introduced us to the undead variety, which is the traditional voodoo zombie.

Now, from both these kinds of zombies (U and CA) you can be infected and turned to a zombie by fluid transfer. Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll are out of the question, ladies and gentlemen. The third (voodoo zombie), you had to be targeted and manipulated.

Things to remember, just because a zombie is Undead, doesn’t mean that they will live forever. You have to remember that the laws of chemistry still apply. Tissue will continuously breakdown. So, understand how fast tissue decomposes and you’ll understand how long you have to wait for the outbreak to end

Then, there’s the Chemically Altered. They don’t decompose, but they will starve to death. So, you have to understand how long it takes an individual to starve to death. According to the military (aka ROTC) they say that the human body can survive about 30 days without food, but only 15 days without water. The water part is dependent on the exertion that you put your body under. So, the harder you work, the less days you can survive without water.

Then there’s the other thing about Chemically Altered zombies. Their only nutritional sustenance has been red meat (aka unaltered people). Red meat has a negative impact on the body, as well.

In the end, if you don’t know what a zombie movie is or what defines a zombie, remember, give me a call and I’ll let you have the information for free. So, next time you go to a gala or a party, you’ll have something to talk about, AND YOU CAN THANK JESUS!!!

Ghosts in the attic!

So, I was driving home this morning from Houston and I was listening to…I think it was 94.5 FM…anyway, they were talking about how 47% of surveyed Americans would live with a ghost for free rent.  Well, I got in, turned on my laptop and decided to check, because I’m not sure that anyone would actually have this kind of survey.  What I found was astonishing!  It turns out that I got the number wrong (Imagine that. I’m wrong).  Anyway, the percentage, according to rent.com, 51% would live with a ghost for free.  27% would live with a ghost for half-price rent.  30% would live with a ghost for free utilities.  Now, of course, it doesn’t add up to 100%, but that’s because the surveyed individuals were allowed to pick multiple selections.

In the current dynamic economic situation, hell, anyone who’s been foreclosed would gladly live with a ghost for free.  The only thing they have to worry about is the violent outbursts of them being flung against walls and dragged out the front door.  That almost sounds like a bachelor’s party gone wild.

Hello again

She watched him, glass of water to her lips, waiting for his response.  I watched her as she waited for the revelation of their secret.  She didn’t notice me noticing her; noticing them.

I waited as he fumbled for the right words, the words that would exonerate them, or thrust their secret into the light of day.

I asked the question for two reasons:  As a way to gauge my acceptance and as a way to prove my worth.  The answer, as I watched her eyes, pleading for a rejection, pleading for a “no”, proved that what I was, was not enough.

The words fumbled as they came out but they were the “no” she wanted.  Instead, a task to make me seem more important was assigned.  A pity assignment, an assignment of compulsory instead of luxury.

In the darkness I waited.

It's sad that I have to keep reminding myself that I'm a good person. My early life is questionable, but at least I'll be able to account for them. When the time comes, I'll be able to say that I did them and had no discernible excuse for them.

But now...I'm a good person. Right? I haven't hit anyone in anger. I'm not an alcoholic or an addict. I've been helpful. I've been there for people even when my own demons were knocking at my door. I've helped mow lawns because no one else would. I've washed dishes while people slept. These things weren't just in my head...were they?

I'm not saying that I've done it all under my own power, but that I've lent hands whenever possible. I did it in order for other's to have less to do. So they could sleep longer, rest more, have less on their minds.

A stranger - all I am is some stranger in the shadows, walking through life pretending to be human in a world sullen with contempt.

But, I keep reminding myself that I'm a good person that's done all he could do. That the reasoning of other's is not up to me, but because of me. That what they see isn't me as a whole, but me, in part.

The things we tend to see are choices we choose to see - the things we are able to see. To people, that is what I am; the parts of my whole. I am rage and frustration. I am anger and uncontrollable emotional outbursts.

To them, I am a scared unweaned child looking to suckle at a mothers teat.

Is that what I really am? Am I what people perceive me to be? If I am that what people define me as, then there is no other perception than what they see. We define ourselves to ourselves but we can't define ourselves to others without the experience that they require in order to make a suitable decision.

I am locked behind my stars, ruled by my fate and imprisoned by perceptions.

I will always be a bad uncontrollable person...that much is certain. I write to show them otherwise. I may never be accepted, but I will prove my worth to the Sun in my life. I need to at least do that much. If I can do that, when I die, at least my Sun will be able to see the whole picture that I was, instead of the shunned person I had always been.

Life is filled with such interesting quandaries. I'm not really sure what else I want to write down because I can't seem to put things together in my head anymore. There's just confusion, mixed with conundrum's, overshadowed by enigma's; all encompassed by agendas, surrounded by political correctness.

Have I used that before? Have I said this before? I'm not sure about anything anymore, or was I ever certain about anything, ever? I remember a time when I thought things made sense. Or was it all an illusion? Love, hate, compassion, dislike, faithful and distrust; all these things are blurred - tainted by each other. There's no reason for me to feel empty and unwanted -rejected by the very world I wish to find sanctuary in - because I'm not defined by the outside world. I'm defined by the inner realm of myself. Why should a human crave the attention of other's when it's seldom reciprocated?

Hate the stars I was born under.

Loathe the fate before me.

Burn the world asunder.

Only chaos there do I see.

I stepped out front and noticed that people are starting to put up their Halloween decorations. Why couldn't the world just stop long enough for me to catch my breath. Why couldn't it have just paused long enough for me to deal with life as it was, instead of life as an unknown future. I sit here typing away these words and fear that I'm typing away whatever life I had. I'm starting to feel that injury, that strike to my Ego, and my Id is suffering along with the rest of my psyche. I feel the breath of inevitability and destitution on my shoulder. I hear the laughter of a sinister devil shadowing me.

My body hurts from lack of space. I fear to stretch because I might strike him. He takes offense easier than I do. The water that surrounds me, I fear to make waves because he may find me.

All that comes to mind is that ryhme that I heard in a movie once. It sounded cool then, but it sounds aweful now. It's my fear, my torment.

"When I was walking up some stairs, I met a man who wasn't there. He wasn't there again today. I wish, I wish he'd go away".

There is a light at the end of my tunnel, but will it be bright enough when I finally make it out?