Posted on September 17, 2005 at 23:10:04.
Fragments of a zombie anti-reason (part 2 of that other stuff)
By M Satai
Fragments of a zombie anti-reason
3. The flat-lined zombie body, disengaged from all intentional vitality, supports a protracted despair no less immaculate than an ECG whine --Vauung
Look into my eyes: nothing.
I shuffle forward in a pantomime of walking. I am a disguise person. I am zombie.
I eat everything: people, buildings, stars, trees. I am a maggot, a cancer, a plague from Saturn. I consume but I produce nothing, not even a fertilizing shit, only an unfertilizing shit, an alien shit. There is nothing growing in my wake.
There is no stopping me. The bullets hit me like passersby going in the opposite direction on Madison Avenue. Even my hand, dismembered, will continue to crawl. I am focused, monomaniacally, on the vanishing point. What you see reflected in my eyes, literally, is that distant no-place, that nothing I can never reach, that nothing that is here. I sit on the sidewalk with a girl’s head in my hands like a bloody coconut and I’m staring towards the barren planes of nothing even in the middle of Metropolis.
Zombie doesn’t commit suicide. Zombie is already dead.
Zombie is walking nothing.
I am not a human being: I am a cold grey slush carried in a bone urn by an unthinking urge to nothing.
Is it accurate to call despair sentience? Despair is unthinking, prior to thinking, after-thinking. Despair is zombie-nonspeak. Despair makes no kind of sense, its no-sense, its nonsense.
I eat a girl and I’m not satisfied. I eat a policeman, same thing. A soccer team, no difference. I eat everyone on the African subcontinent, it’s as if I hadn’t eaten a thing. I’m still hungry. I despair. I can never be satiated. I cannot die. I cannot formulate what would satisfy me because nothing can!
Where is the Zombie Queen--is she the one I’m looking for?
Am I looking for the zombie-fuck, the spewing of eternal corruptions, the ripening of my own corpse into virulent incoherence like the climax of a billion symphonies played backward that renders all listeners deaf…
Am I looking not only to die but to keep on being dead?
I don’t commit suicide because death is not enough.
It’s not only that I have no hope. I have no choice.
I despair.
I despair like other men love. I despair with my teeth bared. I despair with a hard-on.
I despair like the foreplay of an orgasm that never comes!
4. A call that must be without expectation, without any possibility of relief or fulfillment, and also which arises spontaneously, unchosen and inevitable at a threshold of absolute, indefinitely prolonged abandonment. --Vauung
Where hatred meets despair is at zombie. Where zombie is you’ll find an intersection with two blank signs: you are standing on the corner of nowhere and noplace.
There's no time to think.
In three seconds you will be nothing but a ragged red ribcage and a blood-slicked femur.
Are you not zombie, too?
Despair is the dead-end intersection where zombie waits.
Zombie is an eating machine: a rage without purpose. A bitter wind.
Zombie is a mastication process: ultimate violence without reflection. It’s an anti-strategy for dissolving everything into chaos.
I am multiplying unnaturally. To kill me now, you’d need a flamethrower.
I am an assemblage of dead parts.
My despair is uncontrollable, like an infectious fog. My breath is rotten. I am a machine for producing this fog, my jism carries it, the saliva in my rabid bite spreads it.
But what animates me? Rage. Hatred.
My offspring is misery.
Are you not zombie, too?
Suicide is a hopeful prophylactic, an attempt to end this misery, to abort the suffering. Suicide is an expression of hope, that I will find relief, that the world can end.
I deliberately practice unsafe sex: I ooze.
Despair is a desire that oozes.
Look at my clumsy movements: racism, militarism, capitalism, imperialism, any-ism that represents the worst possible choice, the “clumsiest” option, that represents the maximum incoherence, that promotes total breakdown, optimum horror, that works as a solvent to melt everything down to dumb lump--these are all my anti-strategies.
I spread misunderstanding.
Zombie is dumb: it is an incoherent crawling goop. Is it dumb to hate--then that’s what I do. Is it ineffectual to rage and rape? No doubt. I rage and rape unthinkingly like a machine.
I don’t “choose” so much as tend toward the most violent, the most obscene, the most stupid. I have a natural affinity for the rank and the rotten. Decomposition is easy, it’s a seduction. I have a natural affinity for a slide into decay. The world is my body is dead is the world that I’d kill: I’m superimposed: I’m both zombie and land of the dead.
Open me up: see the dead city, the necropolis of slime.
Are you not zombie, too?
My rictus grin.
--MS