Tag Archives: Zombies

A Prose Poem Inspired In Part By This Incredibly Academic Book I’m Reading About Zombies

Why fear the zombie? Zombie – uniquely American contribution
to the Movie Monster Canon. Zombie is whatever we’re secretly
afraid of at any given time. Reverse colonization. Cold War. Terrorism.
Biological weapons. Loss of autonomy. Loved ones turning on you.
Having the entire infrastructure upon which you rely cease to function.
Who’s going to come fix your dishwasher now? Not the zombie.

Or perhaps zombie scares us because we know that deep inside,
we are zombie. We either have it already within us, or could turn
on a dime if we’re exposed. We look upon our friends and family
with dead, blank eyes. They are no longer the ones with whom
we play Cards Against Humanity, the ones whose birthdays we
remember at the last minute, prompting us to quickly fire off an

email with an Amazon gift card. They cannot push our buttons
because they installed them. Unless they’re taking a pick-axe
to our skulls, they cannot hurt us. They are food: gristle and
sinew to be masticated and never digested, because zombies
don’t digest. Zombies don’t surf. Zombies don’t shout over
cubicle walls about what happened on last night’s “Scandal,”

nor is there that one zombie who will always whine, “Um…SPOILERS?!”
This is frightening.

Autojektor (excerpt)

The pug-faced soldier rolled a gurney into the room, the Combrig entering behind him. The cadaver was covered with a sheet and as it pushed past me I could tell that the body was still warm.

“This one made its own incisions for us,” Combrig Milkin said with a laugh.

Sergei lifted the sheet and looked thoughtfully at his new specimen. “This is a fresh corpse,” he said as laid the sheet back over its head.

“Less than six hours old,” the Combrig said. “He was known to cause some problems in the square, and my men went to his home to ask him several questions. We had heard rumors of his…deviant life style. The pervert chose to end his life instead of giving any answers. I suspect to hide his lover’s mom, but no matter. We shall wipe out all such degenerates in time. Well, what are you waiting for?”

Sergei gave me an affirmative nod and I went straight to work while he entertained the Combrig. I removed the sheet that covered the corpse and though I saw its features clearly, its chiseled jawline, slender build, and shaggy blonde hair, my mind refused to comprehend the horror that lay before me.

Dmitry. My poor, sweet Dima.

I stood there frozen, staring at the body of my love, for how long I do not know, until I was interrupted by the bellow of the Combrig. “Well, boy? What are you waiting for?”

“My apologies, sir. I’ve never seen a corpse so raw,” I said. I slipped the rubber tubing into the incisions on his wrists and watched his blood, his life pour out of him and into the machine. Thank you I lipped to him, though I knew he could read me. I remained silent as I watched the autojektor bring his vital fluid back to life. The men behind me talked and laughed and I felt as though they were miles away.

The machine worked swiftly on his fresh body. Though his was larger than the child we had previously worked on, his remains were warm enough that the autojektor had no problem returning his circulation. I watched the life return to his body and as the hours passed I did not say a word.

The evening waned on, and though his heart was beating with the help of the machine, Combrig Milkin grew increasingly restless. “Can you disconnect the machine?” asked Comrade Bryukhonenko. “Will his heart beat yet without its aid?”

“I do not know, Comrade,” I said.

“Then you will find out. And if that does not work, there are plenty more where that one came from,” said Combrig Milkin. But he was wrong. There were no more like this one.

I went to pull the rubber tubing from his wrists when Dmitry gasped for air. His eyes flung open and looked straight into mine, looked inside of me, and I reached out and turned off the machine.

Robot 0 & Ghouliet (prologue)

The war began over a decade ago. They started by experimenting on the soldiers, trying to change them from moral beings into ruthless killing machines, pure lust and rage. Finally they found the right combination of chemicals to release the primal beasts beneath the uniform — living weapons that they could control. But something went wrong, as it so often does. Soon the rage consumed the soldiers and the chemicals began to mutant within them, causing a reaction in the blood that made them thirst for flesh and carnal consumption. They hardly needed guns after that — the newly-christened zombies would tear through their enemies with teeth and bone. Those they didn’t eat they simply raped instead, and sometimes ate them afterward. Some survivors managed to escape with a few minor injuries, and so the sickness began to spread. It was in the blood after all. Soon those lucky few who survived became the carriers themselves.

Not so lucky after all.

The infected grew, recruiting nearly as many lives as those they claimed, a massive swarm of stinking flesh and blood stained lips, driven purely by the pleasures of the flesh while their unused minds shriveled and decayed, for what use is a brain beyond a spongey meal when the body lets its basic instincts drive?

And so like many things, the government made their own mess, then took it upon themselves to clean it up. The robots were meant to protect the humans from the epidemic that they had accidentally unleashed. They called the central server Montagon and housed it in a fortified bunker built into a mesa in the Southwestern part of the country to keep it safe. Montagon was equipped with groundbreaking artificial intelligence, the most cutting edge technology the world had to offer. It was programmed with one simple directive: to keep the humans safe by destroying that which threatens them.

This mission seemed straightforward, and for a time the humans were safe. They sat back and watched as the robots rampaged through the zombie hordes. But Montagon’s intelligence continued to evolve, and as it analyzed more and more information it had gathered from these conflicts, it came to a simple, objective conclusion:

The humans created the zombies, therefore the humans were the greatest threat to the human race and thus the most efficient way to protect humanity, it concluded, would be to destroy humanity, in order to permanently end the threat that they posed to themselves.

Needless to say, this did not go over well.

The 12 Days of Apocalypse

On the first day of apocalypse,
my true love gave to me
a desert wasteland full of disease.

On the second day of apocalypse
my true love gave to me
two mutant cats
and a desert wasteland full of disease.

On the third day of apocalypse
my true love gave to me
three giant lizards,
two mutant cats,
and a desert wasteland full of disease.

On the fourth day of apocalypse
my true love gave to me
four asteroids,
three giant lizards,
two mutant cats,
and a desert wasteland full of disease.

On the fifth day of apocalypse
my true love gave to me
five malformed kids!
Four asteroids,
three giant lizards,
two mutant cats,
and a desert wasteland full of disease.

On the sixth day of apocalypse
my true love gave to me
six bombs a-nuking,
five malformed children,
four asteroids,
three giant lizards,
two mutant cats,
and a desert wasteland full of disease.

On the seventh day of apocalypse
my true love gave to me
seven zealots preaching,
six bombs a-nuking,
five malformed children,
four asteroids,
three giant lizards,
two mutant cats,
and a desert wasteland full of disease.

On the eighth day of apocalypse
my true love gave to me
eight redneck cannibals,
seven zealots preaching,
six bombs a-nuking,
five malformed children,
four asteroids,
three giant lizards,
two mutant cats,
and a desert wasteland full of disease.

On the ninth day of apocalypse
my true love gave to me
nine zombies eating,
eight redneck cannibals,
seven zealots preaching,
six bombs a-nuking,
five malformed children,
four asteroids,
three giant lizards,
two mutant cats,
and a desert wasteland full of disease.

On the tenth day of apocalypse
my true love gave to me
ten warlords fighting,
nine zombies eating,
eight redneck cannibals,
seven zealots preaching,
six bombs a-nuking,
five malformed children,
four asteroids,
three giant lizards,
two mutant cats,
and a desert wasteland full of disease.

On the eleventh day of apocalypse
my true love gave to me
eleven evil aliens,
ten warlords fighting,
nine zombies eating,
eight redneck cannibals,
seven zealots preaching,
six bombs a-nuking,
five malformed children,
four asteroids,
three giant lizards,
two mutant cats,
and a desert wasteland full of disease.

On the twelfth day of apocalypse
my true love gave to me
twelve monster plants,
eleven evil aliens,
ten warlords fighting,
nine zombies eating,
eight redneck cannibals,
six bombs a-nuking,
five malformed children,
four asteroids,
three giant lizards,
two mutant cats,
and a desert wasteland full of disease.

Haiku Beer Review #3: Winter Beer Summit 2012

6:10pm

Trinity Brewing Company Flo IPA
There’s not too much “I”
But a whole lot of “PA.”
A crisp, simple brew.

6:13pm 

Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale (8.4% ABV)
Pale, light body, with
all the taste of a bourbon…
but without the burn?

Crispin Cho-Tokkyu Cider (6.5% ABV)
Made with sake yeast
and rice syrup; so Bud Lite
mixed with apple juice.

Lagunitas Our Own Bavarian-Styled Dopple Weizen (9% ABV)
Rich, full-bodied wheat
beer. Slight clove/banana notes;
not cloying like most.

6:31

Paper City Brewing Blonde Hop Monster (8.5% ABV)
Light, crisp malt flavor
with a strong presence of dry,
bitter hops. Not bad!

Pretty Things Beer and Ale Project Our Finest Regards Barleywine (13.5% ABV)
Is it *their* finest
regards, or *mine*, now that I’m
drinking it? Syntax!

6:45pm

Cody Brewing Company Honey Ginger Ale
It’s like…ginger ale
(the soft drink), but a beer (but
not like Ginger Beer) .

Cody Brewing Company SOS Belgian IPA (5.7% ABV)
I didn’t really
pay attention to this one;
but I enjoyed it!

6:58pm

Ommegang Adoration Winter Ale (10% ABV)
Too tart, too funky,
too malty, way too spicy;
it’s all just too much.

Brooklyn Brewery Black Chocolate Stout (10% ABV)
Chocolate taste up front
that swiftly fades to tart, malty
notes. I’ve had better.

Staropramen Lager
My German friend says
it doesn’t taste this sweet back
in the Vaterland.

Bay State Beer Company Time Traveller Maibock (7.5% ABV)
A big, golden malt
taste, but still temporally
linear; ah well.

7:13pm

Sam Adams Whitewater IPA (5.8% ABV)
Crisp, fresh citrus hops
up front, with a lingering
bitterness. Awesome!

7:25pm

Paper City Brewing Imperial Coffee Stout
Tastes artificial,
but without that sweetness; too
much roasty coffee.

7:34pm

Kennebec River Brewery IPA (5.9% ABV)
Much more bitter than
the body or aroma
let on; grapefruit-y.

B. Nektar Zombie Killer Cherry Ciser (5.5% ABV)
Dude! It’s called fucking
ZOMBIE KILLER! That’s awesome!
Light, sweet, and deadly!

8:01pm

Old Burnside Brewery Ten Penny Ale Reserve (9.6% ABV)
Big-bodied Scotch Ale;
caramel/toffee flavors
with a smooth finish.

Southern Tier Old Man Winter Ale (7.7% ABV)
Both full-bodied and
full-flavored. A perfect brew
to warm your winter.

Heavy Seas Loose Cannon Hop3 Ale (7.5% ABV)
Fantastic blend of
rich, aromatic hops and
tasty malt. Pirates!

Heavy Seas Peg Leg Imperial Stout (8% ABV)
A strong, savory
stout that goes down smooth. Also,
Pirates Oh Em Gee!

8:35pm

Jack’s Abbey Hoponius Union India Pale Lager (6.7% ABV)
Crisp, easy lager
balanced by grapefruit hops notes;
now I have to pee.

8:54pm

Woodchuck Crisp Hard Cider
Well. Okay then. That is
most certainly crisp. Pretty
much just apple juice!

Baxter Brewing Stowaway IPA (6.9% ABV)
Almost all bitter
hops; very assertive, but
still enjoyable.

Post-Turkeypocalypse

Ambling sloth-like through the wasteland, breathing in a noxious haze of tryptophan and sickly sweet liquor, I plod past the pestilent pond of porcelain piled high in endless pillars, towards the puddles of putrid fat liquidized and pooling on the plates, once poured steaming over broken bones now dripping down the drain while the last vestiges of flesh hang threadbare off that osseous matter. Small hands have left their mark behind them, stained and sliding down the wall as if grasping for some invisible rungs to rescue them from wrath. Meanwhile, that gelatinous glob of congealed red mass continues to vellicate on the floor, a ceaseless tremor that suggests its sentience. Yet somehow, the empty glass and glasses have survived the slaughter mostly intact, only weathered and worn by overuse though now dirty, discarded and disheveled down among the grateful undead whose virile corpses litter the living room furniture until such time tomorrow that consumption might continue.

Where Eagles Dare

The punk rock scene in this town’s just like anywhere else, I guess — all the misfits, stoners, and street punks are welcome. Hell, even the metal kids and Goths get a by, just so long as they keep to themselves at the shows. Everyone belongs, by mere virtue of the fact that they don’t. But at Johnny Two-Bad’s side, you were the elite. We were Dukes in a kingdom of thieves.

At least it felt that way to me. I hadn’t been here so long, but they’d all been pretty welcoming. Back home — back in what used to be home — there was a real connection between us all. Everyone in the scene had grown up together, knew each other since we were kids; hell, even our parents knew each other. Everyone had that bond, that personal connection. That shared history. We were like a family; born into it, bonded by blood, whether we liked it or not. But no matter what, we couldn’t shake that connection.

Here, it was different. Like some feudal caste system. A bunch of peasants with nothing in common but an urge to hear it raw, hear it louder, get it faster. These people came together because there’s strength in numbers. All those working class punk rock union hymns made a lot more sense here. You look out for each other, not because you care, not because you want to, but because together, you form a bigger monster, one with a mohawk and pins and Chucks on its feet, one that looks out for and protects its own. Without the ones who made it up, who built it in the first place, the monster couldn’t live. It wouldn’t exist. I guess it’s more a cyclical relationship of necessity in this town — we need the monster ’cause the monster needs us.

And Johnny Two-Bad, he formed the head of that monster. Or at least a part of it. So when he kept you as part of his crew, you knew it meant something. And it’s much better than being a part of that monster’s foot, like when you first roll into town, its dense mass bearing down on you, forcing you into the dirt. But you still gotta support it, no matter how hard or heavy it gets. Then the rest of the kids in that monster’s foot will help you carry it. It’s either that, or you get crushed beneath the weight.