The Moral Dilemma of Zombies

The birds are singing and I still seem so far away. Where have I gone? Where am I going? But if all the answers had been there, I wasn’t looking. I’ve been dawdling about just wasting time for the sake of wasting it. I’ve been perpetually tired. I’ve been caught fanaticizing with my pants down and wasn’t even alert enough to be embarrassed. I am embarrassed. Why you ask? Because I’m a fool.

I’m so foolish that I can’t even come up with the words to tell you that I’m a fool. No pretty phrases because a fool’s gone and forgot them. My crafty is weak, as am I. This story I’m writing, sucks. It could be great, but it sucks. It doesn’t matter because no one has read it, but that’s why. Its garbage that lacks any true essence of anything I actually want to say with my life. I don’t even know what I want to say. In a few years, I’ll need a real job and a life to live and I here I sit with my hands in my fucking lap metaphorically jerking off into the abyss of existence. Nothing. Squat. All talk man, and no bite.

Yet, blah and then blah blah. No more speech on that because all that will come next is some stupid bullshit promise that I’ve suddenly been enlightened and will turn a new leaf towards a life that is full of the fruits of my passions and neat little arrays of success and prominence. No sir, I shall very well live in a crap apartment, alone and aching one day. I might not, but I also might.

I suppose when you spend your life watching pots boils, you don’t notice if the gas runs out. I’ve just been staring at a still pool just stagnating and breeding little nasty things that grow in water. There is a whole world out there. It’s pretty big, compared to me at least, and most certainly compared to you. But I guess you already knew that. You’re probably off in the vastness of your life, enjoying and celebrating and what not. I’m staying in this box, until something else comes. Watching pots boil, while you’re out there, being all out there and such. Shame on me, right? Shame on me for being such a fool. Shame on me for losing my sight. You’re right, shame on me.

I should be ashamed of myself. I don’t need anyone to pull myself out, I’m just lazy. I’m perpetually tired. All I need is the will to do and so shall be done. I don’t need that will to be inspired, I can just make it. Even if it’s in the fantasy of my own mind. This daydream was strong enough to trap me in any old reality, so why not a grand one. A scheme, if you will, that will put me on top of the world to see if that can rouse up any type of answer or satisfaction in my little soul.

In a few minutes, I’m going to finish this cup of coffee, take a shower and start my day. So let’s just you and I, create a fantasy before we go. It’ll start like this, there’s me and I’m going to become better than I was yesterday and won’t stop until there is no more getting better. You can do as you please. I won’t intrude or step on toes, unless those toes are in my way. I won’t get mad, but I’ll lie about that. If you care to join, join. If you care to run, run. If you care to dance, boogie. If it were to be, I suppose it would have been. It’s all the same, even if it held the possibility of different. Everything is air. Everything is water. Everything is the indefinite.

Guaranteed fresh Bullshit, as advertised.


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