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Of Course, If I Eat All Of Him, If I Spare His Brain, He'll Rise Up And Follow Me Back To The Airport, And That Might Make Feel Better. I'll Introduce Him To Everyone, And Maybe We'll Stand Around And Groan For A While. It's Hard To Say What 'friends' Are Any More, But That Might Be Close.

-Isaac Marion

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Of Course, If I

Isaac Marion

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Of Course, If I Eat All Of Him, If I Spare His Brain, He'll Rise Up And Follow Me Back To The Airport, And That Might Make Feel Better. I'll Introduce Him To Everyone, And Maybe We'll Stand Around And Groan For A While. It's Hard To Say What 'friends' Are Any More, But That Might Be Close.

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...wanting Change Is Step One, But Step Two Is Taking It.

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Exclamation Marks

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Nothing Is Permanent. Not Even The End Of The World.

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I Notice Faint Scars On Her Wrists And Forearms, Thin Lines Too Symmetrical To Be Accidents.

Soft Flesh Is Eaten By Hard Teeth.

But We Don’t Remember Those Lives. We Can’t Read Our Diaries.’ ‘it Doesn’t Matter. We Are Where We Are, However We Got Here. What Matters Is Where We Go Next.’ ‘but Can We Choose That?’ ‘i Don’t Know.’ ‘we’re Dead. Can We Really Choose Anything?’ ‘maybe. If We Want To Bad Enough.

What Wonderful Thing Didn't Start Out Scary?

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He Is Spent. His Mind Is Mercury Again, Its Brief Surge Of Humanity Melting Into An Oily Residue On Its Surface, And He No Longer Understands The Feelings He Felt In That Strange Moment On The Overpass. But He Did Feel Them. They Did Happen. They Rest On The Murky Seabed Of His Mind, Buried Under Sand And Silt And Miles Of Grey Waves. Patient Seeds Waiting For Light.

Why Is It Beautiful That Humanity Keeps Coming Back? So Does Herpes.

I Feel An Unfamiliar But Pleasant Sensation In My Lips, Tugging Them Upward. This Is... New.

I'm Not A General Or A Colonel Or A Builder Of Cities. I'm Just A Corpse Who Wants Not To Be.

She Hugs Me. It's Tentative At First, A Little Scared, And Yes, A Little Repulsed, But Then She Melts Into It. She Rests Her Head Against My Cold Neck And Embraces Me. Unable To Believer What's Happening, I Put My Arm Around Her And Just Hold Her. I Almost Swear I Can Feel My Heart Thumping. But It Must Just Be Hers, Pressed Tightly Against My Chest.

A Month Ago There Was Nothing On Earth I Missed, Enjoyed, Or Longed For. I Knew I Could Lose Everything And Not Feel Anything, And I Rested Easy In That Knowledge. But I'm Growing Tired Of Easy Things.

The Shadows Of The Room Pool In The Lines Of Our Faces, Draining Our Eyes Of Hue. "there's Nothing Left Worth Saying.

But It Does Make Me Sad That We've Forgotten Our Names. Out Of Everything, This Seems To Me The Most Tragic. I Miss My Own And I Mourn For Everyone Else's, Because I'd Like To Love Them, But I Don't Know Who They Are.

What A Massive Responsibility, Being A Moral Creature

All The Shitty Stuff People Do To Themselves... It Can All Be The Same Thing, You Know? Just A Way To Drown Out Your Own Voice. To Kill Your Memories Without Having To Kill Yourself.

Deep Under Our Feet The Earth Holds Its Molten Breath, While The Bones Of Countless Generations Watch Us And Wait.

In My Palm I Can Feel The Echo Of Her Pulse, Standing In For The Absense Of Mine.

You Might Say That Death Has Relaxed Me.

Are My Words Ever Actually Audible, Or Do They Just Echo In My Head While People Stare At Me, Waiting?

Is This Muteness A Real Physical Handicap? One Of The Many Symptoms Of Being Dead?or Do We Just Have Nothing Left To Say?

But I'm Not Afraid Of The Skeletons In Julie's Closet. I Look Forward To Meeting The Rest Of Them, Looking Them Hard In The Eye, Giving Them Firm, Bone-crunching Handshakes.

Here It Comes. My Inevitable Death, Ignoring Me All Those Years When I Wished For It Daily, Arriving Only After I've Decided I Want To Live Forever.

Inevitable Death

We Smile, Because This Is How We Save The World.

You Should Always Be Taking Pictures, If Not With A Camera Then With Your Mind. Memories You Capture On Purpose Are Always More Vivid Than The Ones You Pick Up By Accident.

I Don't Want To Hear Music, I Don't Want The Sunrise To Be Pink. The World Is A Liar. Its Ugliness Is Overwhelming; The Scraps Of Beauty Make It Worse.

Sometimes It's A Struggle To Live In The Moment.

Live In The Moment

Last Winter, When So Many Living Joined The Dead And Our Prey Became Scarce, I Watched Some Of My Friends Become Full-dead. The Transition Was Undramatic. They Just Slowed Down, Then Stopped, And After A While I Realised They Were Corpses. It Disquieted Me At First, But It’s Against Etiquette To Notice When One Of Us Dies. I Distracted Myself With Some Groaning.

What I'm Saying Is, When You Have Weight Like That In Your Life, You Have To Start Looking For The Bigger Picture Or You Are Gonna Sink.

Came To . . . See You.” “but I Had To Go Home, Remember? You Were Supposed To Say Good-bye.” “don't Know Why You . . . Say Good-bye. I Say . . . Hello.” Her Lip Quivers Between Reactions, But She Ends Up With A Reluctant Smile. “god You're A Cheeseball. But Seriously, R—

I Want A New Past,new Memories, A New First Handshake With Love. I Want To Start Over In Every Possible Way.

What's The Point Of Trying To Fix A World We're So Briefly In?

I Would Like My Life To Be A Movie So I Could Cut To A Montage.

I Can No Longer Believe In Any Voodoo Spell Or Laboratory Virus. This Is Something Deeper, Darker. This Comes From The Cosmos, From The Stars, Or The Unknown Blackness Behind Them. The Shadows In God's Boarded-up Basement.

...and We'll See What Happens When We Say Yes While This Rigor Mortis World Screams No.

Maybe This Is Why I Sleep Only A Few Hours A Month. I Don't Want To Die Again. This Has Become Clearer And Clearer To Me Recently, A Desire So Sharp And Focused I Can Hardly Believe It's Mine: I Don't Want To Die. I Don't Want To Disappear. I Want To Stay.

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Warm Bodies Ended Up Becoming One Of The Most Personal Relatable Things I've Written.

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Inspirational Love

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Differentiation

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The Sports Arena Julie Calls Home Is Unaccountably Large, Perhaps One Of Those Dual-event 'super Venues' Built For An Era When The Greatest Quandary Facing The World Was Where To Put All The Parties.

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It Was Fun, But It's Over Now. This Is How Things Go.

Peel Off These Dusty Wool Blankets Of Apathy And Antipathy And Cynical Desiccation. I Want Life In All Its Stupid Sticky Rawness.

I Want Life And In All Its Stupid Sticky Rawness.

The Past Is Made Out Of Facts...i Guess The Future Is Just Hope.

I Wonder How Well She Sleeps At Night, And What Kind Of Dreams She Has. I Wish I Could Step Into Them Like She Steps Into Mine.

I Think We Crushed Ourselves Down Over The Centuries. Buried Ourselves Under Greed And Hate And Whatever Other Sins We Could Find Until Our Souls Finally Hit The Rock Bottom Of The Universe. And Then They Scraped A Hole Through It, Into Some ... Darker Place.

It’s Not About Keeping Up The Population, It’s About Passing On Who We Are And What We've Learned, So Things Keep Going. So We Don’t Just End.

The Kind Of Stuff I Usually Read Is A Bit More On The Literary Side, Like Books That I Think Are Influential In The Sense That They're Doing Pulpy Subject Matter In A Refined Way. Like 'the Road' By Cormac Mccarthy, I Loved That Book.

When The Entire World Is Built On Death And Horror, When Existence Is A Constant State Of Panic, It's Hard To Get Worked Up About Any One Thing. Specific Fears Have Become Irrelevant. We've Replace Them With A Smothering Blanket Far Worse.

You Can Order Yourself To Treasure A Moment, To Cling Tight To A Feeling And Never Let It Fade, But It's Your Brain, That Three-pound Lump Of Hamburger, That Makes The Final Call.

My Favorite Songs Change Every Year.

The World That Birthed That Story Is Long Gone, All Its People Are Dead, But It Continues To Touch The Present And Future Because Someone Cared Enough About That World To Keep It. To Put It In Words. To Remember It.

It's A Strange Feeling, Being So Utterly Surrounded By Her. Her Life Scent Is On Everything. She's On Me And Under Me And Next To Me. It's As If The Entire Room Is Made Out Of Her.

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Here We Are On The Road. We Must Be Going Somewhere.

It's More Eerie To Be Alone In A City That's Lit Up And Functioning Than One That's A Tomb. If Everything Were Silent, One Could Almost Pretend To Be In Nature. A Forest. A Meadow. Crickets And Birdsong. But The Corpse Of Civilization Is As Restless As The Creatures That Now Roam The Graveyards.

What's Wrong With People?" She Says, Almost Too Quiet For Me To Hear. "were They Born With Parts Missing Or Did It Fall Out Somewhere Along The Way?

Breathing Is Optional, But I Need Some Air.

Once You've Arrived At The End Of The World, It Hardly Matters Which Route You Took.

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My "heart". Does That Pitiful Organ Still Represent Anything? It Lies Motionless In My Chest, Pumping No Blood, Serving No Purpose, And Yet My Feelings Still Seem To Originate Inside Its Cold Walls. My Muted Sadness, My Vague Longing, My Rare Flickers Of Joy. They Pool In The Center Of My Chest And Seep Out Of There, Diluted And Faint, But Real.

Every Time I Go To Sleep, I Know I May Never Wake Up. How Could Anyone Expect To? You Drop Your Tiny, Helpless Mind Into A Bottomless Well, Crossing Your Fingers And Hoping When You Pull It Out On Its Flimsy Fishing Wire It Hasn't Been Gnawed To Bones By Nameless Beasts Below.

All My Life I Have Battled The Alarm Clock, Pummeling The Snooze Button Over And Over With Mounting Self-loathing Until The Shame Is Finally Strong Enough To Lever Me Upright.

Sometimes I Wonder If He Has A Philosophy. Maybe Even A Worldview. I'd Like To Sit Down With Him And Pick His Brain, Just A Tiny Bit Somewhere In The Frontal Lobe To Get A Taste Of His Thoughts. But He's Too Much Of A Toughguy To Ever Be That Vulnerable. - R On M

You Know Things Are Moving. You're Changing, You Fellow Dead Are Changing, The World Is Ready For Something Miraculous. What Are We Waiting For?

Are We All Just Dark Age Doctors, Swearing By Our Leeches? We Crave A Greater Science. We Want To Be Proven Wrong.

We Have To Remember Everything. If We Don't, By The Time We Grow Up It'll Be Gone Forever.

Remembers Everything

How Do I Appear Unthreatening When Her Lover's Blood Is Running Down My Chin?

There Is No Ideal World For You To Wait Around For. The World Is Always Just What It Is Now, And It's Up To You How You Respond To It.

That's Why We Have Memory. And The Opposite Of Memory— Hope. So Things That Are Gone Can Still Matter. So We Can Built Off Our Pasts And Make Future.

Regret Is Pointless. I Never Do Anything Without First Deciding To Do It Based On Facts And Feelings, And If It Doesn't Work Out How I Hoped, Oh Well, There's Another Notch On My Experience Belt.

I Can’t Seem To Make Myself Care About Anything To The Right Or Left Of The Present.

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