Having Wonderful Time, Wish You Were Here

English: MS Majesty of the Seas, one of Royal ...

Norma Tropical Drinks

Norma Tropical Drinks (Photo credit: Boston Public Library)

Shelly and I just got home from a Caribbean cruise. Sailing the beautiful seas for a month was exactly what the doctor ordered. There’s something about sipping Mai Tais with colorful little umbrellas while relaxing on a deck chair in a zombie free setting that does a soul good. If only I wasn’t making this up. The sad truth of the matter is we lost power and internet service shortly after my last post. Not so fun when you live in a house with the windows boarded up. We spent most of our daylight hours upstairs with the only unobstructed window in the entire house. I do have a couple of 30 watt solar panels for recharging batteries and whatnot but small battery operated lamps are no substitute for good old 100 watt bulbs.

On-deck image of passengers on RMS Carpathia d...

Caribbean

Shelly gained at least ten pounds. She’s a more active type than me and found herself bored to death and ate to break the monotony. I worked on my novel,  and only occasionally suffered from cabin fever.  Shelly, to her credit, never once set fire to the house as she threatened to do, wishing to motivate me to take her out on the town. I personally don’t see the appeal in zombie dodging, and refused. Selfish of me, I know.

Actually, more has happened in the last month than I’m letting on. I’ll clue you in with some future posts. For now, I’m too much in the moment. Once I finish imagining this tropical sunset, I’m making a beeline for the casino.

Tropical_Island_Sunset

Tropical_Island_Sunset (Photo credit: myheimu)

Wish You Were Here

Wish You Were Here (Photo credit: Sister72)

There’s no business like ho business

Gustave Doré, Depiction of Satan, the antagoni...

Gustave Doré, Depiction of Satan, the antagonist of John Milton’s Paradise Lost c. 1866 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

New Years Eve. I’ve been trying to write my novel for the last week, but there’s been one interruption after another.  First  the power kept going off between 4:23 am and 4:23 pm. I know, that’s weird, right? No one else I e-mailed had heard of others reporting similar a experience..

I have solar cells and batteries that can deal with the power outages, and I continued to write until the really big shit hit the fan. I think I’ve mentioned the shadow figures. I and others on the web have gone into some detail describing them. Tall slender beings that resemble poorly animated cartoon spooks,  two dimensional and quivery ethereal. These things give me the heebie jeebies. Hands down, they’re the creepiest things I know. Yeah, even creepier than the walking sacks of rot we affectionately refer to as zombies.

I can imagine hearing you old timers to this website. screaming at the monitor, “What happened to you, Martin? You used to dare the aliens and the government and the Illuminati to confront you in front of a microphone  or camera any time and any place.”

And that was once true. I did do my fair share of questioning and challenging back then. Back before the world took a belly flop in a pool of insanity.

Life  was so dull before the plague,  I’d have dared the devil, himself, to a debate, just for the thrill.

Devil: “Greetings from the underworld, Martin. You’re the best. Letterman and Leno,  a big thumbs down, if you get my drift. Har har.” Raucous applause and laughter from audience.

M G: “Great to have you with us, dude. So, how’re the ol’ fireballs hangin’?” More laughter.

Devil: “Oh my god, Marty, you’re such a card. I’m surprised you haven’t asked me if I’m horny.” Satan taps his horns. The studio walls shake with the laughter.

M G: “Everyone loves you, big D. Personally, I’d sell my soul for a little of your pizzazz.”

Devil: “Perhaps that can be arranged. I’ll have my girl call your girl.” Laughter causes plaster to break loose from ceiling and rain down on the audience.

M G: “Careful D-Daddy, I’ve got the best lawyers my imagination can buy. ”

Okay,  so I was never very good at interviews. The point is…

Crap, I’ve forgot what point I was trying to make.

What the hell. To all of you survivors, both living and undead,

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I really expected a bigger bang from the end of the world

Strange how I used to obsess about things like the Mayan calendar prediction–things like that were the focus of this website back then as you might recall– Now I just mock things like that. Funny how the world turning upsidedown and outsidein changes your perspective on things. Four months ago, I would have been devoting most of my posts to the Mayans predicting the end of an age on this date. Truth is I was really hoping it was true. The world seemed to be on the edge of a precipice. War, mass murder, and discourteous drivers were bad enough without all the world’s governments’ insistence on dragging everyone with them as they sank into the mire of their own obscene weight. A peaceful collision with a planet killer asteroid seemed like a nice alternative. Quick, to the point, and with no lingering pain. Oh well, I’m sure God has a plan. All this misery can’t be for nothing…can it?

Sorry. I’m being morbid. Life is dandy. Keep your chin up. Things will be better in the morning. Tomorrow’s a new day. Just look into the eyes of the living dead, and you’ll see there’s a future for you at the end of the tunnel. Merry Christmas and a happy new year to all. I can hardly wait to look in my stocking.

If I’m lucky, maybe the lights will go out again tonight, and I’ll get to see what an extraterrestrial really looks like. They’ll probably give Spielberg the finger and present themselves as something from a John Carpenter movie.

Anyone ever think of the amazing state of mind Slim Pickin’s character would have had to be in to yippeekayay his way to oblivion while riding a nuclear bomb? Freaking Buddha on steroids, if you ask me. Talk about embracing the inevitable. Yes, Shelly’s still watching that movie. I for one have refused to watch it more than twice a day. Worlds in Collision. I can walk. It’s a miracle. Yippeekayay!

Christ, I gotta stop drinking so much. Just one more shot and I’m calling it a night.

How-de-ho! Christmas 2012

How-de-ho! Christmas 2012 (Photo credit: SkyFireXII)

Happy End of the World Day!

Winter solstice

Winter solstice (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Tomorrow is the winter solstice. According to the Mayan calendar, tomorrow will also bring about the end of an age. I’m afraid that particular fat lady’s already sang and taken her curtain call as the zombie apocalypse qualifies quite nicely as the end of an age. The Mayans did get the year right, however, and were only off by a few months. Not bad really, considering their obsession with separating people from their beating hearts. At least we lived in a time when the government only wanted to separate us from our money.

Happy Thought of the Day :)

Earth vs. the Flying Saucers

Earth vs. the Flying Saucers (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Here’s something new to chew on. Seems there’s still a strain of the original plague going around. Rod was kind enough to contract it and bring it into my home.

His behavior became erratic, tilting toward insane. At first we attributed his mood swings to the meth.

As I’d locked myself inside my home alone when the plague first began, I’d never actually witnessed the disease’s process before. Shelly, on the other hand, had been in the thick of it from the start. Hell, she’d been in Moulder, Arizona on Z-Day—that’s ground zero in my book. Anyhow, it was she who recognized what was happening to Rod. If not for her, I’d probably be a walking piece of mindless flesh by now.

Once we realized what was happening to Rod (I feel bad about calling him Rodney. He was adamant about being called Rod), we had to decide what to do with him. Basically it came down to casting him outside to join the rest of the ravenous dead, or simply kill him. Usually we’d opt for a shot to the head, but Shelly felt a debt of gratitude for all the cleaning he’d done. Rod, himself, in a moment of lucidity, requested exile.

Before the end came, we tried to gather from Rod what had happened. It’s the world consensus that the initial phase of the disease transformed everyone without natural immunity within three days of contact. Rod told us of something strange that happened to him when he went foraging in town. He’d cleared out a number of living dead inside a supermarket, but due to the automatic doors, he expected more dead to at any time. He was hurrying to fill his shopping cart when all the lights went out, and the entire store began to tremble and then shake. Believing it was an earthquake, he ran for the exit and stopped. Outside, something unprecedented was taking place.  Zombie was attacking zombie.

Rod was too mesmerized to move and watched as they tore each other to shreds. This is weird enough for me, and I’m someone who thrives on weird, but what else he saw goes beyond weird.  Rippling invisible humanoid figures flitted among the ravaging dead, pausing beside them momentarily before moving on to the next. He likened them to the shimmering air of thermal mirage.

The shaking stopped and the lights came back on. The shimmering figures were gone and the living dead lay on the ground, still as death. I guess that would make them the unliving dead. In any caser, I have to hand it to Rod, he finished his shopping and then head back. Even remembered my booze.

Who or what were these shimmering creatures? Had Rod made the whole thing up? I don’t believe so. They bring to mind the question I keep asking: who’s keeping the power on? I can think of no Earthly reason why we still have internet, cellphone, or any other electrical service after this much time.

So I’ve a new question. Are these shimmer beings friend or foe?

Are they here to help us, or are they the ones responsible for the plague?  Somehow, I don’t feel all that optimistic. Not when Rod somehow contracted a phase of the plague he should have been immune to.

Happy thought of the day: Maybe we simply haven’t yet seen the last stage of the plague.

As for Rod, I find it hard to believe, but I think I’m going miss him. It would have been nice having someone around willing to go on a liquor run when asked.

Oh well, water under the bridge. Friend or not, if he doesn’t find another house to hang around in the next couple days, I’m going outside and putting a bullet in his rotting skull.

“That’s despicable.”

"Train leaving on Track 5..."

“Train leaving on Track 5…” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Rodney isn’t the natural born clean freak we thought he was. Turns out he’s a speed freak instead––as in methamphetamine. He returned with the cleaning supplies as promised, even brought me my JD. Decked out in new clothes, he talked ceaselessly about his jaunt into town. I doubt anyone could singlehandedly kill as many living dead as he claimed, but who knows? Maybe the drugs gave him the necessary edge.

I had my suspicions even before he left for town, and I removed the lampshade from the desk light in den. When he entered the room, I positioned myself so the light shone directly in his eyes. They remained dilated as he rambled on about all the cockroaches and spiders in the house. (I’ve never found a cockroach in my home) I confronted him about the drugs, and he came clean. (sorry about the pun)

Seems he’d been living across the street from a meth lab before the plague. He had nothing to do with drugs at the time and minded his own business. After most of mankind went belly-up and started eating the living, Rodney found himself alone. Convinced the dead would find a way into his home when he slept, he killed his first zombies when he broke into the meth house and stocked up on the drug.

Shelly and I will decide what to do with Rodney tomorrow. We’re concerned where his frazzled brain will take him once the house is spick and span clean. The world’s gone Looney Tunes enough without Rodney going Daffy Duck on us. Think I’ll hide the cutlery tonight.

One man’s fungus is another man’s ambiance

St Augustine in His Cell

St Augustine in His Cell (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s difficult to get any writing done with Rodney puttering around the house, what with his vacuuming, dusting, and meticulous cleaning. How am I supposed to get any work done when he’s constantly popping into the den with rants such as, “Where do you keep the mop. What, no mop? That’s barbaric. Sponges? You must have sponges. Oh my Lord, you’re impossible.”

He’s been gone for several hours and I’ve written almost an entire chapter in that time. Who in their right mind would make a run to zombie central just to get some cleaning supplies? I hope he doesn’t forget to pick up the Jack Daniels I asked for.

Here’s the big question: Who’s he think he is, barging into my home and deciding it’s not up to government standards. Maybe I like my home the way it is. Shelly doesn’t complain. Since when did a little dirt ever hurt someone? Dirt gives a place character, if you ask me. And my house was rich in character before Rodney showed up, if I do say so myself.

Oh well. He did dispose of the zombies milling about the house. Plus he hasn’t shown any real interest in Shelly. Thank God for small favors. If only he’d stop pestering me so I could get some writing done.

All in all, I suppose there’s worse things than a clean home.