Thoughtlessness prevails, aspiration lies rotten and fetid. The horde stumbles its way through life. Hazy green clouds of despair and dissilusionment blot out the hope from the sun. The monstrous and unclean behemoths which lay, sprawled on shining golden platforms, drain dreams from what is left of the minds of the horde. Groans stretch out into the darkened sky but remain unheard and the zombie nation cries unsatisfied.
This is where we are. This is our world. The infection has won and it has corrupted our capacity to be ourselves, to think, to feel, to love, to dream, to hope, to be happy, to be free. The morbid colossi preach to us a message: 'Consume!' they demand of us, 'Consume and be content!' So we do. We submit and seek success through consumption. We toil in mundane, monotonous and mortal lives to try abate our fear and elude our choices. We reach out for more, endlessly and tirlessly shirking off responsibility and volition to become more adept at devouring copious amounts of dross in vain attempts to fill our bloated and swelling stomachs. Meanwhile our masters sort through for the most delicious, tossing the scraps aside for the masses and their countless gaping maws.
The infection is a success. The zombies stay quiet and still, with the intermittence of the moaning chorus the only sound which disturbs the tranquility of the ignorant sea of bodies. Thought is abandoned and replaced with the opiate of illusory content. The decaying, blind eyes of the individual do not see the horror which befalls them, rather they are hidden from their ineptitude and insignificance. They may hear some news they believe they have an opinion about, or perhaps a television drama will give their minds something else to preoccupy their attention and disguise their predicament. Yes, the mob shuffles, devours and dies underneath the malevolent and putrid promoters of this pallid excuse for personhood and existence.
There are a few of us left whose eyes have escaped the mist of ignorance and have yet to succumb to the fate of those living dead. We witness the horror which unfolds, the visionless horde ceaselessly serving its brutish owners, never thinking but, instead, killing thought. Hungering for more but never being satisfied. Slaves to consumerism, too afraid to break free from their blissfull, thoughtless lives. They hobble in groups cowering under the titanic shadow which does not lead them but destroys them so it may grow evermore. We understand what has to be done. We know we must save them. There is a cure. The cure is revolt. To be continued...
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