I just finished watching the walking dead. yeah I know, that show, but remember when it first came out? We were all blown away by the zombie apocalypse and how it was already happening and all the killing was just a metaphor for what we did each day to survive in our capitalist reality. Good people fighting the zombies. We were still together then.
Hold up. Something I have to try to explain. In the last few weeks I became addicted to this show. The pointless violence. The constant carnage. Guts and brains for days. Good gone bad over and over but I stayed. Against all my better judgement. It had lost all it’s initial tenderness and clarity. The writing and acting was grinding downward. The blood and guts increased with each redundant episode, but I kept on watching. It was like a rerun I’d never actually seen before. I’d been there though, in a less bloody but no less meaningless way.
I’m still trying to unpack it now. There are boxes and boxes in the shed and big spiders nesting inside. Sometime maybe I’ll break those boxes down and make sculptures of animal heads and I’ll dance through the street as somebody else but more myself. Then I’ll throw all that’s left into a bonfire on the beach 25 miles from the Canadian border and let the wind and rain and silver sound pull it away back to the bottom of the ocean.
~a poem (possibly) soon to be deleted