The other day, my imaginary friend who doesn’t read books asked me, “Why did Frankford Publishing decide to produce a Zombie book?”
Well, that’s not what he said. He ignored me while I was ranting more about recycling bins and the elderly neighbor who thinks Dunkin’ coffee cups qualify, but we make our realities here at Frankford Publishing.
Anyway, I’m talking with my imaginary friend, who we’ll call Ralphie because all my characters need names.
So Ralphie, who’s barely looking up from his phone, playing one of those scroll shooting games, asks me, “Bit, why zombies?” Keep in mind, I’ve explained it to him about ten times already. He doesn’t read books, and he sounds like Derek Zoolander asking why male models?
But Ralphie’s dumbness has never stopped me from explaining before, and it won’t stop me now. Zombie school is in session.
We need our brains, right? Well, maybe Ralphie doesn’t, but the rest of us do. Unfortunately, the sheer numbers involved in an undead outbreak mean you’re essentially doomed in a zombie situation. We all are our own main characters, but those characters don’t make it out of zombie movies, not really, and not for long. See the credits scene of Zack Snyder’s 2004 Dawn of the Dead remake for definitive proof.
We don’t want to get bitten. That thought is rooted pretty deep in our lizard brains, even ol’ Ralphie Boy’s. No matter how imaginative and fertile one’s mind is, imagining a survival scenario in a zombie world is nearly impossible. You stand a better chance against the laconic DotD 1978 shamblers than the velociraptor-type demons in DotD 2004, but both are ultimately dead ends.
Out of all the horror subgenres, I’ve lost the most sleep to zombies over the years. No question about it. There’s something about the condition of being “undead” that makes my logical mind crazy. It’s like burning a piece of toast and then unburning it? It’s always toast. Or is it like re-fried beans? Death, undeath, over and over until you’re just a pink zombie paste? Add chili powder to taste.
Let’s say they bite you, and you turn, and then what, they walk away? Never actually getting to those tasty brains? You need tools and a plan to get a brain. It’s an absurd existence for those who have to walk the Earth because hell is full. Zombie thoughts lead me down the road to paradox, my mind looping over and over. Some might point to the biting as the worst part of zombies or the overwhelming numbers. But the scariest part for me, at least, is the pure illogic of it all.
And saying all that out loud, perhaps editing this book and imagining zombie stories is not the most healthy activity for my mental health. But what is, these days? Talking to my imaginary friend Ralphie Boy?
Once, he told me that scientists had discovered that certain spiders get taken over by fungi. I was like, “Ralphie, what do you know about Fungi?” He says, “You know I’m a fun guy.” Pause for groans.
Anyway, the fungus is in the cave walls and has these tiny, almost microscopic spores. These little dust nuggies squirm their way into the spider, presumably through cracks in the exoskeleton. In a few days, the mushroom takes over the spider’s entire mind (to whatever extent a spider has a mind) and marches the now walking-dead spider out into the open air, where it can spread more spores.
Crazy, right. Ever look real close at a mushroom? It looks like it came from space. Because, guess what? It did. Spores can survive in a total vacuum for who-knows-how-long. For more on this subject, see Terrance McKenna’s stoned ape theory.
Any way you want to explain the zombie invasion: spores, viruses, magic, it comes down to the human consciousness (whatever that is) being taken over by invisible, usually unexplainable microbes. Which is what we are anyway.
Shout vegan in a steakhouse. Or shout steak in a vegan house. A riot will break out either way.
Walk down to one of those charming South Philadelphia bakeries where the hundred-year-old floor tile interlocks perfectly, and the air smells like heaven. Go in there and proudly announce to the people in line and the nonna’s that work there that wheat is the devil and gluten-free is the only superior diet. See how that goes for you. Please record it for posterity. And send it to Frankford Publishing care of TikTok.
Look at the story. Look at life itself. We are animals being driven around by our most basic needs: hunger, shelter, reproduction. Our gut microbes make us go downstairs and open up a can of Diet Dr Pepper.
I go outside and wash my car. The neighbor sees this and cleans his car. The next day, I gather up the garbage on the corner. Not to be outdone, he gathers up the trash in his yard.
All of a sudden, we live in a nice neighborhood. It’s the Broken Windows Theory in action. It’s not that much of a stretch to go from cleaning cars to eating brains. We’re driven by these patterns; we’re pack animals, and on a conscious level, we don’t even know why we make these decisions. Are zombies mean, terrible, amoral monsters, or just hungry? Are they hungry or just mirroring what everyone else is doing around them?
To quote the psychologist Ralph Lewis, “Consciousness is a user-illusion, blindly honed by biological evolution… and deepened by the chemistry of emotion.”
Step into that illusion and order your copy of Farewell My Zombie today.
Everyone’s a zombie. That’s what Ralphie says. Maybe he’s not that dumb after all.