Tag: Zombie

Fridaz Theme Music

Thickening, layer, dark wool clouds lay seige to diminishing blue sky patches. Hi. Welcome to Frida, October 3, 2025 in Ashlandia. Rains which came yesterday will continue today, chilling the 50 F air and keeping it from getting much higher than the mid-fifties. Autumn is here, and winter is coming.

My wife and I chatted about this as we drove on errands. “I like days like this,” I said, appreciating, at that point, a cloudy sky with a blustery wind and lazy, low angle sunshine. It was about 68 F but felt warmer because the breeze carried in summery hints, like leftovers in the kitchen. Then I laughed. “But that’s how it happens with every season. There’s a sense of gladness and appreciation for the new season. Then.”

“Then you get tired of it,” my wife finished for me. “Summer sunshine is great, and the hot air feels wonderful for a while but then, OMG, it’s hot day after day and you get tired of it. Now fall is here, and it’s great but in another month, we’ll be complaining about how cold and wet it is. That’s human nature.”

After perusing news and skating through details of how Trump is wrecking the United States, I wonder when the MAGA will awaken and turn on him. Well, we know that answer. It’s been established that the vast majority of them won’t turn on him until they are personally aggrieved. They’ll wait until they can’t afford healthcare because premiums are skyrocketing. Inflation won’t bother them until suddenly they find themselves unable to buy the food they’re used to because tariffs and trade wars force them to go without. The shutdowns to colleges and universities and Trump’s decision to curtail the war on cancer won’t hit them until they or a loved-one are suffering cancer’s effects and they wonder, why can’t we fix this. Polluted skies and water won’t bother them until it’s their air they can’t breathe, their water they can’t drink. They’ll remain indifferent about Trump’s anti-vax campaign until their children are sick and dying, and they’re wondering, why? They won’t be upset with what’s happening to the immigrants until suddenly there are fewer people to wait on them, to provide services, or there’s less doctors, nurses, and healthcare providers and they can’t get appointments because trained professionals are no longer available. The MAGA won’t care until the military rolls into their town under Trump’s law and order banner and they discover themselves being thrown to the ground or locked up and held for days even though they’re citizens. They won’t care until the private voucher systems states are instituting start turning out ignorant children and they wonder, what’s wrong with schools these days. They won’t care about Trump gutting tourism with his fear and bullying tactics until there are no longer tourists providing tourist dollars and businesses are closing, leaving empty buildings and unemployment in their wake. They won’t care about the lack of infrastructure funding until their bridges collapse, killing friends and family, and inconveniencing them. They won’t care about free speech until Trump turns on them and warns them, “How dare you criticize me?”

Yes, so The Neurons turned to an old faithful for these MAGAts. They’re acting like zombies. The Cranberries came up with a brilliant song for ’em: “Zombie”. Zombie vocalist Dolores O’Riordan wrote the powerful song after a bombing conducted by the Provisional Irish Republican Army (Provisional IRA) killed and injured people.

There were a lot of bombs going off in London and I remember this one time a child was killed when a bomb was put in a rubbish bin – that’s why there’s that line in the song, ‘A child is slowly taken’. [ … ] We were on a tour bus and I was near the location where it happened, so it really struck me hard – I was quite young, but I remember being devastated about the innocent children being pulled into that kind of thing. So I suppose that’s why I was saying, ‘It’s not me’ – that even though I’m Irish it wasn’t me, I didn’t do it. Because being Irish, it was quite hard, especially in the UK when there was so much tension.

— Dolores O’Riordan in 2017, on writing “Zombie”

h/t to Wikipedia.org

She sings, “What’s in your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie?” Because a zombie is an unthinking creature who is just going along with what’s happening, never awakening to its impacts. That’s what’s in my head this morning, pouring through the morning mental music stream.

Peace and grace seem to be a long way off. I’m searching for some way to lure them in. Maybe a ritual. I hope they find and hold you. Until then, I guess I’ll depend on coffee. Think I’ll indulge in another gulp now, while I can still afford it. Cheers

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Munda’s Theme Music

We’re rockin’ into a new work, children, hustling toward spring in Ashlandia. It’s Munda, March 10, 2025. Sunshine highlights clouds stretched thin and silvery against a weak blue sky and misty green mountains. 38 F now, but 60 is possible. We poked 66 yesterday, and it was lovely. Air felt fresh but cool, and the sunshine offered a warm counterbalance.

Called Transitions, which is the place coordinating my custom-made compression socks. The right one still hasn’t been received so I wanted to see if they can provide any tracking info or insights into why. Ordered 2/19/25, my physio expected it by Feb.’s end. We’re in limbo with my treatment until that puppy comes in. Basically, I’m done with the massage therapy when it is received, as this is a ‘maintenance’ sock to help my body cope with lymphedema. The Transitions individual responsible for my case is out so her pleasant, accomodating supervisor took the info, passed it on, and told me to expect a call back tomorrow.

Today’s song comes from a 2023 television series. I’m re-watching The Last of Us. Bella Ramsey and Pedro Pascal star in this dystopian series about a zombie issue. Twenty years after the breakout, he’s taking her across the depleted U.S. because she may have the answer to a cure/vaccine, as she seems immune.

Yesterday’s episode introduced us to Bill, played by Nick Offerman. Bill is a misogynistic prepper. Living alone, intelligent and well armed, he’s set up a compound where he can live free from zombie attacks and outsiders. After a few years, along comes Frank (Murray Bartlett), a survivor trying to make it to Boston. Bill feeds Frank and the two become lovers and a couple. It’s such a sweet, sweet story, and my favorite episode.

A Linda Rondstadt song, “Long Long Time”, is the couple’s song. The Neurons appreciated the 1970 song and kept it alive in the morning mental music stream.

Hope you have someone who helps you carry on through the days.

Coffee has met my taste buds and our daily romance continues. Have the best day possible. Cheers

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An Afternoon Music Break

While I was cleaning and writing in my head, my thoughts drifted through news and current events. The neurons then said, “Alexa, put on “Zombie” by the Cranberries.”

Zombie is an apt song for the current era. War is deeply ingrained into human existence. While the United States and others keep trying to revitalize war as an extension of capitalism diplomacy and seek ‘limited military actions’, Russia has reverted to an earlier stage of aggression in attacking Ukraine. I say, Russia, because this is the aggressor nation, but all know it’s Putin pushing the buttons that launch the weapons of destruction and killing. “Zombie” is the right song for it, because of those lyrics alluding to tanks, guns, and bombs, and, of course, what’s in the killer’s head.

Another head hangs lowly
Child is slowly taken
And if violence causes the silence
Who are we mistaking
But you see it's not me
It's not my family
In your head in your head
They are fighting

With their tanks and their bombs
And their bombs and their guns
In your head in your head they are crying

In your head
In your head
Zombie zombie zombie ei ei
What's in your head
In your head
Zombie, zombie, zombie ei, ei, ei, oh do do do do do do do do

Another mother's breaking heart is taking over the violence causes silence
We must be mistaken
It's the same old thing since nineteen-sixteen
In your head in your head
Their still fighting
With their tanks and their bombs
And their bombs and their guns
In your head in your head they are dying

h/t to Lyrics.com

Yes, Putin is a killing zombie, fighting an old-style territorial war.

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Zombie

I, Juancho, was concerned.

Science may explain many things, but not everything, not everything. Even the scientists will tell you so.

I am concerned when science and technology tells me the person addressing me is dead. My sanity may be abridged, or they may be a zombie. I lack the wherewithal to address my sanity. If I am insane, then I am insane. I inhabit a bubble of impressions and thoughts, do I not? Someone must help me from the outside.

I don’t know how to even think about how I can be insane. If this man is here, from the Beagle, but —

But, you see, but, I, Juancho, know that we on the Coronado know that those on the Beagle passed away. All were gone, killed for reasons we don’t know.

So I believe, if, I, Juancho, am sane. Perhaps I’m insane, and the Beagle never exploded and killed all onboard. Conversely, perhaps, I, Juancho, am as sane as I thought I was before this man appeared, and he is a zombie.

I, Juancho, am just a bureaucrat. I have shot weapons with sufficient accuracy to be awarded points and a carry permit, but that’s no matter, as I’m not armed.

The man across from me doesn’t appeared armed, either. He is wearing a standard Beagle utility uniform, the sort worn by engineering corps on the ship. The consistency of my possible insanity impressed me. “We have arrived at a frightening crossroads,” I said.

He watched me with narrowed eyes. “What crossroads?”

“My systems tell me that you’re deceased. If you were onboard the Beagle, then you must be dead.”

He pursed his lips, eyes narrowing more, a suspicious and irritated expression. “I was onboard the Beagle. I don’t see how that would make me dead.” He sounded petulant and childish.

Tread carefully, I, Juancho, told myself. “Do you know what happened to the Beagle?”

He became as still as a person can. I’ve seen such stillness in other aspects of my position when sharing news that surprises other people. He did not know what had happened to the Beagle. But, of course, if he was onboard it, it may have exploded and killed him without warning.

“What happened to the Beagle?” he asked.

“I, Juancho, can show you. We have records. I’ll show you.” I watched him carefully, and vowed that I would keep wary eyes on him. Whether he died onboard the Beagle or not, that was four years ago, if the Coronado’s records were correct. Where has he been in the interim?

Although he didn’t appear the least decayed, he could still be a zombie, which made him a threat to me. I, Juancho, could still be insane. It’s a conundrum. I feel haggard, and wish for a drink. I still have alcohol. The systems can compile it from collected materials, and has been doing so. If he’d arrived later in the day, I would have already been enjoying my afternoon alcoholic buzz.

“Let us go look,” I said. “This way.” I indicated for him to walk.

He eyed me. “You first.”

“No, I insist. You go first.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Nor can I.”

“Then I guess we can’t go.”

“Then we will remain at a troubling, frightening crossroads.”

His obstinance irritated me. “First you won’t tell me your name. Now, you refuse to go see the records which will show to you what happened to the Beagle.”

“Why don’t you just tell me?”

“I do not believe you would believe me.”

He shrugged. “Why should I?”

“Why should lie to you?”

“Because you’re alone on the Coronado.”

“Clarify what you mean.”

“I mean what I said. You’re alone on an exploration vessel that should have a crew of thirty. You’re being evasive and obstinate.”

“I am not being obstinate. You’re being obstinate.”

He smiled. “I don’t see it that way.” Standing, he stretched, flexing impressive muscles. “I’ve had enough of this. I think you’re a troubled individual. I wish I could stay and help you, but I need to get back to the Beagle. I’m going to go find someone who can help me, because you, obviously, can’t – or won’t.” He shrugged. “The difference is immaterial, because the outcome is the same.”

He walked off, a smug, muscular, broad-shouldered blond man in a tight Beagles engineering corps utility uniform.

I did not like him. I decided that despite the hour, I would get a drink. I decided that I would also get a weapon, because he, the prig, would be back, and I, Juancho, wanted to be ready.

The prig could still be a zombie.

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Today’s Theme Music

Feeling a little tired, a little numb, unthinking and unresponsive. Just a little N.E.S.*

To suit my condition, I offer Dolores Riordan and the Cranberries with our composition, “Zombie,” from nineteen ninety-four. The song was written in memory of two children killed in the nineteen ninety-three IRA bombing in Warrington.

onizuka_blue_cube

The song hit the waves as I contemplated my military career faced some choices. Stationed at Onizuka Air Station, home of the infamous blue cube in Sunnyvale, California, I was part of the Air Force Space Command. After I’d been there a few years, I was invited to join Space Command’s Inspector General Team. My wife didn’t like the situation’s dynamics. First, it would require a move from the SF Bay Area to Colorado. Second, I would be on the road about ninety percent of the time. Those conditions stirred her ire. Not being zombies, we said, “No.”

Disliking that answer, the Air Force informed me they would move me to Whiteman AFB, Missouri. Deciding I didn’t want to go there, I submitted my paperwork. Onizuka became my final duty location, and I became a civilian and Air Force retiree.

 

*N.E.S. – Not Enough Sleep

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