The car hummed down the interstate. I had a lot to digest, between the Waffle House coffee and recent events, so I left the radio off, as I flew on Mercury’s Honda Civic’s wings. The hum of the car reminded me of my new album, “Point.” I thought about turning around, going back to Shige’s and staying, but it wasn’t really an option. Harsh reality beckoned. I thought about the interstate, and the way it seemed to be pulling the car forward. To me, interstates always seem to be the causal agent of the car’s motion. A trick of perspective, I suppose. The car was jetting me down the left hand lane, and I was rearranging things mentally. Thoughts, words, images. None of it added up. How could I allow myself to act in such a manner? I prayed for forgiveness. I saw cop cars, but always in the other lane. I was in the state of consciousness peculiar to coffee and the hours beyond midnight. I wondered about the zombies inside of me and their undead powers. I came to see the interstate as a zombie, dragging me back to my Greenville destiny. I then expanded my view to see time itself as a zombie marching forward gracelessly, without regard to whatever rifle bullets of protest we mortals should bring against it. I prayed for forgiveness; I prayed for a chainsaw. I stopped in 385’s crazy center lane rest area and took some quick photos. I walked around to clear my head. Took a coffee piss. On the road, I tired of thinking and began switching between NPR’s classical evening and Hot 98.1’s hip hop hits, until I was close enough to tune in the other NPR’s eclectic mellow rock and jazz. My DJ Charles, was very much the DJ I would like to be, laid back, unaffected by the prestige of being on the radio, and familiar with his listeners as an extension on himself. He played an insanely good Charlie Parker cover and to my surprise and appreciation, a song by the Apples in Stereo. And so, I arrived at the Furman University chapel parking lot at just after three o’clock in the morning.

Tell me Neil, must you kill your zombies to become an AMERICAN HERO? Some nights, I look up at the moon and sigh, because I know that I’ll only fall if I stretch out my hand to try and touch its silvery glow. The trouble with zombies is they’re already dead, and thus can’t be killed. Threed’s zombie problem was solved by the Apple kid’s fortuitous invention of zombie paper. In the night, the zombies were rendered angry but immobile. I’d like some zombie paper, but I don’t know what to do to get it. Am I doomed to serve my appetites for the rest of my life? Am I just a helpless scientist, trapped inside a giant robot of my own creation, watching helplessly as it destroys the city of my life? When will the National Guard stop me? Or will it be too late? How can I have such clear perception of what to do, and so little ability to act on it? Indeed, my acting on something, typically signifies that the thing acted upon is a bad idea or an ill formed notion. Must I always chug all three liters? My high school chemistry teacher, Mr. Wagner once said that whether we have free will or not, we should act as though we do. And yet, how can we act otherwise? I long for the FunkBot’s singularity of purpose, but instead find myself battling the zombie hoard.

In Earthbound, the last member of your team does this Mu training before he hooks up with you in the resort town o’ Summers. Mu is the Japanese word for nothing and their Buddhists like to toss it about. How the training worked is our Asian hero walks out to a mountain peak and sits in the zazen position. There, the world attempted to distract him. But he remained zazen-ing away, and a vision of his master appeared to him. The master asked to rip off first his legs, and then arms. Thereafter the master asks for consent to take his ears, then psychically entreats him for his eyes. In the end, the master takes his mind. There’s nothing left. And so, the mu training is complete. There’s nothing left. No robots, no zombies. Nothing remains but to help save the world.

I’m flawed Neil, a broken man. I’m sorry and I wish Jesus would be my zombie paper, but I don’t know what I can make myself do. And really, what does all my introspection get me? I can be terribly counterproductive when I feel like it. I guess that all I can do is step out of my pit of self-pity and victimhood, ask for forgiveness, and try to be better in the future. There ain’t nothing to it, but do it---though it pains me so. Wish me luck,

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