And I Call Myself A Poet (In Training)

Interesting things always seem to pop up when I dedicate myself to clearing out old documents on my computer. These usually consist of useless list of what to do for the week, strange knitting patterns, ideas of mine that I could of sworn were original but have already been in the scientific community for years, or recipes for devils eggs that I never got around to making until recently. Then there’s some really weird stuff like this.

Musings of an Idiot

Can grass physically sting, or is the attacker of my legs a stringy bush disguised as the dangerous tall grass?

By now it has mimicked the ways of the mosquitos gathering in bunches before ambushing my poor limbs to give my body the memento of an itching mark to haunt me in my nights.

This however doesn’t compare too my poor head being squeezed for brain flavored lemonade. Would that be a zombies delicacy?

Them having no need to use there improperly shaped jaws, unprepared for the task of actually biting though a human skull and through the meninges just for some precious spinal fluid.

A human skull wouldn’t even fit in a zombies mouth, resulting in the need for a strong set of hands, or an evolution in thinking allowing for the use of tools.

Should they learn to use tools, are they not just decaying humans that kill others, the falling apart counterpart to the already living that have no souls?

-Madeline Rickard, September 23rd 2016

This is what I found in my computer after about twenty minutes of sorting files and like my other drafted creative writing sessions it raises some questions beyond “did I ever get any sleep”. I actually remember how this tangent started long ago I was in my CSD lecture and the professor was talking about the structure of the skull. Naturally my mind turned to zombies and how, unlike a wolves jaw that opens at a huge angle, a human jaw can only get a firm bite in whatever it can sink its teeth into.

Perhaps that’s why I can deal with supernatural horror movies so well, my brain just rationalizes one small detail and writes away anything else I can’t deal with. Not too long ago I was watching The Return of the Living Dead (1985) and it was hilarious. The tar monster was just gross if anything and the teenage actors playing up a ‘rebellion’ really did tell me a lot of how the screenwriters viewed the generation below them. I wasn’t able to hold in my laughter as the one girl early on foreshadowed her death of being eaten alive, and later of course she’s a zombie. Perhaps I should have been traumatized and I wasn’t only because I couldn’t take it seriously. Kind of like the news, I either figure it’s a skit of some sort (because “have you been consorting with the devil” doesn’t seem appropriate unless it’s actually relevant to the case) or small details leave me in confusion (Was that a double negative there? That was not the time for a joke. But doesn’t that prove your previous statement is false? That jacket is hideous! I wonder if that reporters hung, I sure am.). If that’s the case am I impartial or negligent when it comes to what others are saying half the time? Either way I do have opinions, but at times they’re buried as deeply as that poem on my computer.

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