The Zombie Letter

I am free. Every day, I am free to be whoever I am. I have all the liberties of any other honest human. I am sure to die someday, perhaps even today, but I shall live out the day to the hilt freely.31.October.1980
Dear Dana:

Just a progress report from the fall-out shelter. Time has been held hostage for the past six months, but now it has been released; just this past Sunday, as a matter of fact. Among the demands that had to be met was that yours truly become a temporary zombie. Just another working stiff, living for Friday & the humble paycheck. Watching reams of tv & forgetting that there’s a "real world" out there that has nothing to do with the shadows on that stippled screen. It's a small price to pay, to have time in its proper place again. I'm not sure how long it will be necessary to be a zombie, but the duration is sure to be amusing. As it were.

I’ve found, also, there are certain benefits in being a zombie. For one thing, you are not one of a kind. There’s no way you can imagine that you are alone, or special, as most of the people around you are in the same condition. And because they are, they see you & treat you as an equal, rather than as an anomaly. It may be the special people who will move events and change the world, but it’s the zombies who control it. It’s like a big club. Every two weeks, in this den of zombies, many of us go out & drink. One would suppose this is so we can forget that we are zombies. Well, it’s possible. Of course, one might prefer to be alive than to be among the walking dead. But to be alive in this sense means to be a rarity. To be, in other words, the most utterly alone person in the world. Or at least in your community.

Otherwise, life goes on. As per usual, in other words. Have you ever seen those old newsreels, "Time Marches On"? Well, that's what I feel like. Or like those war-time movies with calendar pages flying off into infinity. Just quick flashes of life, snippets of reality; living, as I say, and not the walking death. I suppose those movies that compress a life into 90 minutes or two hours are [actually] true to life. After all, if most of us are zombies, there may be only two hours in our lives that we are actually alive.

Once, I thought I could be an actor, [parading] on the stage. My ego was certainly large enough for the task. But, apparently, my talent was not. But now, I’ve discovered that I am an actor. One who plays the role of day-to-day existence. Whether it be a male secretary or a juror trying a madman, I have played my part well. And still remained the same beneath, as we say. But that's all it is, really, a performance. It's play-acting life. And a shadow-play at that, as Shakespeare might say.

But one doesn't generally think of those things. If one did, do you suppose there would be any other choice but to end it all, one way or t’other? Suppose you got up every morning, looked yourself in the mirror, and said (to the reflection): "I am free. Every day, I am free to be whoever I am. I have all the liberties of any other honest man. I am sure to die someday, perhaps even today, but I shall live out the day to the hilt freely." Do suppose you could say that, and then be a zombie in the shadow play? I would think not. So, instead, you forget that you are free; that you shall soon die. Instead, unconsciously, you see yourself as an automaton. Or as a zombie.

That's why, like every other good zombie, I've learned to be content to live in the fall-out shelter. Content with the small reward of the paycheck and the long week-end. With the others, I watch "The Love Boat," even though I find nothing amusing about it. After all, all these tv programs (and most movies) are intended to hypnotize us into forgetting that we are zombies. And since, as I say, we don't really want to think about it, we’re only too glad to be hypnotized in this manner.

Well, since I'm talking to you from the office typewriter, I suppose I better sign off. I've already been caught. Well, what the hey? Who cares?

I'll get off the proverbial soap-box now. Hope this letter & its contents find you. Find you well.

Yours,

James

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Typed with an IBM Selectric on folio* sheets, measuring 6 1/4" x 9 1/4", at the Infernal Bookstore. Said folio sheets were used as packing material. Being an inveterate writer, I saved these sheets, and reused them. A fair copy of the original may be viewed here. As you'll see, I've made a few minor corrections in re-typing this letter.

*folio

(2) a sheet of paper folded once to make two leaves (four pages) of a book. [Random House Dictionary, 1978]