I still have flashbacks, horrifying and spectral: of conference meetings, projectors and efficiency meetings...corporate metrics, acronymic value cards that read like a Masonic Temple's pledge.. ...honesty, commitment, sacrifice, the dutiful worship of mercury and saltpeter; also customer satisfaction.
           Those flashbacks frequent my mind alot--especially when I am ramming my co-workers into the trash compactor with the blades of the fork truck. They say " ooooh" and " ahhhhh" as if they are getting a massage. They dull my blades with their dull heads.
          I have to ram them with the blades of the fork-trucks, or they will scramble out. They still say things like, " make sure that has a tag,".....and " wear your safety goggles," making chills run down my spine. I haven't put all the workers from the " Do-Wee depot" in the compactor only corporate cadavers and not zombies.
          But I have to forewarn, the zombies are not a threat, it is a few cadavers and the "consumers" that pose a threat to me and what I have built. The zombies are producers, even only if it is moans and putrefaction, but they are good sports, and my only friends.
         Some co-workers, who I was friends with before, I have spared from the compactor--owing mostly to that the part of their brain that was corporate, either fell out on the floor, or was gnawed on by a fellow zombie rendering them good sports and not cadavers.
        I use the building material section to chain them to their previous aisles. Jose, was my best friend, he was shaped like a slug, with a huge lower lip, and slicked back greasy hair, he always cheered me up, how busy it was and how slow he remained. Him and I worked together in the ' outside-lawn-and-garden' section. Even his zombie self has kept his lisp.
          I chain him to the outside lawn and garden section, where he likes to water the flowers. He lunges at me sometimes, but the chain is thick, and Jose is still a cool zombie.
Angry Joe is out there too. He is chained to the 'reach' truck. He is always mumbling about overtime.....or " Im not staying late."
         I have disabled the riding engine, so he just stands on it and runs the fork blades all the way up then all the way down, beeping the horn the whole while. He is the only one I kept, that has some vestige of corporacy in his brain, for the reason that he watches the back gate. The consumers are constantly probing this outside metal fence gate, and Joe has eaten all of them. Don't get me wrong, Joe can be a good sport, when he is not drooling about 'overtime' or ' I havn't took a lunch yet.' He can be quite funny.
          He banters with Ryan from inside 'lawn-and-garden' all the time. Ryan is alot younger, alittle younger than me. He has a mullet(what I call a mullet and he say's a hockey cut) and verily is--before he become a zombie-- the laziest person ever, and now that he is a zombie, well let's just say, I don't have to chain him anywhere, I know where to find him.....at the back gate smoking a ciqerette backwards with his mullet on fire or in the break room. He had the most squeeky voice when he was a human, but now odd fully enough, he sounds like Tom Jones.
         " You ate my cosumer Ryan," drools Angry Joe, " No I didn't Joe, you ate your own consumer," Ryan rejoins in his acapella voice ( I like hearing Ryan's deep zombie voice).
There are others, in the various departments of the Do-Wee Store, but this journal is to relate the first most pressing concern, two cadavers have escaped the compactor.
             The store manager Joyce and her minion(the assistant manager Damien) have escaped. They were ******* humans, and remained so in corporate cadaver form. They hide from me, as I plow through the aisles with the inside forklift. I have used wire from the fencing aisle to reinforce my forklifts. Sometimes a cadaver co-worker will jump out with a price gun, drooling " where is your spootterrrr...."( a safety regulation in the store).....I run them over with great gladness, but then wishing I heeded their advice of safety glasses."Splat."
            I have my theories, on how everyone turned to zombies. It started with over-ocurring routine, which my a.d.d could have been impervious to. But I couldn't have been the only one in the store with a.d.d? But that seems the case. The first day when I showed up to ' outside-lawn-and-garden' it took me six hours before I noticed everyone was zombies. I didn't notice they were zombies until I noticed them in good spirits.
               But the first day of the zombies, was concurrent with the rise of the consumers--ever more dangerous, greedy, and audacious are the consumers. They consume everything in their path, they consume good conversation, good manners, and replace with their mark, which is this....your life with the current moment is to be sacrificed to get them what they need to continue resuming their lives. They do not enjoy shopping, but enjoy holding you in place, consuming you and your values into their value, which has no value at all, since their mind has consigned the present moment that has you and not them, to a number that always has too much value, and they will bring you and it down while you are subject to time and they are not.  
             They turned my friends into prisoners of arbitrary time; and like putting a rabbit in a dank dark basement, with plenty of food and treats and space, it will slowly get diarrhea and die.  Everyday I marked the sunrise, and I would always pay thanks to it, no matter if I was on break or not.  The nine hour day could not ruin me, but my friends being ruined, that started to ruin me.
                       And that is what I believed started all this, nature has no room for two kingdoms of Consumers. So the producers(zombies) were created from the routine of being divested of life, and from nothing they came to produce: producing gases, vile ****** smiles, human  cannibalism, hearty conversation, practical jokes, moaning questions to the infinite sky.... they were created human again, given value, and most of all, I have my friends back, and they are happy again. But, the corporate cadavers that escaped the compactor , put my creation in risk, they look to let in the consumers again, they are up to something...
             But presently with the corporate cadavers gone, and the consumers held at bay, I have my Depot of Eden, I can grow anything, make anything, and soon will be able to ferment everything, especially fuel.   Now monday morning conferences that threaten you to pick it up because there are alot of people out there that want your job( iterated by the frizzy headed gangly Joyce) are replaced with 'zombie dance parties'.  
            " Zombies, what is the first rule of zombie dance party," they reply to me, " dohmp talk bout damp party," then we make a music video.  I let loose a couple of cat's in the break room, and presto, an agile cat make's flesh eating zombies look like Micheal Jackson.  Even I get busy with them, I feel so comfortable with them; dancing to Juvenile "back that *** up,".the best dancer gets to eat the cat...sure beat's listening Joyce's depressing morning pep talks about quotas while I am watching a bird outside the front glass trying to eat a dragonfly, " Keith you paying attention."  I just want to say, " No I am not you frizzy headed gangly walking skeleton key(she is skinnier than the gang of keys jingling on her belt)."    I will find her and put a roofing nail in her temple and her plans.
                The sound of zombies walking in here is music to my ears, like gypsys walking barefoot on a strawberry patch.  I don't know what that has to do with anything, but I like it, and don't care who knows.

            I fortified the outside of the store with everything within the store. I grew a garden, with all the fertilizers, and acids and alkilines of outside garden. I also use the garden chemicals to sprinkle on the brains of my co-worker zombies to change their acidity(almost like a hyrdrangea shrub). The purpose to get them somewhat coherent to play poker and darts in the breakroom. I figured out how to make explosives, with the nitrogen fertilizer and pool cleaning acid, well actually HeyZues did, he always eats both, and one day he moaned really loud  " BLOOOONDEEE " ( his nickname for me from The Good The Bad And The Ugly) and  gestured his expanding stomach, he blew up and gave me my first wound, he destroyed my dart board.   I took his head and posted it on the back loading dock, I know there are consumers trying to infiltrate when he sounds off with " BLOOONDEEEE..."  resounding through the whole store (almost like when he was a human).   I created another dartboard, I can create anything here, sometimes I think, that feeling is what........
                But the point of this journal is the two who escaped the trash compactor, Joyce and Damien. They haunted me before and haunt me still. When I leave to venture outside for gasoline for the generators(the only thing I need, not for long hopefully) they run amok. I will see new ' sale signs' in zombie penmanship, and I can see that they have hidden co-workers to have cadaver meetings, where they talk about ' customer satisfaction.'  I can sometimes hear keys jangle, it has to be Joyce, for the sound is to the cadence of her John Wayne walk, like she has been on horseback her whole life.
            Outside is very dangerous. There are many consumers out there.
                 I was outisde in the parking lot, where consumers still wallow around when a consumer asked "which product is better." I had to drop a cinder block pallet on him with the forklift; they are more adacious then my zombie co-workers. Even after a pallet of concrete is forklifted on them, they wave fliers with sale advertisments from underneath.
            Well, this particular trip, I returned inside and was startled by the loudspeaker, it was Damien's voice, the same as before, paging the hardware department. I jumped on the fast slim forklift to hunt for him. There are phone terminals everywhere, and he could be in the upper level offices. I saw Joyce's shape through the window once.
          They are up to something.
Everytime I ventured outside, the store became altered. I even saw a consumer waiting in line with the cashier machine now on. I sent the consumer to Angry Joe, who was due for a lunch break.
          There is a gap in my wire somewhere, I know it.
            I was at the gas station, getting propane and gas, when a consumer was scowling " where is the gas attendant, is everyone stupid or what?" while he was trying to figure out how to pump gas. I disabled the safety pumps, they do not shut off, and do not coincide with numbers, you hold the handle it pumps out as much as you need.
              He was pacing around like a little kid denied recess and suffering from sounds of frolic and kickball--dragging his feet due to the fact he had to pump his own gas, I heard a scraping metallic clicking noise. My eyes were caught by a bright glare on his shoe tread, I gripped my nail gun..... then he dropped the hose and walked back to his car with gasoline gushing as his wake. I saw what it was on his tread, I had no time to flee....it was a push button grill ignitor with the orange tint of a " Do-Wee" label on it......" ****."
              The last thing I registered was the consumer saying " ahhh don't touch me," apparently talking to flames. I woke up in a ditch, the big fork truck and my gas station destroyed.
I limped back to the " Do-Wee" store, and utter horror greeted my singed and surprised eyebrows.
              " Grand Re-Opening, 50% off everything." I squeezed the trigger of the nail gun, the nail harmlessly echoed off the parking pavement at which it was aimed. "They set me up at the gas station. "
               They had to do better than that to separate me from my zombies.

             I entered through the store in a nun-plussed state. I woke out of my unbelieving stupor with the sound of Jose's voice. " Welcome to Doooooo-Weeee....can I eat your...."
            "Jose it's me, who chained you to the entrance?"
         " Dammian, Keeeeeth, they are waiiiting....here's a newsletter...." --he smacked me across the face with the newsletter.
        " I don't want that ****.....' as I clutched the newspaper the loudspeaker went off in Dammians annoyingly over-polite and late-night-voice.
       " Attention shoooppers. all prices are feeeefty percent off, ask our associate Keeeeeth for a 80% discount, he is the skinny deleeecious looking kid with spicy skin, and a boston red sox hat on."
Hundreds of consumers pivoted their heads to my direction. " Hey, that kid has a Boston Yankees hat on."
         " Run Keeeth," zombie-lisped Jose.
           Fifty million imbecilic questions assailed me at once......" can I return this sprinkler for a jacuzzi.....can I get 120% off.....can you come to my house and fix my television for free"-- it was unabashed audacity, survial of the most annoying and repetitious; and the corporate cadavers have let this consuming flood in on me and my poor zombies.
           I needed to find my steed, my inside forklift. It was not where I left it near the entrance.            
        Surely they have sabotaged it. " the riding mowers," the thought uplifted my fading resolve. I darted past wallowing consumers before they could get my scent. I heard a consumer, " you obviously don't know what Im talking about," talking to zombie George, who was munching roofing nails.
         The consumer grabbed me, and said "here he is, this is Keith, he is wearing a Phoenix red sox cap"--panic bit into my brain, this consumers grip was implaccable. The grip that holds the steering wheel tightly driving nowhere fast, with anything in that interstice of commuting, not worthy of manners and the least of which being a friendly wave to 'go ahead.'
           They formed a wall of uttering stupidity, escape was cut off. They scratched at me, hissed, tore at my flesh and screamed demonistically in my ears. I caved and and called the hoard m'am and sir, they choked me, and loosened their grip only so I could tell them " Im sorry, sorry for your inconvenience, take my life and personality as tribute, take my imagination rendered prostrate by these sceptic corporate words that this mouth emits, betraying my personal form, the human element to this lifeless purposeless machine....destroy me, for finding the infinity between letters of corporate law and none between nature's laws......"
        I was almost unconscious, giving a speech to imagined hooded phantoms......" destroy me, for valuing friendship and imagination, and seeing infinity, in the shadow of a letter, eternity in the numeral of a number, and for defying the order to see things as others do....."...." destroy me, for seeing that people are unhappy and trying to uplift people for the sake of seeing them smile....destroy me, destroy my smirk, and add a lifeless smile to my corpse."
              I heard a horn, the riding floor mopper/buffer, it was Ryan, he commandeered the machine with precision-like drunkenness. He knocked down the consumers like twenty pin bowling. " What's up ***** cat," he possibly said, and I climbed to my feet.
         I walked to the riding mowers, and turned the key on the floor model. I sped the main aisle, with caresses of consumers that would be deep clawings at a slower speed. I dodged stupid question, and swerved from unabashed frugality. I turned up the tool aisle, grabbed a battery nail gun.
              " It says batteries are included, but are they included?" I answered with a 12 gauge nail, and resumed my course to the upper offices, that for too long looked down on me and my friends. I climbed the stairs and entered. The office was abuzz in corporate banalities. " Hello, this is Damian how may I help you.....oh helloooooo keeeeeth, one minute.......sir hold one second thaaaanx."
                I aimed the nail gun muzzle at his ugly overly polite mug." I finally found you, I will get the store back in shape Damian...."
          He cut me off, " no yoou woonn't, they are pouring in, we will meet our quota for the year...."
        " Me and my friends

Maybe I've seen the Notebook too many times, but the concept of 'If You're A Bird, I'm A Bird' keeps growing exceedingly less absurd.
And ever since I saw A Walk to Remember I've always wanted to name a star after you so there would be two of you, and so I wouldn't have to share the original with the world.
Or was it so you could see the light in you that I see everyday and not only at night?
Alas, I can't seem to remember, but I'm certain it was both.
I've never been in a warzone outisde of my own life, but you've saved me from more harm than any bomb or rifle could inflict so I am indeed The Lucky One.
Whether sitting in silence or drowning in chaotic clamor I remember the first time you sang to me, and I recall my smiling like a fool
Let it be known that albeit I'm not actively seeking death, if it may find me I hope for that to be my Last Song.
Oh, and my darling
let your suspicions now come to light,
for  I indeed have always had an ulterior motive in loving you-
in you loving me.
That is for our love to create a Safe Haven to return to when the world has seemed to drain us of the hope we awoke with.
And yes my love,
I indeed am a bird if that is what you are as well,
but in tandem do I vow to be your Guardian on this Walk to Remember through This Bending Road of life.

I want the world in my hands,
But it's too dak outside for conquering,
I want to touch the stars,
But it's too cold outside for flying,
I need to feel the air,
But the wind will mess up my hair,
I need to hear the birds,
But I'm too afraid of getting hurt,
I want the grass under my feet,
But thorns are hiding out of sight,
I want to relax in the ocean,
But creatures are lurking in the night,
I need to feel the suns rays,
But it's too hot outisde today,
I need to go to school,
But the students there are cruel,
I haven't spoken in months,
Because I'm too afraid of getting hurt.

there's an animal outisde
he doesnt know his name
he doesnt give a ****
he walks around town with that cool kid swagga step
drop in the hip, lean with it

he carries that aire of
i've been there
or ill be there

smoking on that camel, cigarette

he smells of cigarettes too
and perfume too

wirey thinned stragely stuff covers his face
but he's got that clean cut
and theres dirt on his shoes even though they cost
that fat dime,
more like a quarter.

but he's an animal no doubt
doesnt know his name
doesnt give a ****

people have a funny way of showing they care:
i wake up on the right side of bed and wonder
where you really are. the left side is untouched
and misses you, sheets wrinkled because during
the bad nights i reach out for a ghost.

months are passing by,
as they’re meant to.
thinking of you hurts.
thinking of you is killing me.

though all is forgiven;
i know you’ll find the way
to our bed eventually.

we played catch-up
a few weeks back
over cooling coffee
in my old-to-me/
new-to-you
apartment.

"sorry it’s been so long."
you muttered into
the mug, steam clawing
upwards between us. we avoided
eye contact at all costs and allowed
ourselves to pretend we were
elsewhere.

i almost hated you.

winter is here and in my
heart, with only
you to blame for
bringing this *******
apparition into my home.

the season you left in
has a certain chill
that won’t ebb under
today’s sun.

"it’s fine." i smiled
unconvincingly and
placed my coffee to
the side. hands sliding
across the kitchen
table and over your own.

a subtle shiver ran down my spine
as your hands turned around to grip mine
lightly. they were colder than the outisde
snow storm.

i acknowledged my fluttering
chest with a small nod of the head that
made your lips turn up crookedly.
i loved you like that.

eventually,
i took you
to my bed
and we
stayed there
for hours
almost like
lovers.

everything
felt warmer
that way.

morning
threw
itself
between
us;

and that’s when
you found there
were no coffee
grinds left.

"i’ll go to the store." you reassured
me in a deep voice, forgetting to smile
down at my small form. despite
the easygoing grin, i knew you
wouldn’t come home. so i watched
as you tromped down the apartment
stairs and into the waking world
without saying goodbye.

days passed
and there was still no sign of you.
i wasn’t surprised.
living under a roof that lacked
all forms of coffee proved harder
than i thought. and of course,
it was your fault.

days got slower and turned into
fading snapshots i can barely remember now.
i was stuck with a vision of you in my mind
on replay through those insufferable days
and nights. smiling at me like the rest of the
world couldn’t possibly matter.

at one point,
i’d left you a series
angry voicemails.
all i wanted was
to hear you
say my name
again.

that was the day
your mother called
me to let me know
that you’d been hit
right off of 32nd street.

on
the way back
from grocery shopping.

all they could find at the scene:
a body,
torn clothing,
and
two bags of expensive coffee.

now i’m still in our bed.
looking to your side
and wondering
where all that
faith had gone.

and it still hurts.

The music was playing - softly
Standing on the balcony waiting for the fresh almond croissant
People are walking and riding their bikes in the old streets of Paris
A coffee shop and two old chairs outisde waiting for a reunion
I can hear her singing the lyrics and feeling the breeze
High
This moment was precious

I don't know how to exist
outisde of your bed.

My life is a chapped lip.

Blues and yellows forget
Math exists.

I pride myself into being honest
never tell lies - on the outside -
I never tell lies outisde the wall I guard myself with
Outside this wall, I'm the most honest person you'll ever meet

Inside this wall is something
That's doesn't need protection
this wall is imprisonment
This wall is hiding away a terrible monster

And every brick of the wall
protecting my secrets
is another ******* lie

cherry blossoms.
in this still,
you can feel the spring wind blowing at every blossom hugging the branch.
behind it,
a blue, clear sky.
the kind of blue that makes you happy you went outside.
in this still of a cherry blossom tree,
i can see a park were picnics are taking place.
children throwing a frisbee,
not knowing or caring of the pain and hurt outisde this park.
cherry blossoms.
proof of spring.
spring where everything blossoms,
where all is beauty and seeing butterflies near the grass makes you forget.
but this still,
this still of cherry blossoms,
is proof that spring will come again,
and i'll be okay again.

As time goes on I realize more and more about what love and life can be compared
The good out weighs the bad and the bad out weighs the good, its a battle
Wars come and go but my soldiers stay eternal
Some times you win and most of them you lose to what you think is
Realizing certain things can make your mind go in a whirl
Even when the good is right in front of you, doesn't matter who you have by your side
There's may come times where you stop and step outisde of your step and see yourself
Forcing things that have no purpose: obstacles, trials, & tribulations
After that you face the reality of your own SELF
This battle is faced from within; always a war when faced with a reflection of who you are.
The battle scars that you're left with being a reminder of everything you did wrong
Some wounds more deeper than other ones, many last an eternity last.
We fail to realize time is the only thing in loife that we cannot get back
Today, tomorrow, next month, next year may come and we won't be able to know what is
But we're faced with challenges every one of these days
Some of us stand tall and do what is necessary
But for some we coward down and run away from what is right in front of us
Battle scars are the difference between the two
Many of us leave after the scars we get, too coward to stand the sight of blood, sweat, and tears
Then again some of us get this feeling to carry on, not because we have to but it's who we are
Who are you?
Which side of the battle you stand on?
You are a coward or you are a soldier?