Television Zombie

Prime time mass stupefy, inside versus outside, two worlds divide.

Inside, television zombies hide, creatures of self indulgence imbibe, ravenous for four more hours a day. Slop it up, tromp tromp tromp to the cattle feed time slot, slurp commercials from the trough, graze upon the daze casting out from the flat panel. Gray matter putty, liquid soup goop in a cavity where once was a solid foundation of imagination. Television zombie society, this is your life, slipping away in thirty minute increments, don't worry, you can buy one later for just ten million installments of your soul. Call now in the next ten minutes and we'll throw in these sticky fly trap crusty couch cushions to snatch up the next unsuspecting victim. Cable box mind control, plasma screen orgasmic oligarchy, huddling masses of the mouth breathers, blue lit stare stupidified, greasy finger lick microwave popcorn bliss, spoon fed all thought, caught in a perpetual glassy eyed haze maze. Pull the plug to survive, step outside.

It's cold, brisk, the tiny prickly pear icicles on your skin inform, yes I am alive. Feel the grip of the earth, walk down the street, the sidewalk moves past your feet, glide down the block, around to the corner market, that's right, the outdoor market. Layers of round rainbow assorted objects; apples grace the shelf in stacked pyramid form, crimson red, interwoven with stripes of green, wax paper smooth, crisp, alive. Oranges, sun-fired sun-fueled citrus delights, packed to the ceiling, ready to give passerby's soul healing. This is an outdoor market, alive with fruits, vegetables, people, sounds, sights, feelings; a world alive, moving with sweet smells of winter. Grip the world with the souls of your shoes, further, burrow through the neighborhood, past the barking dog, "the blue lights didn't get you, did they?" Walk by, gaze into the sky, Orion's belt backlit by the glow of zombie masses huddled close in solitary confinement hand hold. Soak up the night sky, stay outside.