Cyst and Disease: Zommunism part 2

Part 1:

By Matthew Higgins
Slower than it took the actual zombies to walk, a compromised version of Zommunism in its coopted, sell-out neo-liberal attire began to take form.

First, politically correct laws made zombified access to shops and train carriages a part of every day life. This posed a significant threat to the elderly and depressed, who in apathy and decrepitude could barely outrun the deluge of lagging, mundane corpses.
Some saw the economic sense of turning themselves into zombies and just went along with the ride after university had ended. Nightmare became nuisance, convictions were relegated to the tedium of anxious concerns, as zombified bailiffs worked to evict jobless tenants resigned to the fait accompli of economic progress under the arbitrary dress code of zombification.
The Zombie dilemma had been yet another slow-paced existential threat to middle class life, far less substantial than anything as real or immediate as hand-to-mouth shotgun survivalism. Ray Mears continued to be televised.
The media-industrial complex would accumulate even greater amounts of wealth from this, as ‘incense schticks’ saturated the propoganda market on people’s blood spattered doorsteps from the latest Amazon delivery agents.

Tabloids capitalised on their front pages with the clownish ineptitude, of ‘useless’ politicians flailing under the beauracratic arms of corrupt corporate lobbyists, who failed to prevent – and seemed almost intent on evoking – the gradual zombification of the working unemployed.

Messages that could be relayed in basic sound bites, were simple enough for zombies accustomed to repeating the word ‘brains’ over and over again to memorise.

Subsequently, they appeared increasingly electable against the so-called “muppets in charge” who seemed powerless to prevent these zombies taking people’s jobs and limbs away.

In addition, morticians had done great work to maximise the presentability of these undead. Zombies did not age since they were already deceased, they only needed to be manicured once and that was all. They had the waxy appearance of photo-shopped skin that made them appear magazine-like, more human, more relatable, to the diminishing hordes of the traditional unemployed.

Perhaps these were the Zommunist revolutionaries afterall! Just more modest and pleasing to the eye than previously envisioned, with sound bites exchanged for flesh bites and so on.
Besides, the term zombie was now decidedly offensive and incorrect; these were the ‘deceased of living’.

The deceased of living would provide great arm gestures during their speeches, somewhat similar to a kind of double Nazi salute, but without the historical baggage. And they were always themselves: soulless creatures compelled beyond the grave to devour every ounce of living flesh in search of no end – offering them an honest outsider appeal above the standard of ordinary politicians.
But the Zombies were so well-groomed, that no one could quite tell who was a politician and who was a zombie anymore; this did not much matter, since society was past that.
The deceased of living continued to draw significant gains in politics, media, and feasting on undesirable specimen; such as the elderly, the unemployed, those who attended marches, homeless people, mad people, and youths who risked surpassing the limits of their curfew.
Soon, with huge swathes of the electorate demanding more brains, the first Zombie minister was elected to the house of commons, and soon after, several more MPs had been infected, until enough seats were evacuated to give a ruling majority to the Zommunist Centrist Right-Left party.
‘Right. Left. Right. Left.’
The tidal wave of progress seemed ineluctable for the eyes of industrialists, closer than ever before to the prospect of humans visiting Mars – to hide in terror – which had fuelled the capitalist
imagination since its very inception.
To this day, Mars remains a lifeless little red orb, caked in the scorched blood of desert dwelling cadavers, who shuffle aimlessly forth without intention or logic, other than for ‘brains’, which they
devour fully in their grasp with their incapacity to find better means for them.
‘More. Brains. Brains. More!’
And no one can determine whether these are real astronauts at all, or zombie pioneers. Not one individual has the power, or the belief, to assume their Hollywood birth rights and claim the zombie apocalypse as their own.
There is an idle decay, shuffling along in a twitching pandemic without cause or enthusiasm.
Businessmen are anxiously observed on rare summer days off work by those who fear the spread
of infection.
Proverbial shotguns (art, music, theatre) are seated behind special permits;
As the rights of human beings are overlooked and ignored, to squat wherever they please, to find a place where the zombies can never reach them…
There seems to be a hidden truth appeal in these Hollywood zom-coms.
Like unconscious documentaries, for truths rendered significantly more bareable under a curtain of fiction, something to perversely aspire to in a mood of alienation and despair, to view the world as it
has been for some time.
A zombieland to either fight or succumb to in our ignorance.
A utopia that hovers just beyond reach, beyond the present way of seeing things, beyond the graves we dig for ourselves.
Pictures from: and

The ‘Deceased of Living’: Zombies in Utopia

By Matthew Higgins

The utopian fantasy of today’s people in the West, is to live in a zombie apocalypse like those from the golden age of Hollywood remakes.

Here, they can riteously battle the undead with acquired arms and looted ammo, drive quad bikes through abandoned showrooms and squat atop famous monuments.

They can drain countless car batteries, gorge on left over snacks and ride the amusement parks without having to wait in line.

Everything is in a state of transience, a warm shower can be enjoyed without the cost of environmental concern, and the primal needs for exercise and hunting things violently are nicely intwined with the intellectual wants for civility and order – by hijacking large armoured vehicles and spraying double fisted uzi rounds into hordes of the undead.

Duty has become a fact of life freed from existential turmoil, and no one is for want of anything, not even walker’s crisps.

Sadly, these soft-headed delusions of zombie apocalypse reflect a grim contrast to the society which stands in place of them…

Following the months of the first zombie outbreak, the sensationalism in the media seemed hard to justify, given the lack of casualities involved, and the swift efficiency by which the military-industrial complex came to dispatch the threat within a matter of hours.

The same level of ineffective disorder might have transpired had a pride of giraffes escaped from a wildlife enclosure during rush hour.

But below the surface of crowds, could be sensed a lurking frustration;

A sinister disenchantment masquerading under the phony sentimental relief, for those who had kept relatively safe during the ‘disaster’

“Thank goodness so few people got hurt.”

“It’s a good job they weren’t fast running one’s like the one’s you see in them films.”

These were the sorts of things one might typically overhear whilst sweeping cigarette butts off club balconies under the nautical twilight of ongoing civilised despair…
Shaun of The Dead Simon Pegg store

‘Zommunism’ became a homely internet punching bag, for keyboard commentators to pour their derision and self-doubt into, to distinguish themselves from older generations who foolishly abided the false promise of Zombie utopia on their flat screen dopamine devices.

Others claimed the suspicion of a false flag.

The wahhabis had since weaponised zombies as recyclable fodder for their suicide bombing campaigns; launching a novel pretext upon which the Eurasian heartland could be raped of natural resources and plagued by civilian deaths.

There were comments about those who had been supplying the zombies, and accusations about who the true zombies were, to bully those who could not identify such obvious facts as –

“Nowhere in the Qu’aran does it provide any instructions on how to raise members of the unliving…”

And as conflicts reigned absurd across hotspots of geostrategic interest on the world map, things began to grow increasingly strange at home.

There was no denying that zombies were great for the economy, manipulated to perform tasks that were unlikely to meet the standards of the native unemployed.

But protests aiming to thwart the spread of the undead had been rejected by the courts, who insisted that ‘subhuman legislation’ should primarily protect the sovereign rights of private ownership.

The doctrinal thesis of the mainstream media held that, without zombified labour, the economy would simply tank. There would be too much competition from other industrialised nations harnessing the effects of a zombified workforce to maximise their GZP (gross zombie produce).

You can imagine the disappointment of this ‘strong and stable’ apocalypse.

The threat of pandemic loomed not from the savagery of overnight carnage, quietly longed for in the dreams of ordinary citizens; but due instead, to the bumbling inertia of beauracratic injustice.

What had happened to good ol’ fashioned ‘shooting zombies’ in the face and gorging on snickers in the hands of these lawyers and politicians?

Where was the comaradery to ease all this suffering and pain?

But there was none.

No one with an ounce of civilised belonging in their hearts would ever personally identify with these perverse suicidal longings, of tearing the economy to shreds and violently purging the undead with valiant sex appeal; not unless they were joking among friends, ironically – if insincerely – to flatter such inconceivable thoughts.

To be continued… here:

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