As you may know, if you have meandered down the breadcrumb-laden trail of this narrative, I am fixed in a discomfited dispute with my corporeal entity, which has accused me of abandonment, neglect and mistreatment. Fair enough: everyone - or everything - has the right to their opinion, to their perceptions. But what about all those dead people walking around?
I am not talking about the discorporate souls, those semi-transparent spheres of colored light, or their full-fledged counterpart images of human form (if partially transparent and often lacking in gravity - or even feet). I'm talking about incarnate beings, steering their genetic entities around like sleepwalking geriatrics or dead-drunk fratboys. It took me a while to realize what was bothering me, but I finally hit upon it: Death on feet! Nobody home! Vacancy within, but the front desk is closed! The room is rented, but unused. What a waste.
Now, far be it for me to assert that there is a better way, I can barely navigate the occupation of my envelope, as evidenced by the current dispute in which I find myself entangled. But, for some reason, it infuriates me to see these half-occupied vehicles being driven about with seemingly little purpose, intention or self-awareness. I bet I could herd them all to the cliffside, and over, in a lemming-parade of joyous purposiveness! But what would that accomplish?
Just do me a favor: do your part to wake these poor buggers up. It makes me sick to see how pervasive this condition is, and I must not be the only one. As for me, I confess that such an awakening task is beyond my present capacity. If I can emerge from unconscousness at the start of each succesive day, that is probably as much triumph as I can acheive currently. But hopefully you are less afflicted, and can act with a sense of purpose. I sure hope someone can - for the walking dead surely cannot.