My Cholera's Acting Up Again.

Reality Is A State Of Mind. To The Banker, The Money In His Ledger Book Is All Very Real, Though He Doesn't Actually See It Or Touch It. But To The Brahma, It Simply Doesn't Exist The Way The Air And The Earth, Pain And Loss Do. To Him, The Banker's Reality Is Folly. To The Banker, The Brahma's Ideas Are As Inconsequential As Dust.

What Hamlet Suffers From Is A Lack Of Zombies. Let Us Say Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Show Up—ho-ho! Now You’ve Got Something That Stirs The, Um, Something That Stirs Things That Are Stirrable. Boom! A Pack Of Ravenous Flesh-eaters Breaks Open Their Heads And Sucks Out Their Eyeballs. No Need For Iambic Pentameter Because They Are Grunting, Groaning Annihilators Of Humanity With No Time For Meter. You’re Not Asleep In The Back Of English Class Anymore, Are You? This Is What I’m Talking About. Zombies. Learn It, Live It, Love It.

As One, They Leap, Laughing, And That Is Where We Leave Them - Mouths Open, Arms Spread Wide, Fingers Splayed To Take In The Whole World, Bodies Flying High In Defiance Of Gravity, As If They Will Never Fall.

He Took Comfort In The Neon Signs, The Wild Strands Of Jazz Creeping Out Of Clubs Whenever Happy Swells Of People Pushed Through The Doors In Their Finery.

They Misspelled 'party.' How Evil Genius Can They Be?