Pubic Static Void Man

foboat brings to my attention that echo, my favorite Taiwanese indie rock band, is releasing their song "Bastille Day" for free on the intarwubs. I figure now is as good a time as any to give them a plug. I don't think I've mentioned them before on this blog, since those among you who understand Chinese have most likely already heard about them from _devillicious_, who studied guitar with one of their guitarists. But hey, indie rock in a foreign language is worth more cred, right? And though the waiguoren among you might be unable to appreciate their haunting, gently poetic lyrics, their instrumentals are pretty solid, and the language of roccyx out with your coccyx out is pretty universal. In any case, most of "Bastille Day" is in weird nonsensical English, so no problem there.

I'm not that big a fan of "Bastille Day", and I'm a little peeved at how you have to comb through the webpage source to actually download it (instead of streaming it in your browser). However, their latest single "煙硝" ("Smoke") is ten kinds of kickass, and they've got a streaming player thingy where you can listen to it right on their website. Or you can watch the disappointingly generic music video:



Yeah. You wish you were half as cool as these guys. Forget that overproduced MTV-darling Cantopop shit--this is the true sound of Taiwanese rock.

So. Most of you have probably heard by now, but yeah. A zombie broke into my friend's house and now I am dead. Or undead, I should say. I'm a roughskin now. Yeah.

It's not so bad. Life's so much easier as a zombie, you know? You don't have to work, you're tax exempt, and it's no big deal if you lose a couple limbs. And fresh brains are always around--New York City is fucking awesome that way. Young brains, old brains, sick brains, hipster brains, yuppie brains--it's a veritable smorgasbord. The humies, they run fast, but every now and then one of them will trip on an invisible brick and scream into the camera and yum yum snack time. On the other hand, I'm getting a little sick of being shot in the face. The first time it was like okay, I know you're survivors and all, you're only trying to defend yourself, you're not keen on having your head ripped off your spine by an animated corpse. I'm cool with that. I used to be human too, you know. But the fifth time some ripped-shirt Bruce Campbell wannabe blows the skin off your face with half a pound of buckshot, it kinda gets to a guy. Have some manners, jerkface. I just wanted to eat your sweet, fleshy brains. No need to be an asshole about it. You have any idea how fucking long it takes to stitch cheeks back on? Especially when my fingers keep falling off. Geez.

So. Funny how a strict diet of human brains isn't making me any smarter--this is a completely unrelated sentence--just making me more like me. Some nights, lumbering alone through the cold and empty New York streets, illuminated by rows of orange streetlights, I pause, taking in the cool night air and listening to the distant screams of the newly devoured, overwritten run-on sentences waxing five commas too poetic, and wonder if I'll ever love again, now that I'm a hulking abomination of rotting flesh. Then I remember brains, and I can think of nothing else.

i know we were never close, brains, but...i love you.

Unnecessary use of the blockquote tag.
Shopping list:

headcrab

cerebellum peppers

spaghetti di medulla oblongata

football helmet (for crowbar attacks)

Me: braaaaaaaaains
Me: brains

Yeah. It's good to be a zombie. It's all about priorities when you're human, and for a zombie it's no different. People just don't understand us, you know? Just because we have very special dietary requirements doesn't mean we deserve to be treated like monsters. I mean, you never see people fire-axe vegans on sight. (Except in Texas. Buuuut, parentheses.)

Two days ago, I saw a man zombie and a woman zombie on the street, holding each other. They were gnawing on each other's heads, trying to reach the sweet sweet brains inside, oblivious to the fact that there were none, for their scalps had been cracked open like Tootsie Pops, and their long-putrefied brains were spilling wastefully onto the sidewalk. It was the saddest thing I had ever seen. I couldn't bear to tell them.

Why do I feel so empty inside? Is it because I'm hollow?

why did you have to eat my heart

it was a tasty heart