Portrait of the Blogger by Dave Gibbons (colorist John Higgins)
Note from Nicole:
As many of you know, I’m toward the end of writing my first novel, and I’m pretty busy. So I’ve handed the blog’s reigns over to a neighbor-dude that keeps sending some, um, “fascinating” journals he keeps asking me to post for him. Like many of my neighbors, he’s more conservative than I am — but unlike them, he has a way with words. So without any further ado, I bring you today’s guest blogger, Zombie Rorschach!
Stokers this past weekend. Purveyors of decay dressed up in evening wear like the funereal corpses they write about. Straub won. Haven’t read A Dark Matter yet. Sitting on bookshelf. Plan to get to it during daytime. Braunbeck won. Read his stories while locked up. Dark, like the gaping mouth of a dead rat on a moonless night. (And that’s not just purple prose, you flabby civilians — I, Rorschach, have stared into a gaping mouth of a dead rat on a moonless night. I was bored, and besides — a man never knows where evil lurks.) Braunbeck has penchant for glimmer of optimism, sometimes. Discovered it, like an annoying seed in an otherwise-delicious grape. Exhibits liberal sympathies. Likes Midwest. Believes in God. Must investigate reason for these aberrations.
Cushing hasn’t won Stoker. Or Shirley Jackson. Or Hugo. Or Nebula. Hasn’t won Wonderland, even. Self-confessed baby in publishing world. Writing science fiction novel. Don’t know why she writes book imagining a future in which this 4 billion member herd of wayward chimpanzees survives. All books set in future are comedy.
Is a group of chimpanzees a herd? A gaggle? A murder? Should have asked Veidt before he betrayed me.
(BTW, I meant for Dr. Manhattan to do that! You know. That thing… he did… at the end of my life.)
Thomas Ligotti lost Stoker. Book making case existence and consciousness are evil strangely unpopular. Read Conspiracy Against The Human Race while hitch-hiking back from Antarctica. Like conspiracy books. Thought it might have dark new revelations about the madness of bipedal politics, as told through investigative journalism. Was disappointed at first, but liked author’s conclusions. He knows what I know that cats know that makes them scream like babies in the night.
Once pediatrician told me baby screaming like a cat not normal. Suggested baby colicky. Told him that one was like a simile. Mothers in neighborhood never let Zombie Rorshach babysit. Experience with infants limited.
Artistic licence.
Zombie Rorschach doesn’t feed on human flesh. Turns out zombies survive by eating film, videotape, print, and kindles. Zombie acquaintance one told me we also survive by eating genres. Meaning obscure. Must take up with Veidt next time I see him. Veidt smart. Will ask him to explain before running him over with snow plow.
No snow in Cushing’s neighborhood. It’s hot, like the fresh-spilled blood of a hamster trod upon by Andre the Giant. He’s a zombie, too. We hang together sometimes. Would make useful ally in fight against Veidt. Tolerate hamster-trodding fetish for now, will confront him on this abomination after the conflagration is finished.
He’s calling me. Must go now to pet store.
