Living Dead (2011)

Before you rent that zombie film, take a good look around you, because we’re everywhere. We are the living dead. We smile, we walk, we talk, we work, but we no longer feel. Our desires are just muted, indiscernible shades of gray; and our actions are limited to the bare minimum necessary to survive. We live because dying takes effort; because action takes passion, desire, and resolve. But we have none. We’re merely treading the path of least resistance.

Some of us hide it better than others. Some of us keep our death a secret. Others no longer care — we skulk surreptitiously through public venues, and our only relief comes when we’re completely alone, sleeping through life.

Some of us remember being alive. We remember the allure of temptation, the selfish innocence of love, the overwhelming intoxication of lust, the pain of unrequited desire, the needless caress of luxury, the beauty of newness, the magic of music, the elegance of math, the mystery of art, the first taste of ice cream.  Some of us want to forget.  Some of us already have.

We are the living dead. Don’t ask how we died. You already know.