ZOMBIE DREAMS by Peter Nolan Smith

Four springs ago Brock Dundee hired my driving services for a road trip across the Midwest. The Scottish filmmaker was seeking out the statues of a dying Irish sculptor in Middle America. His plan was to video the works and then film the the artist seeing his works for the last time.

My boss at the diamond exchange wasn’t happy with my taking off two weeks.

“He’s paying me $1000 a week.” I had been asking for a raise for the last year.

“Have a good trip.” Manny had a good head for numbers. He was saving my salary and fought off another attempt for an increase in my salary.

“Sei Gesund.” I wished the eighty year-old well in Yiddish. His only other language was almost dead.

A week later Brock and I flew to Chicago and hired a car at O’Hare. The Scot didn’t know how to drive, but he unfolded a map to plot out a route on the Interstates.

“No fucking interstates.” I ripped the map off his lap and threw it in the backseat.

“Aren’t the interstates faster?” Brock wanted to visit five statues in St. Louis, Kansas City, Des Moines, and Minneapolis and we had eight days to cover six big states.

“Only if you’re heading to shopping mall.” I-80 was rammed with SUVs and long-haul trucks. I pointed out a state trooper cruising in the opposite direction. “We want to stay far away from them.”

“Aren’t there speed traps on the back roads?” Brock’s vision of rural America had been formed by the movies DELIVERANCE and EASY RIDER.

“The cops go where the money is and that’s the interstates.” I turned off I-80 at exit for Peoria and turned to Brock. “Welcome to The Fly-Over.”

“Fly-Over?” The Scot was unfamiliar with the American term.

“This is the land you fly over from New York to LA.” The square states of the Midwest are mostly flat corn fields. They offer little for New Yorkers, Californians, and Europeans.

“I get it.” Brock relaxed in his seat. He had chosen me for my ability to take the least obvious course of action for the next week we avoided the Interstates like a plague.

Our path wandered along a flooded Illinois River down the broad Mississippi across the spring farmland of Missouri into the terra incognita of Iowa.
Sometimes my Scottish friend and I didn’t have any human contact for hours. The straight roads were devoid of cars. Everyone was on the Interstate heading to a WalMart.

South of Des Moines I remarked to Brock, “Not many people living out here.”
“No reason for anyone to live out here.” The small towns were empty and the big cities looked, as if they had been hit by a neutron bomb.

“Young people move out as soon as they finish high school.” The farmboys treated their boredom with crystal meth. They hid well of of sight.

“Leaving only the dead and the dying.”

“Like we were in a zombie movie.” It was almost as if the real world had been replaced by scenes from MAD MAX II and I accelerated to 100 mph. We hadn’t seen any police cars in days.

“I haven’t seen any zombies.” Brock scanned the bare expanse of fields on either side of the road.

“They would starve out here.” Zombies liked cities, because fat people were slower than them. “I once had a horrible dream about zombies.”

“Really?” Brock took out his camera and shot a minute of the passing void. This trip was as much about us as the sculptor.

“It was 1975. I was 23 at the time. I had caught a Trois Estellas bus from Monterrey, Mexico to Texas.” I hadn’t thought about that bus in ages. driving the car must have resurrected that memory from the grave. “It was a long ride and I was reading a book by HP Lovecraft. THE TERROR AT INNSMOUTH. The bus stopped in a small town. I ate a taco. It tasted a little funny and that night I fell sick with food poisoning. I checked into a small hotel at the border. The Mexican side was cheaper. I lay on the bed with a fever. I read my book and fell asleep. Sometime in the night I dreamed I was being chased through a garden by slow-moving zombies.”

“I hate the way zombies moved fast in RESIDENT EVIL.” My Scottish friend was a horror film buff and he turned to camera to me. A nod was the signal to start my monologue.

“Slow zombies are classic, but there were too many of turtle dead in my dream.” I had told his story a thousand times. It was like reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. “They cut off my escape and I ran to a gazebo. Old screens to keep out mosquitoes covered the windows. I locked the flimsy door. The zombies huddled around the gazebo. Their breath smelled of rotting flesh. They scrapped at the screen with long yellow fingernails. Their teeth ground in anticipation of sinking into my flesh, then a voice deeper than a six-foot grave said, “Tell us the secret of human life.”

“The secret of human life?” Brock like interrupting my spiel. He felt the breaks gave me time to collect my thoughts.

“I didn’t know what the secret of human life was and there was no stalling the zombies either. When they’re hungry, they’re hungry. They broke through the screens. I shut my eyes expecting the worse.” I usually stopped here to check, if I hadn’t lost my audience.

“You’re not supposed to die in dreams.” Brock was listening to every word. He picked up the map. We were coming to a turning.

"Freud said everything was driven by pleasure or death. Death in dreams was a way of understanding your personal sexual repression levels or you hated yourself, which wasn’t the case, since I was 23.” I put on the left-turn signal. The intersection didn't even have a name.

“Freud’s full of Oepidal shit. I’ve seen photos of his mother. She wasn’t worth killing his father for, of course Jung had a different take on death in a dream.

“Screw both of them.” My story had no place for dead psychiatrists. That territory was reserved for Woody Allen. “I tried to wake up, but couldn’t and I heard the voice say, “Tell us the secret of human life and I’ll let you live for another minute.”

“So what happened?” Brock was expecting a horrible demise.

“I realized the secret of human life was that no matter how bad the 61st second would be I still wanted the next 60. The urge to live.”

“And did you tell them to secret?”

“No, I woke up and foiled their attempt to destroy Mankind."

"A hero."

"It's not everyone who saves humanity in their sleep." It had seemed so real, but my flesh bore no teeth marks. " So I’m not really scared of zombies.”

“No?” Brock said that word, as if he wasn’t convinced about their status as myth.

“Zombies exist only in movies and video games. Not all of them bad. You ever see SHAUN OF THE DEAD?”

“That’s not a real zombie movie.” Brock was a traditionalist as was to be expected from a Scot.

I agreed that the British flick wasn't scary, but it was funny and after my dream I like funny zombies better than scary ones. We drove west toward Kansas City. They supposedly had some pretty women their according to Wilbur Harrison’s hit song from 1959.

A pretty girl had to be more fun than a zombie.

Zombie Alert

The word Zombie is derived from the melange of the words zonbi Haitian Creole and nzumbe from the African dialect North Mbundu. Zombies are the walking dead. They entered American culture thanks to George Romero's 1968 epic black-and-white classic NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. Scientists and anthropologists have searched Haiti for zombies since the 1930s without having substantiated the rumors of voodoo priests seizing the astral or soul of their victims other than Wade Davis The Serpent and the Rainbow.

According to Wikipedia Wade Davis, a Harvard ethnobotanist, presented a pharmacological case for zombies in two books, The Serpent and the Rainbow (1985) and Passage of Darkness: The Ethnobiology of the Haitian Zombie (1988). Davis traveled to Haiti in 1982 and, as a result of his investigations, claimed that a living person can be turned into a zombie by two special powders being entered into the blood stream (usually via a wound). The first, coup de poudre (French: 'powder strike'), includes tetrodotoxin (TTX), a powerful and frequently fatal neurotoxin found in the flesh of the pufferfish (order Tetraodontidae). The second powder consists of dissociative drugs such as datura. Together, these powders were said to induce a death-like state.

The Living Dead are creatures of legend, but several years ago year the Washington area had been pestered by zombie flies who have been infected by an unknown fungus taking control of their brain. Scientists have conjectured that humans might be susceptible to such an affliction and Homeland Security has studied various strategies to handle a zombie outbreak.

As far-fetched as this plague of zombies might seem there are actually five ways of humans contracting zombieitis according to cracked.com

Brain Parasites such as toxoplasmosa are weak, but in the hands of the Pentagon the fungus could be strengthened to affect humans very fast and there's nothing scarier than fast zombies a la RESIDENT EVIL. Voodoo poisons are another vector danger, but in a trance zombies are slow-moving i.e. not as dangerous as fast zombies. Viruses such as Mad Cow's Disease are a potential threat to humanity, but the living dead would be spastic and easy to avoid, unless they had numbers and in every zombie movie zombies seem to be everywhere. GM stem cell research could produce suspended dead to await a cure for their disease, but zombies are not sleeping beauties to be awaken by a kiss. Lastly nanobots seeping into your brain to take over your 'free will' and some madman hits the kill button.

Zombies Zombies Zombies Red Alert.

Tonight is Halloween.

Zombies are a favorite costume for young and old alike

Beware of the real thing.

One bite and you're a zombie and no zombie is a friend of mine.

ZOMBIE DREAMS by Peter Nolan Smith

Back in the Spring of 2009 Brock Dundee hired my driving services for a road trip across the Midwest. I had driven cross-country at least ten times in the previous century. No accidents. He had never learned how to drive a car. The Scottish filmmaker was seeking out Barry Flanagan's hare statues of in Middle America. The Fly-Over.

My boss at the diamond exchange wasn’t happy with my taking off two weeks.

“He’s paying me $1000 a week. You want to pay me that?” I had been asking for a raise since last year. No success.

“Have a good trip,” wished Manny. He had a good head for numbers and figured he was saving my two weeks' salary too.

“Of course I will." I was glad to be off the Street. Business sucked in April with no promise of flowers for May.

A week later Brock and I flew to Chicago and hired a car at O’Hare. The Scot mightn’t know how to drive, but he unfolded a map to plot out a route on the Interstates. He had just returned from Afghanistan. Filming for the British MOD. A spook many said. They had good map reading skills. I never asked about his trips to Central Asia, but I was the pilot for now.

I-80 south of Chicago was a nightmare.

“No fucking interstates.” I ripped the map off his lap and threw it in the backseat.

“Aren’t the interstates faster?” Brock sought to visit five statues in St. Louis, Kansas City, Des Moines, and Minneapolis and we had eight days to cover six big states. His plan was to video the works and then film the artist seeing his works for the last time.

“Only if you’re heading to shopping mall.” I-80 was rammed with SUVs and long-haul trucks. I pointed out a state trooper cruising in the opposite direction. “We want to stay far away from them.”

“Aren’t there speed traps on the back roads?” Brock’s vision of rural America had been formed by the movies DELIVERANCE and EASY RIDER.

“The cops go where the money is easy pickings and that’s on the interstates.” I turned off I-80 at the Peoria exit and turned to Brock. “Welcome to The Fly-Over.”

“Fly-Over?” The Scot was unfamiliar with the American term.

“This is the land you fly over from New York to LA.” The square states of the Midwest are mostly flat corn fields. GMO corn for cattle.

“I get it.” Brock relaxed in his seat. He had chosen me for my ability to take the least obvious course of action for the next week and we avoided the Interstates like a plague.

Our path wandered along a flooded Illinois River down the broad Mississippi across the spring farmland of Missouri into the terra incognita of Iowa.

On long stretches through the farmlands my Scottish friend and I didn’t see a human for hours. The low clouds clumped through the spring skies. They promised rain. The straight roads through the farmlands were devoid of cars. Everyone was on the Interstate heading to a WalMart.

Three days later south of Des Moines I remarked to Brock, “Not many people living out here.”

“No reason for anyone to live out here.” The small towns were empty and the big cities looked, as if they had been blasted by a neutron bomb.

“Young people move out as soon as they finish high school.” The farmboys treated their boredom with crystal meth well of sight.

“Leaving only the dead and the dying.”

“Like we were in a zombie movie.” The real world had been replaced by scenes from MAD MAX II and I accelerated to 100 mph. We hadn’t seen any police cars in days.

“I haven’t seen any zombies.” Brock scanned the bare expanse of fields on either side of the road.

“They would starve out here.” Zombies liked cities. They had large populations of slow-moving fat people.

"They'd have to raid a Walmart."

"Or a McDonald's" Mickie Ds dominated the fast food feeding chain in the fly-over.

"The Undead eating the uneatable." Brock shuddered in his seat, although he was a sucker for KFC.

"Years ago I had a horrible dream about zombies.”

“What was it?” Brock took out his camera. "Let's have it from the top."

This trip was as much about us as the sculptor. Brock pulled out his movie camera.

"Camera, action."

“In 1975 I spent the winter in Mexico. Toward Spring I had caught a Trois Estellas bus from Monterrey, Mexico to Lardeo, Texas.” I hadn’t thought about that bus in ages. “It was a long ride and I read a story by HP Lovecraft. THE TERROR AT INNSMOUTH. The bus stopped in a small town and I ate a potato taco. It tasted a little funny and that night on the other side of the border I succumbed to food poisoning, so I checked into a cheap hotel. That night I lay on the bed with a fever. I read my book and fell asleep. Sometime in the night I dreamed that of a chase by zombies through an abandoned garden.”

"Fast or slow?"

"Slow."

“I hate the way zombies moved fast in RESIDENT EVIL.” My Scottish friend was a horror film buff and he zoomed for a close-up on me. A nod signal to resume my monologue.

“Fast is bad, but too many zombies was worst. They cut off my escape and I ran to a gazebo. Old screens covered the windows. I locked the flimsy door. The zombies huddled around the gazebo. Their breath smelled of rotting flesh. They scrapped at the screens with long yellow fingernails, then a voice deeper than a six-foot grave said, “Tell us the secret of human life.”

“The secret of human life?” Brock interrupted my spiel, since he felt the breaks gave me time to collect my thoughts.

“I didn’t know the secret of human life and there was no stalling the zombies either. When they’re hungry, they’re hungry. They broke through the screens. I shut my eyes expecting the worse.”

“You’re not supposed to die in dreams.” Brock was listening to every word. We were coming to a turning.

"Freud said everything was driven by pleasure or death and death in dreams was a way of understanding your personal sexual repression levels.” I put on the left-turn signal. That road led to Kansas City. The Irish sculptor had a large statue at a local university across the Missouri.

“Freud’s full of Oedipal shit. I’ve seen photos of his mother. She wasn’t worth killing his father, of course Jung had a different take on death in a dream.

“Screw him.” My story had no place for dead psychiatrists.

"So what happened?"

“I tried to wake up, but couldn’t and I heard the voice say, “Tell us the secret of human life and I’ll let you live for another minute.”

“And?” Brock was expecting a horrible demise.

“I realized the secret of human life was that no matter how bad the 61st second would be, I still wanted another 60 to satisfy my urge to live.”

“And did you tell them the secret?”

“No, I woke up and foiled their attempt to destroy Mankind."

"A hero."

"It's not everyone who can save humanity in their sleep." It had seemed so real, but my waking flesh had borne no teeth marks. " So I’m not really scared of zombies.”

“No?” Brock asked, as if he wasn’t convinced about their status as myth.

“Zombies exist in movies and video games. Not all of them bad. You ever see SHAUN OF THE DEAD?”

“That’s not a real zombie movie.” Brock was a traditionalist as was to be expected from a Scot.

I agreed that the British flick wasn't scary, but it was funny and after my dream I like funny zombies better than scary ones.

We drove west toward Kansas City.

In 1959 Wilbur Harrison sang that they had some pretty women there and in every one of my dreams pretty women were always more fun than zombies.

The Roam of Ghosts

My youngest son talks about phee or ghosts. Fenway is not scared of these spirits, but he doesn't want to go to certain houses on our soi in Sri Racha, since the four-year-old sees birds with voices. His mother thinks that he has the 6th sense. Mam says that she is not frightened by ghosts.

"Not zombies too." Mam weighs 45 kilos. Zombies like fat people. She is mostly skin and bones.

I explained that zombies weren’t ghosts, but flesh-eating monsters.

“I not see them eat Thai people in movie. Maybe not like taste. They like eat farang, not Thais.”

“What about the ghost that eats people’s intestines? Phi Krasy?”

Mam shivered like a ghost entered the room. “Don’t say that word.”

“Phi Krasy?”

MAM didn’t talk to me that night and I slept close to her body, if only to protect her from the dead, because there are lots of ghosts in Thailand and here's a list of thai demons or phi-saat complied by Stacker on http://www.thailandqa.com/forum/showthread.php?t=4792

Phi Krahang - A glowing fusion of a man and a bird dedicated to a diet of offal.

Phi Krasy – this demon lives within a witch’s body. the succubus leaves the sleeping host to consume your intestines. Eyes incapable of blinking and can’t look anyone in the face like a TV newscaaster.

Phi Phrai – The spirit of a woman who has died in childbirth and whose body has been used to make phi thai hong lotion. A sorcerer must hold a candle under the corpse’s chin, and from the resultant melted oil essences are manufactured which drive men mad

Phi Tai Ha – The spirit of a woman who has died of malaria. The ghost will also spread this disease.

Phi Thuk Khun – The substance of a living person which has to be sent out on astral journeys every week, or harm will come to its owner,

Phi Khamod – A spirit in the shape of a red star which, like a Will o’ the Wisp, misleads wanderers.

Phi Nang Tani – A female tree spirit which is essentially beneficent and may fill the alms bowls of itinerant monks.

Phi Pa – A forest spirit. Hunters may leave a piece of the foot, lip, tongue or eyelid of a killed animal to show respect to this spirit.

Phi Poang Khang – A spirit in the shape of a black monkey which likes to suck the big toe of people sleeping in the jungle. It is said to live near salt licks.

Phi Ka – These spirits are inherited through women and can be contagious. The Ka, if not properly treated (with raw eggs) will attack and possibly possess people without the owner’s knowledge. Perhaps understandably, ordinary people are said to be reluctant to marry into Ka clans!

Phi Hai – Hungry, amoral spirits associated with places where people have died an unnatural or violent death. Phi Hai are easily offended, and take every opportunity to possess people. Normally, they can be induced to leave their victim if suitable offerings are made, but on occasions an exorcist has to drive them out. In such cases, when incantations and lustral water prove insufficient, a whip may need to be employed.

Phi Pob – A malicious and very dangerous spirit which manifests itself as a beautiful woman. Phi Pob float through the air because they have no legs or lower body. They generally appear as a length of internal organs and intestines suspended from a strikingly lovely face – therefore, beware beautiful women gliding mysteriously by in long dresses! This type of ghost is probably more feared than any other species in Thailand.

They're coming to get flesh.

More on me than Mam.

And I'm a better meal than Fenway.

By at least 70 kilos.

The Roam of Ghosts

My youngest son talks about phee or ghosts. Fenway is not scared of these spirits, but he doesn't want to go to certain houses on our soi in Sri Racha, since the four-year-old sees birds with voices. His mother thinks that he has the 6th sense. Mam says that she is not frightened by ghosts.

"Not zombies too." Mam weighs 45 kilos. Zombies like fat people. She is mostly skin and bones.

I explained that zombies weren’t ghosts, but flesh-eating monsters.

“I not see them eat Thai people in movie. Maybe not like taste. They like eat farang, not Thais.”

“What about the ghost that eats people’s intestines? Phi Krasy?”

Mam shivered like a ghost entered the room. “Don’t say that word.”

“Phi Krasy?”

MAM didn’t talk to me that night and I slept close to her body, if only to protect her from the dead, because there are lots of ghosts in Thailand and here's a list of thai demons or phi-saat complied by Stacker on http://www.thailandqa.com/forum/showthread.php?t=4792

Phi Krahang - A glowing fusion of a man and a bird dedicated to a diet of offal.

Phi Krasy – this demon lives within a witch’s body. the succubus leaves the sleeping host to consume your intestines. Eyes incapable of blinking and can’t look anyone in the face like a TV newscaaster.

Phi Phrai – The spirit of a woman who has died in childbirth and whose body has been used to make phi thai hong lotion. A sorcerer must hold a candle under the corpse’s chin, and from the resultant melted oil essences are manufactured which drive men mad

Phi Tai Ha – The spirit of a woman who has died of malaria. The ghost will also spread this disease.

Phi Thuk Khun – The substance of a living person which has to be sent out on astral journeys every week, or harm will come to its owner,

Phi Khamod – A spirit in the shape of a red star which, like a Will o’ the Wisp, misleads wanderers.

Phi Nang Tani – A female tree spirit which is essentially beneficent and may fill the alms bowls of itinerant monks.

Phi Pa – A forest spirit. Hunters may leave a piece of the foot, lip, tongue or eyelid of a killed animal to show respect to this spirit.

Phi Poang Khang – A spirit in the shape of a black monkey which likes to suck the big toe of people sleeping in the jungle. It is said to live near salt licks.

Phi Ka – These spirits are inherited through women and can be contagious. The Ka, if not properly treated (with raw eggs) will attack and possibly possess people without the owner’s knowledge. Perhaps understandably, ordinary people are said to be reluctant to marry into Ka clans!

Phi Hai – Hungry, amoral spirits associated with places where people have died an unnatural or violent death. Phi Hai are easily offended, and take every opportunity to possess people. Normally, they can be induced to leave their victim if suitable offerings are made, but on occasions an exorcist has to drive them out. In such cases, when incantations and lustral water prove insufficient, a whip may need to be employed.

Phi Pob – A malicious and very dangerous spirit which manifests itself as a beautiful woman. Phi Pob float through the air because they have no legs or lower body. They generally appear as a length of internal organs and intestines suspended from a strikingly lovely face – therefore, beware beautiful women gliding mysteriously by in long dresses! This type of ghost is probably more feared than any other species in Thailand.

They're coming to get flesh.

More on me than Mam.

And I'm a better meal than Fenway.

By at least 70 kilos.

Zombie Texters Alert

I work at a diamond store on West 57th Street.

This morning I counted the number of people with a cellphone in their hand.

60%.

30% of them had their eyes glued to the screen.

Lost to the world like zombies.

I have an old flip phone.

I can't do anything with it other than text and make calls.

I feel so left out.

Just like Buddha.

ZOMBIES IN MY DREAMS by Peter Nolan Smith

Pattaya iswasnot Venice and certainly no one on the Coasta del Crime pretended to be a reincarnated Thomas Mann writing a Thai version of TO DIE IN VENICE. At least no one I knew, however plenty of farangs and Thais died in the Last Babylon.

Many of natural causes. Some by misadventure.

Dying is what makes us the same, because none of us live forever.

Murder, accidents, and suicides are headlined by Pattaya's morbid editorial staffs. Their photographers barge into the bedrooms of the deceased to chronicle the sad events like Cheap Charley Weegee.

One tawdry rag reported on a senior member of the German community hanging himself over indebtedness to his Thai girlfriend.

Flat broke and 65.

The man couldn't face going back to his Heimat.

He had nothing or so he thought, because there was always a reason to keep on breathing and I learned that secret over 30 years ago traveling out of Mexico out a Tres Estellas bus. The driver stopped in a small mountain village outside of Monterrey. Church, cantina, market. I ate a couple of tacos for dinner and then got back on the bus. We arrived at the Mex-Tex border at sunset. I booked a cheap room at the nearest hotel. My stomach was pitching, as if my innards were in a typhoon. I ran to the toilet countless times. I made it each time with a second to spare. My body was whacked by spasms. Sweat spewed from my flesh. I tried to read my book.

HP Lovecraft's THE TERROR AT INNSMOUTH.

The gothic horror tale troubled my soul and a wicked fever dragged me to a fitful sleep.

I had no watch in my dream. The light belonged to the realm of limbo. I stood in a rusting garden. The rotting flowers smelled of iron. Mumbling voices belonged to shuffling zombies. They weren't fast, but their numbers were countless.

The living dead chased me through the garden. Their green teeth clattered like plates on a tile floor. Their stomachs were empty. I was dinner. The ghouls trapped me in a gazebo. Their nails scrapped at the fly screens. Grave dust filter through the metal. I was two seconds from screaming like a Hollywood extra, when a thin man barged through the mob of flesh-eater and demanded, "What is the secret to human life?"

My Philosophy 101 grade had been a C+. I was no Nietzsche and the leader of the undead offered a once in a dream opportunity.

"If you give us the secret of human life we will let you live another 60 seconds."

"I know and I'm not telling."

"Then," he turned to his tortured minions. "Bon appetit."

My scream woke me from a horrible fate and I shook in terror but also armed with the truth that no matter how bad things might be we want to draw that next breath until there's no sense, despite how in THE COMEDIANS Graham Greene writes about how suicides are great mathematicians since they calculate the odds of ending it to be greater than going on.

There is always a reason to end life and begin it. I have always considered every delirious drunk to be a life and death experience. Living through a hang-over breeds another rebirth. 

"It's not the despair I mind so much as the hope." Woody Allen.

More like running out of hope, which killed the German retiree this week.

Life is that intense right now.

So hold onto your minds. We will ride out this storm. Most of us and for those who pick the fast way out, "Via con dios."

And you know I'm not a religious person?

Even In distress.

My SOS will be sent to the bartender.

Go ZomBs

Faced with elimination by the Toronto Maple Leafs the Bruins rallied from a 4-1 deficit in the third period of the seventh game. I counted them out, but continued to listen to the WBZ broadcast to hear the ZomBs rise from the grave to score three goals to tie the game and then win the match in overtime. This week the Bruins opened a quarterfinal series against the New York Rangers, whom they last faced in the 1973 Stanley Cup Playoffs. The Rangers won that year, but game one in 2013 went to the 'ruins with Brad Marchand scoring an OT goal against the opposing team's stellar goalie. Today is game two. I'll be watching at Mullanes. Fully rigged out in Bruins gear. Go you ZomB motherfuckers. They come at you from the dead and secondly playoff hockey is a thousand times more exciting than NBA basketball. There is only one time out.

Ghost Road to Sri Racha

Back in the good old days coal miners carried canaries in a cage down into the mines, since lethal gases killed the canaries before humans. The allusion 'canaries in a cage' has been assigned to political, natural, and economic threats to our existence. Five nights ago I arrived at Bangkok's Suvarnabhumi Airport a little past midnight. The 777 from Tokyo had been packed with tourists and returning Thais, but ours was the only incoming flight and I passed through immigration within a few minutes. My bag was the first onto the carousel and I went outside to catch a taxi. The driver took Motorway 7 and maintained a steady 110 KPH on the southbound highway. Within a few kilometers I noticed that the taxi was the only vehicle on the road. There were no cars behind or before us on the normally busy highway. Trucks lined the breakdown lanes. None of this was a good sign, for a busy highway indicates a bustling economy and no matter what the present or past government has forecasted for growth, I suspect that industries on the Eastern Seaboard are suffering from the onset of the western disease ie the Great Depression. And it can only get worse, unless the governments decide to accept International Write-Off Day as the only solution to the bank's destruction of the monetary system. Someone someday had to admit that free market capitalism was a disaster. And hopefully soon, unless the lack of cars was due to the danger of zombies or khon ngoh walking the rice paddies after dark. I haven't seen any, but zombies know enough to avoid Thais. They are tougher than a bag of nails when the going gets tough.

Zombies on the Highline

They are everywhere. Photo by Jorge Socarrás He lived while others dined.

Chuck Norris versus Zombies

Chuck Norris doesn't mess around with the dead.

The Roam of Ghosts

My son talks about phee or ghosts. Fenway's not scared of these spirits, but he doesn't want to go to certain houses on our soi in Sri Racha, since the four-year-old sees birds with voices. His mother thinks that he has the 6th sense. Mam says that she is not frightened by ghosts.

"Not zombies too." She weighs 45 kilos. Zombies like fat people. Mam is mostly skin and bones. A Biafran beauty.

I explained that zombies weren’t ghosts, but flesh-eating monsters.

“I not see them eat Thai people in movie. Maybe not like taste. Scare farang, not Thais.”

“What about the ghost that eats people’s intestines? Phi Krasy?”

Mam shivered like a ghost entered the room. “Don’t say that word.”

“Phi Krasy?”

MAM didn’t talk to me that night and I slept close to her body, if only to protect her from the dead.

Here’s a list of thai demons or phi-saat complied by Stacker on http://www.thailandqa.com/forum/showthread.php?t=4792

Phi Krahang - A glowing fusion of a man and a bird dedicated to a diet of offal.

Phi Krasy – this demon lives within a witch’s body. the succubus leaves the sleeping host to consume your intestines. Eyes incapable of blinking and can’t look anyone in the face like a TV newscaaster.

Phi Phrai – The spirit of a woman who has died in childbirth and whose body has been used to make phi thai hong lotion. A sorcerer must hold a candle under the corpse’s chin, and from the resultant melted oil essences are manufactured which drive men mad

Phi Tai Ha – The spirit of a woman who has died of malaria. The ghost will also spread this disease.

Phi Thuk Khun – The substance of a living person which has to be sent out on astral journeys every week, or harm will come to its owner,

Phi Khamod – A spirit in the shape of a red star which, like a Will o’ the Wisp, misleads wanderers.

Phi Nang Tani – A female tree spirit which is essentially beneficent and may fill the alms bowls of itinerant monks.

Phi Pa – A forest spirit. Hunters may leave a piece of the foot, lip, tongue or eyelid of a killed animal to show respect to this spirit.

Phi Poang Khang – A spirit in the shape of a black monkey which likes to suck the big toe of people sleeping in the jungle. It is said to live near salt licks.

Phi Ka – These spirits are inherited through women and can be contagious. The Ka, if not properly treated (with raw eggs) will attack and possibly possess people without the owner’s knowledge. Perhaps understandably, ordinary people are said to be reluctant to marry into Ka clans!

Phi Hai – Hungry, amoral spirits associated with places where people have died an unnatural or violent death. Phi Hai are easily offended, and take every opportunity to possess people. Normally, they can be induced to leave their victim if suitable offerings are made, but on occasions an exorcist has to drive them out. In such cases, when incantations and lustral water prove insufficient, a whip may need to be employed.

Phi Pob – A malicious and very dangerous spirit which manifests itself as a beautiful woman. Phi Pob float through the air because they have no legs or lower body. They generally appear as a length of internal organs and intestines suspended from a strikingly lovely face – therefore, beware beautiful women gliding mysteriously by in long dresses! This type of ghost is probably more feared than any other species in Thailand.

They're coming to get flesh.

More on me than Mam.

And I'm a better meal than Fenway.

By at least 70 kilos.

Zombie Zictims

"Zombies, zombies, zombies." Last week headlines across America screamed the warning of a zombie attack in Miami after a crazed naked man at a derelict's face in public followed by a mother eating her newborn's toes as well as a Maryland college student confessing the crime of cannibalism to local police and a man mutilating himself with a knife. Zombies on the loose have seized the imagination of the country and last year the Centers for Disease Control lured teenagers to their emergency preparedness blog by adding zombie apocalypse. This week the CDC stated without any reservation that the organization knows on no virus or condition that would reanimate the dead. The zombie mania had legs and a zombie video went viral on the internet. Newspapers were quick to report that the zombie attack was probably caused by the attacker's drug overdose on 'baht salts'. The stellar quality of this spastic journalism was brought to earth by calmer minds discovering that the video had been faked by a group of young men seeking to challenge people's racial prejudices. Most viewers found the video funny, but one RESIDENT EVIL fan said according to rt.com, “They are idiots. Luckily for them, arms are banned in Miami. Should it happen in Texas, I would’ve shot him down without even thinking.” Arms are banned in Miami? Gun owners are allowed by allowed by law to strap on firearms, so the pranksters were lucky that they only scared teenagers. The debunking of this report did not reap a harvest of recantations from the media such as ABC News, which stood by its coverage of the drug-induced zombie craze by printing the testimony of a 'bath salt addict, "It felt so evil. It felt like the darkest, evilest thing imaginable." Bad thoughts lead to bad deeds, but there are no zombies on earth. Not yet, but if there are I hope that they are the slow-moving zombies of NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD instead of the fast one from RESIDENT EVIL. The first to satisfy the hunger of the fast-moving zombies will be fat slow-moving zictims. Rule # 1 - always keep a few fat people around to scream in terror. Zombies love screaming zictims. ps I understand about the toes of little babies. They look delicious.

Zombie Flu -1989

In the summer of 1989 I visited Barcelona to see a female friend. Floe was a model from Sarasota, Florida. Her apartment overlooked the Ramblas. We were attracted to each other, however she was faithful to her absent boyfriend. We slept in the same bed without touching. It was a very frustrating experience. One afternoon we went to a city beach. We didn't go swimming, because countless dead cats floated in the sea. I asked the cabana attendant why.

"The radio announced that you can get AIDS from cats. So now we have 'gatos de la mar'."

The government later reassured the fearful citizenry that cats were not responsible for the spread of HIV. The reassured populace resumed their normal level of paranoia and refrained from drowning homosexuals, hemophiliacs, and Haitians, the first vectors of the AIDS epidemic. At the time I suspected these groups would either resist to strenuously or else were too heavy to throw into the Mediterranean.

This last week a similar panic developed after scores of Mexico City residents fell sick with the swine flu. Over a hundred died and government officials rightly responded to the crisis by ordering the public to remain at home. Schools were closed and football games were played without any spectators. Their rapid reaction seemed to work, although the American media whipped their TV viewers into a panic with 24/7 coverage of the deadly breakout.

"Hundreds of people are dead in Texas." A young woman said at Famous Dave's Ribs in Des Moines.

"That's not true." The only death reported in the USA was a Mexican who sought treatment in Texas. My explanation fell on deaf ears. The young woman was adamant in her opinion. American believe everything if it comes from the TV. "Okay, maybe hundreds are dead in Texas, but I heard of a case of zombie flu in Arizona."

"Zombie flu?" Her eyes widened in horror having seen the full range of living dead movies while dating high school boys.

"Yes, the dead are walking the earth again."

"That's not funny."

"And not true either."

I bought her a drink. A shot of tequila calmed her nerves. Her name was Stephanie. Her boyfriend was waiting at home. My hotel was across the road. She didn't respond to my mentioni of this information. She was a good girl. I order BBQ pig ribs. I'm more scared of mad-cow disease than swine flu.

Zombies too.